3. Chapter 3 #2
“Good evening,” she says smoothly. “Name, please?”
“Jessica Brooks,” I manage. My voice almost doesn’t shake.
Her eyes flick down to the list, then up again with a smile, warmer than I expected. “Welcome, Ms. Brooks. You’re at Table One.”
“Thank you.” I return the smile, already taking a small step toward the entrance. Halfway past her, the nerves that have been chewing at my stomach snap. I whirl back. “Sorry, where exactly… um, am I going?”
“Straight through the lobby, second door on your right. The ballroom’s open seating until the program starts.” She glances over my dress again, tone softening. “And if I may say, that gown is stunning.”
Her compliment is like an anchor, taking me by surprise. “Thank you. I made it myself.” My smile becomes real.
Her brows lift, impressed. “That makes it even more stunning.”
That carries me.
I follow the faint sound of music and chatter down the corridor, each step lighter. The closer I get, the louder it grows—clinking glasses, low laughter, the hum of money and fame.
When I step into the ballroom, it’s like stepping into another world. Gold light spills over a sea of people in tuxedos and gowns. Waiters weave through the crowd with trays of champagne.
I can feel eyes turning. Women glance over their shoulders, some with curiosity. A few even whisper to each other, pointing discreetly at my dress. One woman gives me a warm smile and nods, silently complimenting me. I return the smile; my nerves subside just a bit.
But under the cocktail of emotions, there’s that same reckless thrill. Because somewhere in this sea of power and polish, he’s here.
“Jessica!” I startle at the sound of my name.
A woman is weaving through the crowd with the speed and authority of someone who runs the whole damn city. Petite, sharp-featured, brunette bob, clipboard in one hand, headset wire tucked behind her ear.
“Jessica Brooks?” she says again, smiling as she stops in front of me, breathless but bright. “I’m Tinnie, media and PR for the Blazers.”
Her handshake is firm. She’s already scanning me from head to toe as she speaks. “I’m so glad you made it. And wow, that dress…” She whistles softly. “You designed this, didn’t you?”
“Guilty.” My cheeks warm.
“It’s incredible,” she says sincerely, then glances over her shoulder, scanning the room like she’s tracking an incoming meteor. “God, where is… ”
I blink, automatically following her gaze. Are we looking for someone?
Before I can ask, a man appears through the crowd. Tall, broad, beige suit, shoulders too wide for the seams trying to contain them.
Tinnie lights up. “Addams!” she calls, waving him over. “Perfect timing.”
He grins and strides toward us, exuding easy, natural confidence.
“Addams, this is Jessica,” Tinnie says quickly, gesturing between us. “Jessica, Addams.”
He extends his hand. His grip is steady, his smile disarming. “Hey there. It’s nice to finally meet the woman who broke the internet.”
“I’m… trying not to think about that.” I laugh nervously.
“Good call.” His grin deepens. “If you start reading comments, you’ll need tequila and therapy.”
Tinnie is already checking her watch, half-turning away. “Addams, can you take her to Table One, please?” She leans toward him, “Make sure she’s sitting next to Dominic.”
My breath catches, and my stomach flips. He’s here .
“Yes, ma’am.” He offers his arm. “Shall we?”
I hesitate only a second before slipping my hand onto his elbow. Butterflies riot in my stomach.
“So… you’re part of the team?” I ask as we weave through the glittering crowd.
“Yep. Left winger.”
I nod slowly, pretending I understand. “That sounds… important?”
“Depends who you ask.” He chuckles. “Basically, I’m the guy who tries to score while not getting decapitated by angry men on skates.”
Something in his good-natured tone settles me, just a little.
“Glamorous.”
“Oh, totally.” He grins. “Nothing says glamour like missing teeth and smelling like an armpit for six months out of the year.”
A laugh bursts out of me as we walk, but it slowly dies in my throat as my skin prickles.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up like static.
My eyes scan the table we’re slowly approaching, full of large men in suits.
My gaze is pulled like a magnet to the head of the table and my heart drops to my stomach as I meet the eyes of the man who’s been plaguing my thoughts since the club.
He’s wearing a black tux. Dark hair brushed back, a strand falling across his forehead. He’s seated at the large round table, broad shoulders relaxed against the chair, one arm draped over the backrest. And his eyes are on me—dark and molten.
I hoped he’d look worse in normal lighting.
Hoped the neon of the club had made him look better than he actually does.
But seeing him clearly proves me wrong. Everything about this man is annoyingly flawless: straight nose, high cheekbones, sharp jawline, full lips, thick slightly arched eyebrows above slanted eyes the color of whiskey.
Even his hairline sits exactly where it should.
Addams is still talking beside me, something about broken sticks, but the words dissolve into static. His captain isn’t looking away. His gaze flicks from me to Addams, then back to me. He’s not just looking—he’s glaring.
The muscles in his jaw flex once, sharp as a warning.
I don’t know why it feels like I’ve been caught doing something forbidden.
I don’t owe him anything. He’s just a man.
A man I don’t know. But still, I feel the heat of his disapproval crawling across the room, searing through the silk of my gown.
It compels me to slide my arm out of Addams’ hold and step away.
Addams finally notices and glances down at me, brows quirking. “Are you okay?”
“Just nervous,” I nod too quickly, turning to face him.
Movement draws my attention back to Dominic as he rises from his chair, every inch of him uncoiling like a shadow standing to his full, intimidating height.
He buttons his suit jacket with one hand, his gaze never leaving me as he starts moving toward us.
Addams doesn’t notice the shift until Dominic’s shadow falls over us. “Hey, Cap,” he says cheerfully, unaware of the storm that just arrived.
Dominic stops beside us, presence overwhelming, scent clean and dark. His eyes cut to Addams briefly before landing back on me. “I’ll take it from here, Addams.” His tone is calm, even polite, but there’s an edge underneath.
Addams doesn’t seem to hear it as he looks up at his captain. “Sure thing,” he says easily, giving me a friendly grin before placing his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be at the table, Jessica.”
“So will we in a moment.” All friendliness evaporates from Dominic’s voice, his gaze locked on where Addams is touching me.
Addams pauses and looks back up at Dominic. Realization crosses his face before it morphs into amusement. He huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. The warmth of his hand lingers for half a second before he disappears toward the team’s table.
“You always talk to your teammates like that?”
“When their hands are where they’re not supposed to be, yes.”
I swallow the flutter trying to escape my chest, dragging in a breath like that might slow my pulse. It doesn’t. I glance down, adjusting the clutch in my hand.
“Well, last I checked, we never even got past introductions.”
His head tilts slightly, watching me. “Jessica.” I lift my hand between us.
His eyes drop to my extended hand and there’s a slight pause before they return to mine. His large hand slides along the underside of my palm, long fingers wrapping around my knuckles.
“Dominic.”
He holds my hand for a second before lifting it to his lips. The warmth of his mouth presses into the back of my hand, searing straight through my skin, down my spine, and curling low in my belly.
He lowers my hand and guides it to his arm, not releasing me. Then he leans down, lips just near enough for his breath to graze my skin without touching. “We know each other,” he murmurs.
My eyes slide from his to the ballroom, taking in the faces turned toward us. People are looking, murmuring, whispering.
I look back up at Dominic, who’s watching me with a knowing look. I realize this was never about clearing anything up. They didn’t invite me here to say I don’t know him. They invited me here to stand beside him.
Dominic leads me through the ballroom with that same steady, unhurried stride.
We move past gilded tables and flickering candles, and suddenly the air thickens as we approach the long, gleaming table near the front of the room.
Every man seated there turns toward us. Suits stretch across broad shoulders. Smirks twitch across stubbled jaws.
He doesn’t make a show of it, just nods at the group. “This is the team.”
All eyes slide to me.
I blink up at Dom. “You want me to remember all their names?”
A blond man laughs. “Don’t worry. Most of us don’t remember each other half the time.”
“In that case, hi. I’m Jessica. No memory required.” I give them a tight smile.
That gets a round of grins and a few chuckles.
There are three empty chairs. Dominic slides behind one and pulls it out for me without a word. “Thank you,” I murmur, slipping into the chair.
He takes the seat beside me, long legs stretching under the table, his presence sinking into the air like a gravitational pull. I can feel him even when I’m not looking.
The men at the table are still watching me, but not rudely. Across the table, a man with sharp eyes and an even sharper jaw raises his glass. “Jace,” he says .
“And I’m Melody.” The woman beside him, wild dark curls, glowing skin, in a strapless emerald dress that could kill, beams at me. “I’m obsessed with your dress.”
“Thank you! It’s mine. I mean… I made it.” A nervous laugh escapes me as I automatically look down.
“No kidding!” Her eyes widen.