16. February 18, Friday #2
The band shifted into something brighter. Laughter swelled. Glassware chimed. The ballroom breathed around Zoey like nothing monumental had just happened.
She should text Kayla. Or Kira. Or literally anyone with a pulse.
Instead, her traitorous heart swung its spotlight to one man.
Ilya stood near the far end of the bar, impossible to miss.
Even in a dark suit, he looked like leadership had been custom-fit to his shoulders and everything else was just decoration.
Black jacket, crisp white shirt, Cyclones-blue tie knotted perfectly.
The color made his eyes pop. Brighter somehow.
Nina stood beside him.
She was angled in close as she spoke to a cluster of donors Zoey recognized from her bios earlier that week. One of the women laughed and reached out to touch Ilya’s arm, but somehow, he shifted his weight just right and avoided the contact.
Jealousy flared, hot and unhelpful.
It was stupid. She had no claim, no right. Just history and a low, persistent ache that had been growing confusing teeth for weeks.
Ilya tipped his head to listen, mouth curving into that controlled half-smile he used in rooms like this. Captain charm. Professional. Untouchable.
Drinks next week. Leadership messaging. Legacy.
Nina’s words roared in Zoey’s ears.
She should move. Do her job. Check the silent auction tablets. Anything but stand here cataloging the exact shape of Ilya’s corded neck muscles.
She forced herself forward, weaving through clusters of guests with her event-smile locked in place.
Halfway across the room, she felt it. That prickle at the base of her spine. The unmistakable awareness of being seen.
She didn’t look right away. Pride and self-preservation staged a brief coup. But the pull was stronger. She glanced up.
He was already watching her. Not scanning. Not casually aware. Focused, like he had never lost sight of her.
His brows drew together as he took in her face, her wobbly smile, and hopefully her truly waterproof mascara. Something in his expression sharpened.
Did the girls and Ty seriously leave her with mascara tear tracks after their life-changing news and not tell her!?
Unable to stop herself, she quickly swiped at her undereye, pulling her finger away to inspect for any traces of errant liner.
None.
Zoey looked back up at Ilya and watched as he said something to the donor beside him, nodded once, then turned to Nina.
Zoey watched Nina’s polite smile freeze. Her hand twitched, like she wanted to stop him.
He shook his head and stepped away.
And just like that, he was crossing the room.
He moved easily, acknowledging greetings without stopping, his attention fixed on her. By the time he reached her, Zoey’s pulse was in her throat.
“Zoey.” His voice landed low and steady, cutting cleanly through the noise. “What happened?”
A dozen answers fought for air. “I…nothing bad,” she said, her brain stalling out. He left Nina and the donors to check on her!?. “Sorry if I pulled you away. You were…captaining.”
His gaze searched her face. “You did not pull me,” he insisted quietly. “You looked like you might fall over.”
Something warm and painful bloomed in her chest. “I’m okay,” she stuttered, unable to look away from his gently mesmerizing gaze. “I, uh…yeah.”
What was he asking?
The emcee’s voice boomed over the speakers, inviting guests to the dance floor before the auction.
Couples began drifting toward the center of the room.
Zoey opened her mouth to excuse herself.
“Dance with me,” Ilya said. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just…there.
Her heart skipped. “I—”
“Two minutes,” he pushed. “Then you can go be impressive. I promise.”
Against her better judgment, her body answered first. “Okay.”
Her hand slid into his, warm and careful.
He guided her, not toward the crowd, but toward the doors leading to the domed terrace.
Ilya pushed the doors open, and cool night air rushed in.
The noise of the ballroom dulled behind the frosted glass, music reduced to a muted thrum that barely reached them.
He took her hand and set his other palm at the small of her back. His fingers spread against bare skin above the zipper of her dress, heat blooming outward. The contact was quiet. Intentional. Her fingertips curled into his shoulder, feeling the solid wall of muscle beneath fabric.
They began to sway.
The terrace was empty except for them with so many now on the dancefloor. The city stretched out beneath them, lights glinting against damp pavement far below. Somewhere, a siren wailed. Inside, laughter rose and fell, muffled and distant. But to them, all of it was muted. Quiet.
“Okay, now that you’re breathing normally again and don’t look like a panicked rabbit, how do you feel?” Ilya asked, his lips quirking.
Zoey let out a breath. “I didn’t realize how loud it was in there.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I feel that way during games. I’ve never understood how other guys can hear things that fans yell. It’s all just a hum when I’m out there. Then, I come off for a shift change and bam, it hits.”
Zoey smiled. “I’m ridiculously relieved with the turnout. I feel like we’re always doing one charity thing or another. So, it’s nice to see a good turnout for yet another event. I didn’t want my only success to be the learn to skate program.”
His thumb brushed once against the small of her back. “You worked hard putting both of them together. I don’t think anyone expected you to do anything half-assed. I would have been surprised if this was a dud.”
Zoey chuckled and shook her head. She tilted her head back to look at him. “You have way too much faith in me. A lot of this was luck and good connections.”
“Nah. Success is a funny thing. What’s the saying? The harder you work, the luckier you get? This isn’t luck. It’s hard work paying off.”
Her lips twitched. “Of course, you would say that.”
Silence settled between them; not awkward, just full. Their bodies moved together in small, instinctive shifts, close enough now that she could feel the heat of him through her dress.
“Nina said you’re getting drinks next week,” Zoey said, aiming for casual and missing. “For work.”
His jaw ticked and his eyes darted back to the closed doors before rolling and landing back on Zoey’s. “If you call her hounding me while I’m drinking my daily pre-workout, yes.”
And, just like that, the world was back on its axis.
“Oh.” The relief made her feel almost giddy. She released a long exhale and let her body relax, bringing them closer, her chest brushing his. Zoey couldn’t stop the bubble of a small chuckle from escaping.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, then lifted again. “Did that bother you?”
The honesty in the question startled her. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “It felt…wrong.”
He nodded, as if that made sense. His hand tightened slightly at her back, anchoring her. “You are allowed to feel things. Even when they’re wrong.”
“Dangerous philosophy,” she murmured.
“Only if you remind yourself that they’re wrong and fix them later.”
“Yes, Jedi master. I’ll make sure…” Her voice trailed, and she swallowed, suddenly aware of how close she was. “…to keep my feelings in check.”
He smirked, that slow, crooked grin that made her heart trip over itself. “Good plan. But don’t choke on them.”
Zoey tilted her head, letting the tiniest laugh escape. “No worries, I’m a master actor now. No one would notice if I did.”
“I’d notice,” he softly claimed. For a heartbeat, the air between them crackled; warm, electric, and impossible to ignore.
She blinked, heat creeping up her neck. “That sounds like a threat.”
“Or a promise,” he murmured, letting the words hang just long enough to make her pulse skip.
Zoey became acutely aware of Ilya. The line of his jaw. The faint shadow of stubble. The way his breath slowed to match hers.
Was he always this handsome?
He was definitely always this calm and sagely. But did he always look at her with such admiration? Or was that new?
Her pulse kicked harder.
His gaze traced her face, lingering. His hand flexed against her back, fingers splaying, thumb pressing just enough to make her breath hitch.
Zoey stared into Ilya’s eyes, noting each of the various blues, the gentle arc of his brow and the scar through it, the way his hand rested at her waist, and how the other curled around her fingers.
This was how it was supposed to feel with a man. Not like she was his manager, but that she was treasured and admired. Something worthy and powerful. And wanted.
Impulse took over. She leaned up slowly, breath catching.
His gaze darkened, lips parting slightly, and for a moment, time seemed to pause.
Without thinking, she tilted her head and brushed her nose lightly against his.
His breath caught. He didn’t pull away. But he also didn’t close the distance.
Would he kiss her?
Did he want her to kiss him?
Zoey waited, her eyes taking in every feature up close as their heavy breaths mixed.
They stopped swaying completely. Frozen in time.
The moment stretched, tight and humming. One inch. That’s all it would take.
Her body wanted it. Badly. It felt like lightning shooting down her skin, hyper aware of every place they touched. And where she wanted to be touching.
She wanted this. Wanted him.
But… Maybe he didn’t.
Ilya wasn’t moving to kiss her. He was taking her in, up close, just like she was doing to him.
And then reality surged back in.