Chapter 3
ADRIAN
Sonya doesn’t show up again for another month. But the next time she’s at one of our games, I pounce at the chance to ask her out.
Because I can’t stop my mind from wandering, and thinking about her.
Because if she says yes, it means there’s something between us. We hook up, have our fun, get it out of our systems. That’s how this stuff works, right? No big deal.
“Have dinner with me?” I ask Sonya, jogging up to catch up with her as she leaves the stadium from a side exit.
Sonya pulls out an umbrella from her bag. “Not a chance.”
Whoa. A flat-out rejection. And she’s not even looking at me.
For now.
I remember how I caught her attention last time. When I turned up my cockiness until she finally looked at me. So…
It’s raining, and I’m wearing a white T-shirt. This is perfect. I go a few feet in front of her and spread my arms, giving her a full view as if I’m presenting a gift. Me. I’m the gift!
Water slides down my arms. “Come on, darling,” I say with a wink. “Don’t you want to spend one magical night with me? I’ve got VIP club access. We’ll dance all night. I promise it’ll be worth it.”
She slows to a stop, and her eyes finally flick to me—and yeah, there it is. That spark again. Irritation? Maybe. “Can’t. I have two left feet.”
My mouth curves. “That won’t be a problem. I can carry you in my arms.”
To demonstrate how little of a problem that is, I roll up my sleeves. Sizable biceps. Wet cotton. The rest of my muscles are getting outlined pretty nicely.
Her mouth tightens in reaction. And…
There’s a dash of color rising high on her cheeks, I swear!
“No.”
Wait. Her refusal is dry, like she’s fighting a curse word and a groan at the same time. My arms drop with defeat. I don’t get it. “But why not?”
Her eyes flick briefly to the sky, like she’s weighing how much energy I’m worth.
“Because I’ve got chronic balance-related stomach issues, so if you make me dance, I’ll probably just vomit all over you.”
My smile drops. A bad feeling cramps my gut. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know that was a thing. That really sucks.”
“One day, if I ever get over this dreadful condition—” She flags down a cab and looks back at me. Her hair sways gently in the wind. “I’ll still never say yes.”
Her answer would sound even harsher if I didn’t catch the tiniest movement. The corner of her mouth is twitching.
Before I can figure out what that means, a cab pulls up. She starts toward it, but I beat her there and open the door. More droplets of water zig-zag down my chest. My nipples are visible. I don’t say anything. Just wait.
Her eyes dip downward for half a second. Then she makes this tiny, almost suppressed noise. More irritation? I can’t tell.
She looks up and catches me grinning. “Get home safe, Sonya.”
She hesitates.
Something crosses her face.
Then, she reaches out.
I freeze, my gaze going to her hand. This undefined emotion rises in my throat as she hands me her umbrella. “Keep it. Clearly, you don’t have one for when it rains.”
Before I can say anything, she shuts the door and the cab takes off. I stand there, watching it go for longer than I want to admit to anyone.
Afterward, when I tell Quinn what she said, he bends over and laughs his ass off. “She’s a ballerina, dude. She’s obviously fucking with you.”
A ballerina?
Why didn’t I know that?
That night, alarm bells go off in the background of my mind. That’s because I don’t go out to the club. Instead, I stay home alone with my cat, Diana, watching videos of Sonya dancing. They’ve been posted online by her ballet company.
“I don’t have a crush,” I tell Diana. “I just felt like staying in.”
My abdomen tightens, watching her on stage. Yeah, right, two left feet. She’s so talented I can’t stop watching. After a while, arousal thrums through my body. I’m having to adjust my pants.
“She’s pretty and talented. But I’m also not stuck on her or anything.”
To prove it to myself, for the next while, I take other women out. It’s not as effortless as it used to be, which is weird, but hey. If anything, that just makes it a challenge. And I always rise to those.
During this time, pink-haired Kavi Basra enters our lives. She becomes our grumpy defenseman Dmitri Lokhov’s accidental roommate and they fall in love completely.
Watching someone like Dmitri, who’s allergic to feelings, finally crack a smile because Kavi is talking to him? It’s hilarious and incredible in the best way. I fucking love poking him about it.
And then Kavi meets Sonya.
That’s…something else entirely.
Because for the first time, I see Sonya crack her usually thick walls, just a little. She and Kavi bond over how rare it is to have real, honest friendships. The kind where you don’t have to pretend to be anyone else.
And just like that, Sonya starts showing up more.
Because Kavi’s around us.
Which means I see her more.
Except now, Sonya doesn’t look away when I flirt with her. That spark of irritation flares up the second she sees me. She’s rolling her eyes at me. Sniping. Being more openly and pointedly sarcastic. Calling me a fuckboy.
Lucky me. I can’t get enough of it…even if it causes me problems.
Now whenever I’m sitting across from other women, I can’t stop imagining what Sonya would say if she was there with me. A woman would compliment my egregiously unfairly good looks, but in my head, I hear Sonya saying, “It’s sweet how you think you have that going for you.”
This other woman tells me she’s got season tickets to all our games. Sonya might say that and then add in, “Self-inflicted torture is a favorite pastime of mine.”
Another one of my dates proudly declares she wants to fuck me. If Sonya ever said that, she’d have conditions. “Only if you turn around and put a pillow over your mouth and—nope, still not happening. Nice try, though.”
She’s always in my head. I thought it couldn’t get worse.
It does.
One night at a club, I’m at the bar and Sonya and Kavi have congregated a few stools over, so I overhear their conversation.
Kavi has her face in her hands. “I know I’m not allowed to complain—”
“No, stop that,” interrupts Sonya, flicking Kavi on the shoulder. “Don’t you know? Complaining solves problems.”
Kavi lifts her head and smiles. “How’s that?”
“It helps prevent heart attacks because you let stress out when you complain.”
“So this is…good for me…”
“Exactly.” Sonya eyes Kavi down. “Now tell me what’s going on.”
Kavi reaches out and cradles her drink. “Okay, you know that I’m really grateful for my job. I get to work with the team as their social media manager, and I’m always around Dmitri at his games whether they’re at home or away, which I absolutely love, but—”
“You’re ready to move forward with your career.”
Kavi gasps. “How did you know?”
“We’re best friends,” Sonya states matter-of-factly. “Also, I caught you looking up boudoir photography rates on your phone. I know that’s your real dream.”
“Some day. I’m not good enough yet.”
Sonya squeezes Kavi’s shoulder. “Do you remember when we met? What did I tell you?”
“I’m pretty sure it was a lot of great advice—”
“Don’t think you are shit. Think you are the shit, even if you aren’t already there. Also, doing something imperfectly is better than not doing it at all.”
“I know, but there’s so much work that comes with making this jump!”
“Like what?”
“Like finding a studio to lease out, for one.” Kavi groans. “Ugh, I’m hearing myself talk and shouldn’t I be cured of imposter syndrome by now?”
“Life happens,” argues Sonya, “and new bravery is needed to face new challenges. Either way, you should go for it. Open your boudoir photography studio.”
“Why?”
Sonya lifts her glass and clinks hers against Kavi’s glass. “Because I believe in you.”
Instead of saying anything else, Kavi hugs Sonya. Sonya pats her on the back.
Half an hour later, I notice Sonya slip out of the club.
Keeping my distance, I can’t help but follow her. She’s on the sidewalk, on her phone.
It takes me some time, but eventually, I figure out what she’s doing. Calling up studio rental listings and leaving voicemails for them to call her back with their prices and availability.
I can’t stick around. I go back inside. I’m not looking where I’m going, but I bump into someone. It’s Lokhov.
The tattooed defenseman raises his eyebrow. “You okay?”
No, I’m not okay. But I don’t have words to describe why.
I fake a smirk, then go to the bar and order a beer. It chills my hand, but I don’t move to drink any of it.
Fuck, what’s happening to me…?
My fist rubs circles in the middle of my chest, and my eyes feel as wide as saucers.
Why?
“Want to invite me back to your place?” The woman sliding into the seat next to mine is objectively gorgeous. Nice eyes and delicious curves wrapped in a tight dress.
“No.”
She seems taken aback. “Are you sure?”
I drink half my beer in one go. “I wish I wanted to say yes,” I tell her hoarsely.
“Maybe next time?” the woman wonders.
“Definitely. Next time.”
It’s a lie, even if I’m not admitting it to myself right now.