Chapter 1 #2
“Well, good thing I’m here for more than one night,” I say. “Because look who just became available for dinner.” I nudge Sandie toward Dale.
“You’re available?” Dale asks, his expression morphing into utter joy.
“Uh.” Sandie glances in my direction, then holds up her finger toward Dale. “Give us a moment.” She tugs me a few feet away, and with her back toward Dale, she says, “This night was supposed to be about you and me.”
“It was, but now it’s about you and Dale.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t ditch you.”
“You’re not ditching me when I’m telling you to go. Seriously, Sandie, I’m here another night. We can catch up all day tomorrow and go to the drag show tomorrow night.”
She bites on the corner of her mouth and looks over her shoulder at Dale, who now has his hands in his pockets as he waits for us. When she turns back around, she says, “I feel guilty.”
“Don’t. I can see how excited you are to see him, and it’s been a while. You look . . . happy around him.”
“I am,” she says softly. “We sort of lost touch when he moved, but seeing him now, it almost feels like we were meant to run into each other.”
“Perfect, then go have fun, and we’ll hang out tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?” She winces.
“I promise, I’m good. Go have fun.”
She gives it some thought, then reaches out and pulls me into a hug. “You’re the best friend ever.”
“How does that taste?” the bartender asks me as he leans against the edge of the bar, his arms propping him up.
I take a sip of my dry martini and let the liquid roll across my tastebuds before I swallow. Pleased, I smile up at the bartender. “Perfect.”
His eyes momentarily drop to my exposed cleavage before lifting back up to my eyes. “On the house,” he says before tapping the bar top and moving toward the end to help another customer.
I should be disgusted with his blatant perusal and offer of a free drink, but it’s a pretty good martini. If I’ve learned anything by my fourth year of college, it’s to take a free drink from the bartender when you can.
I spin around on my chair and find Sandie in the corner with Dale.
They’re both laughing, and her hand is precariously perched on his thigh.
I smile over the rim of my glass, excited to see the start of something new.
She used to talk about Dale a lot, so her hanging out with him tonight doesn’t bother me in the slightest. It actually makes me excited about the possibilities of what tonight could be the start of.
Maybe a fragrant love affair.
Or the beginning of a lifelong coupling.
Or perhaps a rowdy night in the sheets.
Either way, I’m here for it.
“Is this seat taken?” a deep voice asks, startling me away from staring at my friend.
I glance to my right and come face to face with a gorgeous set of greenish-gold eyes framed by dark bushy brows and nearly black lashes. I lean back ever so slightly as I take in the rest of his face.
Strong, carved jaw sprinkled with a coarse five o’clock shadow.
Distinctive cheekbones that are not too pronounced but high enough to offer this man some heavenly bone structure.
A thick head of soft brown hair with a singular curl that falls over his forehead.
And a pair of lips just full enough to entice anyone to beg for a make out session.
He . . . is . . . hot.
And I know how hot because I’ve stared at this face many times while visiting my dad in his office at the Agitators arena. This face has been in my fantasies a time or two.
It’s none other than Levi Posey, the star defenseman for my dad’s hockey team.
And because I’ve had some pretty naughty thoughts about this man, there is no reason I should be denying him the seat next to me.
None at all.
I cross one leg over the other, wishing I hadn’t gone with pants tonight but rather a mini skirt that would show off the definition in my legs from all those nights I’ve spent on a Pilates reformer.
“That seat is all yours,” I say before lifting my glass to my lips and taking a soft sip while keeping my eyes on him.
He glances down at my drink, then back up to my eyes. “Dirty martini?” he asks.
“Good guess,” I reply, keeping it casual.
He gains the bartender’s attention with a concise flick of his hand. “Your finest water.”
Of course he orders a water. He might be one of the toughest players on the ice with a terrifying right hook that has knocked out quite a few opponents, and he might also be known as the biggest player on the team, but he’s also a rule follower.
Therefore, as it’s the night before a game . . . he’s not drinking.
“Water, huh?” I ask, not wanting to give away that I recognize him. “Really living on the edge.”
“I am,” he says. “Severely dehydrated. If the clock strikes twelve without me replenishing my body’s fluids, I very well might turn into dust.”
“Sounds like a Cinderella knockoff story to me,” I reply.
“But instead of a glass slipper falling off, it’s a jockstrap that no one can fit in besides me.” He says that with such pride beaming from ear to ear, I nearly crack a smile, but I hold strong. Can’t give away my excitement over sitting next to him just yet.
“Jockstrap?” I ask. “That’s an interesting item to choose over something like . . . I don’t know, a dress shoe.”
“That’s because I wear jockstraps,” he says.
“For fun?” I ask, feigning confusion.
His brow draws together.
Oh dear me, is the famous hockey player not used to people not recognizing him?
Hilarious.
“No, not for fun,” he says. “I play hockey.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” I reply. “In like a middle-aged men’s league?”
“Middle-aged?” he nearly shouts as his water is set in front of him. He doesn’t even bother looking at it as he stares me down with vicious eyes. “Thirty-one is nowhere near middle-aged, thank you very much. And I play professionally.”
I’ve always heard about Levi Posey being the funniest, the most sensitive, almost like the golden retriever everyone wants in a man, but with a reputation for sleeping around and standing up for his teammates out on the ice.
From the minute of conversation we’ve had, every aspect of that reputation is true.
“Oh, that’s cool. Professional hockey, is that usually your pickup line? That you play professional hockey? Bet you look for women to line up at your feet when you mention that.”
“No,” he says with a slight lift of his chin while he reaches for his water. “I have a different pickup line.”
“Uh-huh, and what would that be?”
“Why would I tell you my pickup line? I’m not even sure I want you to hear it. It’s pretty strong. I don’t need you getting all clingy on me when I’m still assessing you.”
“Assessing me?” I ask, amused by his honesty.
“Yes,” he replies. “Who’s to say that I would even want you?”
I analyze him for a moment. “From the way your gaze is straining to stay north, I’m pretty sure there’s some want coming from your end.”
“Straining seems like an intense way to put it.”
“Because your eyes are twitching. Go ahead, just take a look. I know you want to.”
“I’m better than that.”
I chuckle. “You are, are you? So if I were to, I don’t know, drag my hand down the center of my chest, you wouldn’t follow it?”
“Nope,” he says, leaning back and taking a sip of his drink. “I’m not that easy. I like a challenge, and that shirt challenged me from a mile away.”
“Is that why you came over here?”
“I came over here because I was thirsty.”
“Thirsty for what?” I ask with a smirk as I lean toward him. “Water . . . or something else?”
He casually wets his lips, and it is single-handedly one of the sexiest things I’ve ever witnessed.
“Maybe a little bit of both.” He holds his hand out to me. “I’m Levi.”
I take his hand, sliding our palms together and reveling in the feel of how large his hand is compared to mine. A hand that I know handles a hockey stick with precision and grace. A hand that so easily can switch from playing a sport to creating a bloodbath on the ice.
“Nice to meet you, Levi,” I answer, then pull away before I find myself running the tips of my fingers over his wrist. It’s a seduction technique I’ve used plenty of times.
“And you are?” he asks, dragging it out.
“Unavailable,” I say before taking another sip of my drink.
His brow falls. “Unavailable as in . . . you have a boyfriend, girlfriend, married?”
“Unavailable for someone like you.”
“Someone like me?” he asks, sitting taller while pointing at his chest. I can see the spark in his eye, the feeling of being challenged once again pulsing through his veins, hence why I told him I was unavailable.
Nothing like spoon-feeding a man in order to get him to fall right where I want him . . . in my bed.
Because, oh my God, a night with Levi Posey would be a dream come true.
“Yes, someone like you.”
He fully faces me now so our knees knock together. “And what is so wrong with someone like me?”
“For one, you’re drinking water at a bar, which means you’re here for one thing and one thing only, to pick up a girl.
Second, you refuse to look at my cleavage even though I know you want to.
If you were a more confident man, you would have stolen at least three glances by now.
And third, you’re far too good-looking.”