7. Bree
Chapter 7
Bree
I can’t believe he’s here. In the very same bar.
After running out of the hotel that morning over two weeks ago, I never thought I’d see him again. I hoped anyway. What were the odds? Literally millions of people visit Las Vegas every year. I would have thought mine were good for a city whose business is built on odds. Even knowing who he is, I could avoid running into him again, right?
Wrong.
Over breakfast, Kat told me about her date from the club, how well it went, and how they planned to see each other again. My chances of seeing Carter Hayes went up significantly because her guy is a friend of my guy. In fact, they share a house. With Mike. This all deduced after putting together all the pieces of the puzzle over pancakes and syrup.
And all three plays for the Las Vegas High Rollers.
So, of course I’ve seen Finn a time or two since at Kat’s. Thankfully, I’ve managed to avoid places where the team hangs out, and I’ve politely declined offers to go to Finn’s place with Kat. I haven’t been to a game, or any restaurants or bars.
Until now.
The club’s music vibrates through my heels, up my legs, and settles in the pit of my stomach where excitement and dread swirl together. Tonight is supposed to be about fun, about celebrating being another year older, if not wiser. And yet I’m back in the very same bar where memories of too much tequila and a very handsome man resulted in a one-night stand with a stranger, who turned out not to be so strange.
We’d just finished a round of colorful cocktails, as vibrant as the neon signs outside, when Finn appeared. Without even looking I instantly knew who that deep voice belonged to and where there was one, there’s...
I’ve never seen Kat move so quickly. Her eyes wide with shock; she squealed loud enough to break a few nearby eardrums before launching herself at Finn.
My eyes are locked on Finn’s friend. With my stomach clenching, I sit the beautiful bouquet of wildflowers and the bottle of wine he gave me on the table and follow Carter to the dance floor.
I don’t know what made me ask him to dance. Deep down, I must be a masochist because the moment I’m in his arms, memories from that one reckless night come rushing back. My pulse is racing like a horse in full gallop. He’s here, in the flesh, with the same brooding blue eyes and wavy brown hair. Big broad shoulders, flat stomach, and lots of muscle.
“Hey.” His voice is low, just for me, next to my ear as we sway to the music. His hand is warm on my lower back, and the other holds my hand, our fingers intertwined. I’m experiencing a sense of déjà vu.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he whispers.
My heart practically stops. I know it should have sunk to my toes, but instead, it leaps into my throat. “You have?”
He chuckles, and I feel the vibration in his chest where I’m pressed against him. “Yeah, I have. My game has sucked because you’ve been on my mind. A lot.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what more to say. I didn’t watch the games, but I heard through Kat that they lost two of their away games. He’s been on my mind, too, but I don’t want to admit that. I promised myself I’d stay away from players.
And yet, here I am.
His grip on me tightens, and I lean into him. I can smell his cologne, woodsmoke, and leather, and it’s more comforting than I want to admit.
He reaches up, his finger tracing along my jawline. “Don’t apologize, it’s a compliment.”
I huff. “I’m sure the other guys on the team wouldn’t consider it a compliment.”
“Fuck them,” he growls, the hint of possessiveness in his voice sending a shiver down my spine.
I try to laugh off his remark, hoping to ease the tension between us. The song ends, and another starts. We keep shifting from foot to foot, like we’re the only ones in the club, trapped in that one night all over again.
I’m trying to steady my racing heart when the atmosphere shifts, and a new wave of energy sweeps through the crowded club. I can almost sense his presence before I even see him. It’s a negative energy I know I’ve felt before but never recognized it for what it meant. I might have saved some heartache if I’d been paying attention.
“Jesus, it’s Matthews,” Finn, dancing with Kat nearby, is close enough to reach out and touch, but I didn’t know they were there until he spoke and startled me.
My gaze involuntarily snaps around, and there he is—my ex, with one woman under each arm. They’re both stunning in that glitzy, glossed-up way, hanging onto him like he’s the axis their world spins around. I stop moving and step away from Carter. I immediately notice the chill of not being pressed to his warm body, and I cross my arms around my middle.
“Bree?” I hear Carter’s questioning tone, but I’m not focused on him now. I lift my hand, and he stops.
My stomach churns, and I feel sick. Not at seeing Mike with his playthings. But because I once thought I wanted him in my life. How could I have been so wrong?
He’s got his head down as he says something to one girl and then swings to the other. But then he looks up, and his brown eyes lock with mine. They flash with something like surprise—or maybe guilt. He murmurs something to the women; their pouts are immediate and theatrical, but he peels away from them with practiced ease. His strides are confident as the crowd parts for him, and he approaches, his dark hair impeccably styled, that same cocky smirk playing on his lips—the one that used to make me weak in the knees—but now disgusts me.
“Didn’t expect to see you here, Brielle,” he says when standing in front of me, his voice smooth as a well-aged whiskey. He glances around us, his eyes popping up to the tiara on my head and the sash around my shoulders. “Happy Birthday.”
“Thanks,” I reply, my voice sounding hollow even to my ears. “Didn’t expect to see you either.” He’s close enough for me to catch the familiar scent of his musky cologne. A sensory memory that once signified safety. Instead, there’s a detached coolness. He leans in as though to hug me, but I take a step back.
“Didn’t mean to crash the party,” he recovers effortlessly, though he obviously doesn’t mean a word of it. “Had no idea this was your gig. But hey, looks like you’re doing just fine without me.”
The implication is evident in his tone, laced with arrogance. He thinks I’m still holding onto the ghost of us, pining for what’s long since turned to dust.
“Actually, I am,” I retort, summoning my pride and tucking it around me like armor. “Doing just fine, that is.”
“Sure,” he smirks, scrutinizing me with eyes that know too much of my history—if he even remembers what I’d told him. At the time, I thought we were getting to know one another, but now, as I think back, I was the one doing all the talking. He hardly paid attention. “You always did put on a good show.”
“Better than yours, apparently,” I shoot back, nodding pointedly at the two women he left stranded off to the side of the dance floor, both watching us with thinly veiled curiosity.
“Touché,” he says, the smirk never wavering. He’s infuriatingly attractive, and I hate that part of me reacts to it despite everything.
“Enjoy your night, Mike,” I say, dismissing him with a finality that feels more solid than anything I’ve felt in weeks.
“Will do.” He throws me one last look—a mix of challenge and something unreadable—before turning to saunter back to his dates.
“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.
“Come on, Bree.” Kat closes her fingers around my wrist with an urgency that pulls me away from Mike’s lingering arrogance. Her eyes are wide, a storm of apology brewing in their depths as she navigates us back to the table. “I swear, I had no clue they were back.”
“Really?” I ask, my voice lost amid the club’s thumping bass and chatter.
“God, no. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have?—”
“Wouldn’t have what? Invited Carter Hayes, my mysterious one-night stand, to crash my birthday bash?” The bitchy sarcasm stings, but it’s all I have to fend off the embarrassment clawing at my insides. My friend would have told me if she’d known Finn and Carter would show up.
“Wait.” Mike’s voice cuts through the noise as he spins around and stomps back to me, his hand wrapping around my other wrist. “Carter? Why the hell do you care about Carter?”
I wrench my arm from his grasp, heat flaring in my cheeks. “It’s none of your damn business, Mike.”
“Considering you’re my ex, and he’s my teammate, it kinda is,” he retorts, brows knitting together in a mix of confusion and something darker. “I thought you were through with hockey players?”
“Over you doesn’t mean over anyone else,” I bark back, the words sharper than I intend.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Mike’s eyes narrow, studying me like a play unfolding before him—one he’s not enjoying.
I change directions, taking another route to the table, but Mike follows. When I reach it, instead of dropping into one of the chairs, I lean on the table, eyes squeezed shut while I take a couple of deep breaths. My knuckles turn white when I’m gripping the edge of the wood. When I open my eyes, my gaze lands on the pretty flowers from Carter.
“Dammit, Brielle, what did you do with my teammate?” Mike towers over me, a dark cloud, his voice cutting through the haze, loud enough to turn heads.
“Nothing,” I shoot back, my voice steady despite the turmoil. “Carter and I...” I trail off, unable to finish the lie that we’re nothing, because we were something for one reckless night. Something secret and wild, and now... completely screwed up.
“Spit it out, Brielle,” Mike urges, his eyes dark pools of suspicion.
“Fine!” I snap, swirling around to face him. The word is like a gunshot, splintering the conversation bubble around us, letting everyone within ten yards, in a very noisy bar, hear every word. “Carter was my rebound, okay? Happy now?” The minute the words leave my mouth, I want to yank them back. Carter wasn’t a rebound. If I wanted a faceless rebound, I could have picked any number of men in the bar that night. Leaving the next morning wouldn’t have hurt so much. I wouldn’t have spent the last couple of weeks thinking about him, about what could have been.
Mike’s face hardens into a mask of disbelief. “You hooked up with Hayes?”
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss, glancing nervously at the onlookers I just became very much aware of. Some pretend to look away, but their interest is piqued, hungry for gossip.
“You’re the woman he couldn’t name? You’re the one he’s been all fucked up about?” He questions me like he either doesn’t believe me or he doesn’t think I can land a guy like Carter.
When I don’t respond, he huffs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Jesus, Bree. You know the rules. No messing with?—”
“Save the lecture,” I cut him off, anger flaring hot in my chest. “It was a mistake, alright? One I won’t repeat.” It’s a total lie. Spending the night with Carter may have been reckless, but I don’t regret it. I felt special in his arms. He said nice things to me and made me feel good. More memorable than Mike or any other man ever has.
I’m still speaking louder than I should, and my gaze flickers involuntarily toward where I’d left Carter standing, but he’s not there. Quickly scanning the room, I see his broad back disappearing through the crowd, heading down the exit, Finn hot on his heels.
The clamor of the club fades into a dull roar in my ears, every laugh and beat of the music an echo of the confusion, anger, and hurt twisting inside me. A knot forms in my stomach as I realize he probably heard every word of our exchange.
“Damn right, you won’t.” Mike’s tone is icy, his words a warning. It pulls me instantly back to the conversation.
“Are you really going to make this about you?” My voice rises, a mix of hurt and frustration bubbling up. “On my birthday, no less? This has nothing to do with you, Mike. We’re done. And based on your track record with women, I’m guessing we were probably done before we even started. I was just too oblivious to know it.”
“Shit, Bree.” Mike’s features soften slightly, a reluctant apology forming on his lips. “I didn’t mean?—”
“Whatever.” I turn away from him, signaling a waitress for another drink. “Just forget it.”
“Can’t exactly do that, can I?” he mutters, but I’m done listening, done with the drama.
“Happy fucking birthday to me,” I murmur under my breath, raising the glass that arrives in a silent toast to no one in particular. Maybe I can just drown the rest of the night in liquid amnesia. Seems to be a pattern of mine.
“Look—”
“Back off, Mike,” Kat interjects, stepping between us with a protective fierceness. “This is her night, not yours. Not the team’s.”
“Fine.” He holds up his hands in surrender, but there’s a challenge still sparking in his eyes. “But we’re not done with this conversation, Bree.” I presume he turns on his heel and searches for his bunnies. I don’t really care.
“Like hell we’re not,” I mutter once he’s out of earshot, my heart racing for all the wrong reasons. “Thanks, Kat.”
“Anytime.” She squeezes my shoulder, her expression solemn. “Happy birthday, huh?”
“Best one yet,” I say with a forced smile, watching the colorful lights dance across the faces of all the strangers who witnessed that whole interaction. I hope they enjoyed the show.