Chapter 5
Vanessa: Nine years ago
five
. . .
The guy next to me is cute, and as his teammates have pointed out multiple times, he’s single. Bex, sitting beside me, was quick to offer up my own relationship status, too.
I went out on a date with the hockey player from my biology class. ONE date. That’s all it was. So what if he kissed me after?
It’s been six weeks and he hasn’t called me, and I haven’t called him, so we’re just… nothing.
This guy, though… he could get it.
The man beside me is tall and broad, which makes sense if he’s a hockey player. I guess I really do have a type, after all. His strong jaw and sharp cheekbones hint to Viking ancestry, and his long blond hair is loose to his shoulders, though it was tied back when we sat down an hour ago. His green eyes are sharp and clear. He had a glass of champagne at the toast and has been nursing a singular glass of red wine since.
Fuck. Is he even old enough to drink?
Technically, I’m not either, though it hasn’t exactly stopped me tonight. The girls have been bringing me and Bex drinks all night, and if the bartender hasn’t cottoned on, I’m not about to tattle.
Kate is a gorgeous bride, and Alex is clearly smitten. They’re the first of my friends to get married. She was the lacrosse team captain last year and really took me under her wing; she was my Big Sister, mentoring me in far more than strategy.
Alex joined the NHL last spring after Michigan won the championship, and now he’s playing hockey in the big leagues. He invited the entire team to the wedding.
Which I guess is how this guy is here. I don’t know his name. He said it earlier, but I didn’t catch it. I was too busy catching my melting panties.
His accent. Fuck, is it hot.
The DJ has played five upbeat pop songs in a row. When a new song mixes in, I set my hand on the guy’s arm, and his strong forearm flexes.
Slowly, he swivels his head in my direction.
“Would you like to dance?” I ask.
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and I have the weirdest urge to lick it. Lick him.
Lick him everywhere.
Pressing my knees together, I squeeze my thighs to redirect my attention away from the pulsing between my legs. It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten laid. Too long.
“Dance?” he asks in that panty-incinerating accent.
“Yeah. Do you want to dance?”
“With you?” His eyes go wide.
Why does he sound so surprised?
I can’t deny that stings. With a huff, I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.
“Yeah, with me.”
He swallows again, and I realize the entire table has fallen silent, watching us.
“Come on, man,” says one of the guys. “Just do it.”
“It’ll be good for you,” chimes in another hockey player. “Put some hair on your chest.”
“Fuck off,” he mutters, scowling at his teammate. “Fine. Yes. Let’s dance.”
Pushing back my chair, I rise to my feet and let the crepe fabric of my skirt fall to the floor. It’s a gorgeous dress; a dark plum purple halter, an exposed back, and a soft, delicate skirt that makes me feel like a ballerina. My long blonde hair is tied up into a French twist, a few strands of curls hanging free to give the style a tousled look. I look fucking hot and I know it.
I’m tall, and with my heels, I’m even taller. This guy, though? He stands about six foot three, and his dark blue three-piece suit is fucking stellar, and when he comes to stand beside me, I get the faintest whiff of crisp, clean cologne and a hint of musk that sends all my senses into overdrive.
His warm palm lands on the small of my back, and I flinch. He pulls his hand away.
The dance floor is crowded with people bopping along to the 90s jams the DJ has been blasting. I see a few people giving us curious looks as I lead him to an empty patch of the dance floor.
Shaking and shimmying to the music, I let my body loosen to the last verse of the song as he stands stiffly beside me.
He looks uncomfortable, like he’d rather be anywhere else on the fucking planet than here with me.
And normally, I’d let that bother me.
But this is just a dance, this is just one night out of my life, and if I never see him again, it’s not a big deal. He’s hot, sure, but it’s not like I’m gonna marry the guy or anything.
The song transitions to a slower melody. Before I can think too much about it, I place my hand on his shoulder and he sets a hand on my waist.
“I’ve never done this before,” he murmurs, pulling me close.
“Done what? Slow danced?”
His soft exhale draws me in.
“I’ve never held a beautiful woman in my arms and wished she could be mine.”
With a scoff, I pull back. “You?—”
He moves his hands to my hips, putting a polite distance between us. “You are beautiful,” he says in perfect English with the crispest tinge to his words. “I know you can’t be mine.”
“Why not?” I look up at him.
There’s a freckle on the end of his nose. I want to kiss it.
I’ve forgotten why this can’t work.
“Because I’ve never been lucky enough to have my dreams come true,” he says, his eyes meeting mine.
He’s serious.
What the hell?
“You play in the National Hockey League. You’re—you’re living the dream!”
He shrugs. “Hockey was a goal. Something I could work hard to attain. Something measurable. You would be a dream, and I'd never be able to work hard enough to get you... much less keep you.”
I blink at him a few times, wondering where in the actual hell this guy came from. “Again… you’re in the fucking NHL. I bet you wouldn’t have to work a single day for the girls throwing their panties at you.” Fuck knows I’d be first in line to throw my own.
“I don’t want girls,” he says, with a slight sneer.
“Guys? Hey, I’m cool with that.”
His fingers slide inward, meeting in the small of my back as he turns me.
“No, not guys. I don’t want girls. I want a woman. One woman.”
Playing coy, I run my hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Who? Maybe I could introduce you.”
His eyes meet mine. “You.”
With a forceful tug, I drag him down to my level and kiss him roughly. His soft lips collide with mine using a little too much force, and his teeth crash into mine with an uncomfortable clack.
Reeling back, I pull away.
This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be doing this.
He moves his hand to my face, cupping my cheek as his eyes search mine.
Finally, blessedly, he brings his mouth to mine, gentle now as his lips brush against my own.
I’m glad we got that bad crash out of the way, because now there’s nothing stopping this from being the sweetest, most perfect kiss that ever was.
I’m floating on a cloud of air, lost in a sea of possibility and wonder. My stomach jumps with butterflies, my skin feels all tingly, and I swear I’m blushing.
This guy… I don’t even know his name, but I already know I’m quite smitten.
His thumb strokes my cheek, and he looks down at me. His lips part, his eyes wide.
“Wow,” he breathes.
Oh, he’s pressing all of my pleasure buttons.
Metaphorically, I mean. Not literally.
Although… he could.
“You want to get out of here?” I murmur.
He gulps.
I tiptoe my fingers down his sternum. “Maybe…”
“Yeah?” His voice cracks.
“We can get to know each other a little better,” I whisper. My eyes flick up to his. “Clothing is optional.”