Chapter 18
KELLER
“May I have this dance?”
“No.”
“What? Come on! Just dance with me!”
“No.”
“Please? Please, please, please?”
“I swear to fuck, Lawsy, if you don’t walk away from me in the next five seconds, I will break your kneecap, and you’ll be the next member of the Seattle Serpents who misses playoffs.”
“Pfft. You would never do that. You love me, even if you won’t admit it. You—hey, hey, hey!” he says as I push out of my chair and move toward him. He holds his hands up and backs away slowly. “I was kidding, I was kidding. Mercy!”
He looks over at Chloe like he’s looking for help, and I step into his line of vision.
He laughs. “Oh, jealous Keller is a fun Keller.”
“Get lost, Lawson.”
“Fine. But only because I spy Rory, and I’d much rather dance with her than you.”
“That’s a lie,” Fox says into the water he’s been sipping on all night. I think most of the players here are doing the same thing. We might be on break, but nobody is risking everything we’ve worked so hard for with a hangover.
“It is not!” Lawson looks at me. “Okay, so maybe I do want to dance with you, but only because I bet you’re secretly really good at it.”
“He is,” Chloe says, and I shoot her a dark look as I settle back down beside her. She laughs and shrugs. “Sorry, but it’s true. Remember our honeymoon?”
Between school and hockey, we weren’t able to take a trip until our fifth wedding anniversary, but fuck, it was worth the wait. And I don’t just mean because of the lounge chair we broke when she rode my cock.
No, it was the dance we had at sunset, in a little secluded spot I found one afternoon while she was taking a nap.
I wrapped her tight in my arms and kissed her, and we swayed back and forth for what felt like hours.
We didn’t take it any further, and I don’t think we even fucked that night, but it was easily my favorite of the trip.
Before I can respond, Hutch says, “Fuck, I can’t wait for our honeymoon.”
With the season resuming in just three days, it’s no surprise the newlyweds are waiting until later this summer to celebrate their nuptials.
I always wondered what made them want to get married in the middle of the season, but Hutch just kept saying it had to happen because, when he won the Cup for the first time, he wanted to hand it to his wife.
He’s that convinced it’ll be ours this year.
“I can’t either. Where are we going again?”
Hutch glowers at Lawson. “We are not going anywhere. My wife and I are going to Barbados.”
My lips twitch at the two words he’s uttered at least fifty times tonight since they said I do. I get it, though. After Chloe and I got married, I couldn’t stop saying wife because I couldn’t believe it had happened. In a lot of ways, I still can’t believe it.
“Boo,” Lawson says, jutting out his bottom lip. “I was going to invite you to mine, bro.”
Hutch sneers. “We are not brothers. Go find Rory or something.”
“I’m going, I’m going…bro.”
And that’s how Hutch ends up chasing his own groomsman through the reception hall.
“What the hell!” Lilah shrieks, kicking off her heels and chasing after them, likely trying to stop Hutch from committing murder and leaving his new wife without a husband.
“They’d better watch out. She’s fast,” Fox remarks, grinning after his girl.
It’s strange because it doesn’t feel like we’re at a wedding at all. Sure, we’re all dressed up, and there are several people I’ve never seen before in my life, but it’s almost like we’re just sitting at Top Shelf, having a few drinks, and shooting the breeze.
It’s still miles better than the reception Chloe and I had. Our parents—mostly hers—were still upset about the wedding, and her mother sat at their table all night, pouting. It was already done, though. We were married, and that was all that mattered to me.
It’s still all that matters. I lay my hand on her thigh, almost like I need the reminder that she’s here, and she puts her palm on top of it without breaking conversation with Quinn.
I was right—Chloe looks gorgeous in her dress.
It’s floor-length, satiny copper, and fucking stunning with her dark red hair swept up in an elegant bun.
Her makeup is heavier than usual, but it doesn’t make her any less beautiful.
Actually, it makes me want to take her by the hand and lead her into a dark closet where I can have my way with her.
I squeeze her thigh, and she returns the gesture, still locked in conversation.
I have no idea what they’re gabbing about, but I’m glad she has someone to talk to.
She was different the other night after coming home from dress shopping, and I can’t quite place my finger on what it is, but I’m guessing it has a lot to do with “the girls,” as she called them.
I’m happy she’s finally found friends outside of Talia. No offense to her, of course, but I always hoped Chloe would find someone closer than Tennessee. I always had my teammates for connection, but who did she have besides me?
The tempo of the music slows down, and the deejay comes over the PA system.
“All right, guys, gals, and pals. It’s time to invite all the couples on the floor.
We have a special request from—hang on, I want to make sure I’m reading this right.
” He squints at the napkin in his hand. “Looks like it’s from Lawless.
He says this one is for Cal. You know who you are, with a heart drawn on it.
So, Cal, if you’re still out there, this one is for you! ”
I groan, tossing my head back as the chords of “At Last” by Etta James flow through the speakers.
“I hate him.”
Chloe laughs from beside me. “You wish you did.”
“No wishing, Clover. It’s true.”
She presses her lips to my cheek. “Liar. Now, are you going to ask me to dance or not?”
I quirk a brow at her. “Do you want to?”
We’ve been to many weddings over the years, being on so many different teams with guys in various stages of life, so this isn’t our first reception together.
As such, I can perfectly recall how I always had to coax her to dance, and most of the time we’d end up just sitting in one spot all night, never once setting foot on the floor.
She lifts a shoulder. “Yeah, why not?”
“How many white wines have you had, and what have you done with my wife?”
A giggle bubbles out of her. “Only two, and you know it takes far more than that to get me drunk. Let’s dance, loverboy.”
I grin at the nickname, then rise to my feet and hold my hand out to her. “May I?”
She grins as she slips her palm against mine, and I sweep her away from the table just as Hayes does the same with Quinn.
I wrap Chloe in my arms, looking around to find that all the Serpents Singles are out here.
It’s funny to think we ever made that little promise in the first place.
Funny that I did, especially since I was well aware that love doesn’t always wait.
Sometimes it finds you in the least likely of all places, like a creative writing course you were wrongly assigned to and had to fight to stay in after the error was discovered.
“I forgot how good a dancer you are,” Chloe says, her fingers tangling in the ends of my hair, which I cut just for this occasion. “Remind me to thank your mother again for forcing you into those lessons.”
My parents were pleased when I told them Chloe was moving in with me, even though I have no idea how permanent it really is. All they wanted to know was if I’m happy, and when I told them yes, they didn’t care beyond that. They still love her just as much as I do.
“She misses you, you know.” I brush a hair out of her face, then put my hand back on her hip. “You should call her.”
“She’s not…mad at me?”
“What? No. Why would she be mad?”
“Because…I left you.”
Her words are like a punch to the gut, even though I’ve been telling myself I’m over it.
I’m not, and I don’t know if I ever will be.
Even so, the last thing I want to do is ruin this dance by digging into the past, so I pull her closer, letting her fall against me as I bury my face in her neck and inhale her floral perfume.
“No, Clover,” I say after the next verse of the song. “She’s not mad at you, and I’m not either.”
I feel her sigh rather than hear it and hold her tighter. It’s a mistake, because even though we’re in the middle of a crowded room, having her pressed against me, swaying like she is, is sending my body all the wrong signals, and I’m soon popping that boner Lawson screamed about days ago.
Chloe notices.
“Is that…” she asks, pulling back and looking down.
I grab her chin, forcing her eyes back to mine. “Yes, but don’t look at it.”
Her nostrils flare, and her brown eyes look nearly black. “But what if I want to?”
It’s a statement that shouldn’t do a damn thing to me but does.
Without another word, I grab her hand and push through the crowd of couples.
A few people give us weird looks—and some knowing ones—but I ignore it all, trying to get as far away from prying eyes as possible.
We hit the hallway, and I look left, then right, but there are people everywhere.
Fuck, how many people did they invite to this damn wedding?
I usher Chloe past them, giving a nod to Poldzkin, who is rocking a brace on his knee, his crutches leaning against the chair he’s sat in. We turn a corner to find several doors, and I know one of them has to lead to somewhere secluded.
Perfect.
I try the first. Nothing. I grab the handle for the second, and it’s locked too.
“Motherfucker.” I gnash my teeth. “Do none of these doors open?”
“Try that one.”
She points to one farther down the hall, and we race toward it. It opens.
“Callum, are you sure we should—”
I cut off her words with my lips as I pull her inside, and she doesn’t seem to mind, sinking against me and wrapping her arms around my neck. Because yes, I am sure. I am so fucking beyond sure that my cock is quite literally leaking inside the damn tuxedo pants Hutch had us all wear.