Chapter 11
HANNAH
Her name is Diane. She’s in Vegas on business and out tonight with coworkers.
From far away she looked quiet and reserved.
However, within thirty seconds she’s taken over the conversation and told us most of her life story.
Intense? Yes. But the good news is that she’s pulled Conrad into a conversation and he’s responding with more than two words at a time. Not a lot more, but more.
“How?” Travis whispers. His eyes are wide and he’s smiling like I’ve performed open-heart surgery instead of helped his friend talk to a woman.
My skin prickles under his obvious awestruck gaze. I glance away, ensuring Diane and Shep are still in conversation and then take one small step back. Travis does the same.
“I’m so impressed.” His tone would have told me that even if his words hadn’t.
“So sure I’d fail, huh?”
He shakes his head like he still can’t believe it. “I don’t know what you did or how you did it but thank you.”
“It was nothing. He seems like a good guy and well…”
“He’s hot?” Travis asks, grinning.
“Seriously hot.” That’s probably a lot of the problem. Conrad is so stunningly good-looking, he’s intimidating. And his quiet demeanor makes it worse.
Travis chuckles. “But he doesn’t have my charm.”
“Or humility.”
That stupid smile of his widens. We’re quiet, staring at each other for a beat, before I turn back to make sure Conrad hasn’t clammed up. He’s leaning forward, talking closer to Diane’s ear. Several other women have noticed him now and are waiting for an opening to talk to him.
“Now that he’s occupied, I’m all yours,” Travis says. His arm brushes against mine as he lifts his drink to his mouth.
“Lucky me.” I side-eye him with a laugh.
He motions with his head, and I follow him back to the table. Everyone else is still gone, dancing or talking. It’s just us.
“Seriously, thank you,” Travis says as he pours more champagne into my glass. “I guess I am a bad wingman.”
His brows pinch together as if he’s only now seriously considering the possibility it’s his fault, and I get the feeling he doesn’t like being bad at anything.
“Or maybe you just hadn’t found him the right woman.” I’m not sure what prompts me to minimize my actions to make him feel better, but he seems to know exactly what I’m doing.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Hannah Banana.”
“What did you just call me?” Another laugh leaves my lips in a burst of surprise.
His dark eyes sparkle with delight. “I haven’t found the perfect nickname for you yet.”
“Oh?” My brows lift.
“Nothing seems right.” His gaze narrows on me, and a shiver works its way down my spine. “It’ll come to me.”
I pull my gaze from him and let out a small breath as I scan the club.
Everywhere I look people are having fun—smiling, laughing, I even spot a few making out.
I was hesitant to come this weekend and even still more reserved in making the most of the Vegas nightlife, but sitting here right now with Travis of all people, I feel like I made the right choice.
“I needed this,” I say, more to myself than to him.
He tops off his glass as well and then leans back against the plush, high-back seat. “Yeah?”
I nod. “I almost didn’t come.”
“That would have been a shame.”
“Because you couldn’t have followed me here?” I ask, batting my lashes at him.
“Mhmm. And you didn’t make it easy on me. Do you know how tricky it was to track down your flight information and figure out what hotel you were at, then get myself here at the exact time you showed up.” He sighs. “It was hard work and quite a pain to rearrange my entire schedule. I’m exhausted.”
“Smart-ass.”
His lips purse and then slowly part in a smile. “I didn’t follow you, but I am glad you’re here.”
I am too.
“Why didn’t you want to come?” he asks me.
I run a finger along the edge of my glass. “Lack of money, the guilt of taking the weekend off from training, I didn’t want to be the third wheel…take your pick.”
“Okay, then why did you?”
That question is harder to answer.
“I don’t know. I guess I wanted to let loose, relax, forget about gymnastics and everything else for a night.” And maybe I wanted to celebrate, even knowing it’s only one small victory.
“Then let’s do that.”
“What?”
“All of the above,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing. “Let’s kick back and party. Screw everything outside of these walls.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Yeah.” He bobs his head—part agreement and part excitement.
“I can’t remember the last time I partied all night long. Or stayed up all night.”
“You’re in luck then because I am fantastic at both partying and staying up all night.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
He keeps right on grinning at me. “Is that a yes? Are we doing this?”
I think he’s more excited about the prospect than I am, but I have to admit, I’m feeling more anticipation than I have all night.
“Let’s do it.”
“Yes!” He clenches one hand into a fist and then leans forward, rubbing both palms together.
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“Only if it’s a really great night.” He winks, then his expression gets more serious. “What do you want to do? Shots? Dancing? Gambling? Kissing? All of the above?”
His gaze drops to my mouth and my face heats.
“I like dancing.” The other things sound fun too, but I might need to take baby steps.
Travis drains his champagne in one, long gulp, his stare never leaving me. When he’s finished, he sets the glass down, gets up from the table and holds a hand out to me. “Show me your moves, Han.” He grimaces at the nickname, then tries a couple more. “Hannie. Nannie.”
He shakes his head, seemingly displeased with all of them. “It’ll come to me.”
Over the next hour, that’s exactly what I do. He finds Kinsley and Skylar, still in the center of the dance floor. Kinsley squeals with delight as Travis twirls me around beside her. He makes me feel nervous but not insecure. Quite the opposite, actually. I feel incredibly free to just be myself.
I’m not surprised in the least to discover he’s a good dancer, too.
But he takes his cues from me. He doesn’t try to grind up on me like so many guys do, and when Kinsley pulls me in with her and Skylar, he hangs back, still smiling, giving me space to have fun with my friends but not leaving either.
And he has plenty of opportunity. He’s a magnet for women.
I don’t know if it’s his whole tall, dark hair, handsome face or his dancing or just the air of charm and confidence about him, but Travis could have any woman he wanted in this club.
The fact that he doesn’t seem to have eyes for anyone but me is a heady feeling.
When my feet hurt and my scalp pricks with sweat, I fan myself and yell, “I need another drink!”
Without any hesitation, he agrees by wrapping his long fingers around my wrist and leading me through the crowd, which has multiplied since we’ve been out here, back to the table.
“More champagne?” he asks, holding up the bottle. It’s nearly empty. “It’s your night. You should have the last glass.”
How can I say no to that? I nod and he fills me up. He pours himself scotch and then drapes one arm around the back of the booth and angles his body toward me.
“You were great out there. Not that I’m surprised,” he says. “I’ve seen your floor routine.”
“You have?!”
“Oh, yeah. I looked you up. I’m one of many thousand people now following you on social media. I watched all your content. We’re talking years. Loved the bangs in 2020 by the way.”
My jaw drops.
“That thing you do, jumping and doing the splits in the air—”
“A split leap?”
“And all those cartwheels and flips you do across the mat.” With the hand resting against the booth, he motions with one hand in a circular motion.
“Tumbling passes,” I correct him.
“It was all…” He gazes forward with a dreamy look on his face. “Very impressive.”
It’s ridiculous but it makes me blush.
“Floor isn’t even my best routine.” I take a sip of the champagne and find I’ve already somehow drained the glass.
Travis slides his in front of me. “What is?”
“Bars.”
“Your favorite too?”
I nod. Ever since the first time I flipped over the low bar in my beginner gymnastics class, I was hooked.
“You look damn good up there in your little leotard and chalk-covered hands.”
“The chalk on my hands is not sexy.” I laugh at the idea.
“Hell yeah, it is.”
The server stops by the table and Travis orders more drinks, saving me from hearing more about the sexiness of my chalk-covered hands. That’s a first.
“What got you into the sport?” he asks when she’s gone.
“My sister, actually. She begged our parents to sign her up for a class. Then she became completely obsessed and would do it around the house.” I can picture us in the basement of our old house, the mismatched furniture and wood paneling walls.
And Wren and I practicing cartwheels on a small blue mat.
“I was already ten, which is ancient by gymnast standards. Most start at three or four and begin competing shortly after. But I loved it from the start, and I moved up levels pretty quickly.”
“Does she still train too?”
“No.” I laugh. “Wren never sticks with anything very long. She bounces from hobby to hobby faster than anyone I know. She quit not long after I joined. I think she secretly hated having her big sister crashing her new, fun thing.”
“You’re the oldest?”
“Five years older.”
“That would make her…” He thinks for only a second. “Eighteen?”
“That’s right.”
The server returns with our drinks, including a tray of shots filled with a light pink liquid.
It reminds me that I haven’t tried Travis’s drink yet.
I lift the glass to my lips. He follows the movement, stare locked onto my lips as I tip the glass and let the dark liquor pour onto my tongue.
It’s smoother than I expected, but still strong, and it burns as I swallow. Coughing, I push it back toward him.
He slides one of the pink shots my way.
“What is it?”
“Pink kamikaze.”
I sniff it. “It smells like lemonade.”