Celebrating was one thing and true, they didn't have morning skate the next day, but there was no need for anyone to embarrass themselves.
After pawning Leclanché off on Eli, Blair peered down the length of the table. Nikita had disappeared. Curious, Blair stood and wedged himself through the crowd, out onto the main floor of the bar. A cursory look through the dimly-lit taproom showed no signs of him.
"Huh," he said aloud. "Maybe he went home."
Just as he was turning back toward the table, he heard a crash from behind him, the sound of shattering glass.
Oh, no.
Though small for a hockey player, Blair had no trouble manhandling average joe bar goers out of his path as he elbowed his way to the source of the commotion. Please don't be Nikita, he thought over and over. But he should have known better than to think he could be that lucky.
