Chapter 22 #2
The first thing I notice is that her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail now instead of the messy one she had at the arena.
And when she turns toward me, I can see that she’s put on lipstick.
A little more makeup, too—not much, but enough to make her eyes more noticeable and her cheeks look like they’re permanently flushed a light pink under the bar lights.
“You look good,” I say, forgetting for a second where we are and that we’re surrounded by at least a hundred people.
The pink color of Heather’s cheeks deepens noticeably, though, and I’m pretty sure I can take all the credit for that.
“Thanks.” She reaches up and touches her ponytail, almost in a self-conscious way. “I thought it might be nice to feel like a person for a while. A grown-up person who doesn’t show up to someone else’s event looking like I’ve been through a tornado and with Cheerios in my hair.”
I’m not sure whether to smile or frown at the memory. On the one hand, she did show up to that event with a memorable look. But there was nothing good that came out of my conversation with her that day, as far as I’m concerned.
“You looked fine that day,” I offer, since it happens to be true and is probably the most neutral-sounding thing I can say at the moment.
“I looked like a disaster.”
“Not a disaster.” The words come out quickly and maybe a little harsh, but it’s the damn truth. “Never a disaster. You look good no matter what you’re wearing or whether you have your shit together or not.”
Her eyes go wide, and the noise around us fades until it’s just the two of us standing here, close enough to have what feels like a private conversation but still not close enough for me.
She leans in and opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, but then the bartender appears in front of us.
“What can I get for you folks?”
The moment passes, the silence breaks, and Heather blinks quickly before turning to place her order.
“I’ll have a glass of wine, please. And a Shirley Temple for my daughter.”
I order a water and we wait in silence until the bartender comes back with our drinks. Heather takes hers and April’s, then nods toward their table.
“I should probably get over there before April orders cheesy bread and ice cream for dinner.”
I want to go with her and almost start to follow her automatically before I realize I haven’t been invited.
I’m not sure whether that’s on purpose or whether it even matters in a place like this where everyone seems to be mingling with everyone else, but I don’t want to push my luck when things are still so fragile and awkward between us.
“Of course,” I say instead, and park myself at the bar while she disappears into the crowd.
I gulp down half my water in two drinks while I pretend not to watch Heather laughing at something Margo is saying, and I don’t even notice the woman who has come up next to me until I hear her voice too close to my ear.
Well, more like my armpit, but still way too close for comfort.
“You’re Grant Parker, right?”
She’s blonde and wearing a tiny black dress that leaves very little to the imagination. And the look in her eyes when she smiles up at me says she knows exactly what she wants.
“That’s the rumor,” I mutter.
There’s nowhere to go, but I still take a half-step to the side and try to reclaim at least a tiny fraction of my personal space.
She either doesn’t realize or doesn’t care, because she laughs like I’ve just told the funniest joke she’s ever heard and closes the slight distance between us again with a half-step of her own.
“Great on the ice and a sense of humor, too?” She raises a brow. “It seems like you might be the whole package.”
I have to struggle to keep from grimacing in her face. I don’t want to be rude, but this is honestly the last thing I want tonight.
“Thanks,” is all I say, hoping she’ll get the hint.
Nope.
She leans in even closer and places a hand on my chest. “I’m Cindy, by the way. Maybe we can get a table over there and—”
“Thanks, but no.”
I feel a momentary twinge of guilt for cutting her off like that, but Cindy is nothing if not persistent.
“Oh, come on. Let’s have a drink or two. I bet we could have some fun together.”
This time, I don’t try to sugarcoat my reply.
“I’m not interested.”
Her smile finally fades, and it’s replaced by a look of genuine surprise that tells me Cindy isn’t used to getting turned down.
“Not even one drink? Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
She studies my face for a moment, then pulls out her phone. “Here’s my number, if you change your mind.”
“I won’t.” I take another, blatantly obvious step to the side. “Have a good night.”
I turn away before she can say anything else, and nearly run into Noah, who has apparently witnessed the whole uncomfortable incident while he’s been in line to order another round of drinks.
“Real smooth, Parker.” He shakes his head like he’s on Team Cindy. “That woman was practically throwing herself at you, and you just shut her down cold. Did you seriously not notice, or…?”
If he’s going to go to bat for her, he can deal with the same response. “I’m not interested.”
“Yeah, I think that came across loud and clear.” He starts to take the drinks from the bartender, then gives me a curious look.
“What’s going on with you, man? You never come out with us, and when you finally do, you stand here like a bump on a log and shoot down the best offer you’re probably going to get in this place without even blinking twice. ”
“Sorry, but I’m already spoken for.”
The words are out of my mouth before I can even think to stop myself, and Noah looks as surprised by the revelation as I feel.
“Spoken for? By who? The Aces?”
I shrug but don’t correct him. It’s easier to let him think that I’m married to the game than to explain that I can’t seem to stop thinking about his sister-in-law, who happens to be sitting twenty feet away and wearing a jersey with my name on it.
“Oh boy, Parker.” He shakes his head one more time before turning away with the new round of drinks in his hands. “You really do need to get out more, bro.”
Again, I don’t bother correcting him. I’m already looking back across the bar in Heather’s direction.
But this time, she’s looking at me too. She’s holding her wine glass halfway to her lips, and there’s a little line that’s appeared between her eyebrows.
I wonder if she saw me talking to the blonde woman.
The way she holds my gaze for a few seconds before turning back to April and Margo and giving a tight smile makes me think she saw just enough to get the wrong idea.
Maxim, Owen, and a few of the other guys pull me over to their table, and I’m half-listening to their recap of the game while I nurse my second glass of water. They’re loud and half-drunk, reliving every play and arguing about strategy.
Normally, this would be my cue to leave, but I stay.
And even though I’m trying to avoid looking across the room, I still catch myself checking up on the table where Heather and April are sitting with Noah and Margo.
Damn, I wish I was over there with them.
April is bouncing up and down in her seat, gesturing wildly as she tells a story, and Heather is smiling—a real smile this time, the kind that makes her whole face light up. That’s the smile I want directed at me. Not the tight, tense, polite version I’ve been getting all week.
Owen waves a hand in front of my face. “Parker, are you even listening?”
“What?” I sit back in my chair, not fully trusting his depth perception now that he’s had a few beers. “Easy there. We’re gonna have a problem if you hit me.”
He waves me off. “I said, that save in the second period when you went full splits, how the hell did you even see it coming?”
“I was just reading the play.” I’m tempted to glance across the room again, but I force my attention back to the conversation at hand. “Morris telegraphs his shots. He always looks exactly where he’s going to aim.”
The conversation moves on, and at some point I notice that Margo has pulled out some kind of card game and is playing it with April. Noah is on his phone, probably checking game stats or scrolling through social media. And Heather isn’t there.
I scan the room and spot her at the back of the bar, standing alone while she waits for another drink.
Or she was alone. Now there’s a guy next to her. He’s decent-looking, I guess, with his expensive watch and a smile that’s way too fucking confident as he leans in to say something to her.
She takes a small step back, shaking her head at whatever he just said, but he moves even closer.
And now I’m on my feet. “I’ll be right back,” I say to the guys even though I’m already halfway to the bar.
The guy is still talking when I make it over there, and now he’s resting a hand on the bar beside Heather in a move that’s clearly meant to box her in. She looks uncomfortable but polite, like she’s trying to work her way out of the conversation without being rude enough to provoke this guy.
Fuck that.
“Time for you to go.” I stop right next to him, making him turn to look at me.
He seems annoyed at first, but his expression immediately changes when he realizes who I am and how much bigger I am.
“We were just talking, man.”
“And now you’re leaving.” I take a step closer, nudging his arm with my side and using every inch of my height to make my point clear.
His eyes dart between me and Heather, clearly trying to decide if whatever he was hoping to get out of this conversation is worth the confrontation. He correctly decides it isn’t.
“Alright. Okay.” He holds up his hands and backs away. “No need to get aggressive.”
I don’t move or take my eyes off him until he’s completely disappeared into the crowd. Then I turn to Heather.
She’s holding her wine glass with both hands and still looking as uncomfortable as she was when the guy was standing where I am now. “What was that about?”
“I didn’t like you talking to him.”
The words come out of my mouth unfiltered and possessive in a way that should probably embarrass me, but it doesn’t.
“You were talking to another woman. I didn’t storm over there and throw her out.”
“You wouldn’t have had to storm over, because I turned her down. I told her I wasn’t interested and didn’t take her number when she tried to give it to me.”
She looks down at her wine, then back up at me. “Oh. I—I didn’t know that.”
“Were you interested in him?” I nod toward where the guy disappeared. “In that guy?”
She shakes her head, then shrugs. I can’t tell if she really isn’t sure or if she’s just flustered. “I don’t think so. I mean, no. Not really. It’s just nice to be seen as something more than a thirty-something mess.”
That hot, possessive feeling comes rushing back full force. I want to do things I’ve never wanted before. I want to kiss her right here in front of the entire bar, in front of my teammates and the strangers and everyone else.
I want to make it crystal fucking clear that she’s not available.
She’s mine.
I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and the intensity of it catches me off guard. I’ve never wanted to stake a claim or mark my territory or any of that caveman bullshit. But with her, standing here looking at me, I want all of it.
“Anyone who sees you as ‘just’ anything isn’t good enough for you. Do you understand?”
Her breath catches, and I think for a moment that she’s going to close the distance between us, to reach for me the way she did in that sauna. But she just stands there with her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths.
“Are you mad?” I ask after what feels like forever. “That I came over here? That I made him leave?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Good.”
I force myself to turn around and walk away before I do something we’ll both regret. Or worse, something I won’t regret at all.