Chapter 9 #2
Moving me like his personal chess piece, Gus turns me in the direction of the hotel bar.
It’s late, but they’ll stay open for a couple more hours, and as we pass the threshold, I spot the rest of the usual group of boys gathered around a high-top table.
Charlie’s nursing a beer around the split lip he got in the second period.
Crosby’s pint is abandoned as he types on his phone—likely to Violet.
Continuing around the table, Obie and Leo are deep in conversation, a few discarded shot glasses being pushed around the flat top as they rehash the game.
The only one missing is Nicky. The realization isn’t surprising, but my stomach dips with disappointment all the same.
“I’m grabbing a beer,” Gus says as I bob my head in greeting to everyone. “Do you want anything?”
“I’ll take a pint,” I tell him. He heads to the bar, and I look around at the familiar faces.
The rest of the guys don’t seem as excited about their two-zero win tonight, but maybe they’re just being mindful of keeping their celebration in check.
I’m gifted smiles from across the table, and a side hug from Obie when he realizes I’m there.
I haven’t been out with the team after a win without Violet, and I notice how much I rely on her to act as my buffer.
“Couldn’t convince your goalie to have a little fun? ”
I look around, even though I’m painfully aware of Nicky’s absence, and hope I appear casual.
I’ve schooled myself enough in the game of hockey to know a goalie is unanimously celebrated by their team when they play a shutout.
It’s a difficult accomplishment because I can’t even keep my eye on the puck for ninety percent of the game.
I’ve grown to be in awe of Nicky’s ability to not only see the puck but stop it as well.
“No convincing needed.”
I’m so preoccupied with looking aloof, I don’t catch Nicky approaching the table from my right.
He has the barest, crooked grin, and his hands are in the pockets of his black slacks.
The plain white button-down he wears is undone at the collar and rolled up to his elbows.
The flashes of his silver chain and veined forearms have me pushing an exhale between my lips to try and release the tension coiling inside me.
The man is unbelievably sexy, and I am losing my belief that finding out what he looks like naked is a terrible idea.
But right now, even as my woefully underused pussy gives an attention-seeking throb, I also notice how tired he is.
The toll playing tonight’s hard-fought game took on him has me reaching out to rub along the outside of his bicep when he nears me.
It’s part greeting, part reassurance, and I love how his eyes brighten with my touch and remain focused on me.
“Really?” I ask playfully. “This was completely voluntary?”
I wave my hand around the table, looking at our friends who all share similar teasing smirks in Nicky’s direction. I sense I’m missing something important, so I tilt my head up to see a flash of pink at the height of his cheeks.
“I showed up because I wanted to.” Nicky gives a stern nod as if settling the discussion.
I hear Gus’ laugh from behind me as he sets my frothy, amber ale in front of me. Nicky’s jaw ticks briefly before Gus shoves at his shoulder.
“This guy wanted to go to bed,” he begins, pausing to take a sip of the brown, long-necked bottle he holds. “But I told him this was your first road game, and I was going to get you to have a drink. Suddenly, he wasn’t all that tired.”
I know my eyebrows are investigating real estate near my hairline when I look at Gus, but I can’t keep the surprise off my face.
“Ow! Son of a—” The table jostles as Gus yelps and curses. He draws a leg in protectively. Obie has an overly innocent expression when he steadies the tabletop. Gus points a finger at him. “You didn’t have to fucking kick me. I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
I don’t dare look at Nicky. It’s too much.
But I can feel him, just off my elbow, the heat from his body seeping into mine, and I sway a little closer.
Nicky takes a step toward me, our bodies now touching, and slaps a hand on Gus’ shoulder.
Gus’ face twists into a chagrined smile.
I take a sip of my pint, letting the boys settle the situation between them with intentional stares and firm-lipped smiles, and revel in the fact Nicky hasn’t stepped away from me.
We’re slotted against each other, his left side behind my right, firm and solid.
The conversation picks up around the table again, friendly and casual as we all work to finish our drinks.
The evening passes with comforting laughter and easy camaraderie, and not once does Nicky move from my side.
I don’t miss the exaggerated side-eye Gus gives me after an hour.
And it’s hard to fight embarrassment when Crosby’s eyes flit back and forth between me and the massive man hovering at my back, before I get a small nod of approval.
Or, at least I hope that’s what it is. I’ll have to message Violet and try to find out what her fiancé knows—if he’s willing to spill.
Sometime later, I yawn as I watch the last swallow of beer swirl around the bottom of my glass. I make the decision to leave my tepid drink and set it back on the table. “Right,” I announce. “I’m off then. Safe travels and good luck in Texas. Good night!”
Gus doesn’t even let me turn from the table before he scoops me into a huge hug.
“Want me to walk you to your room?” he offers. I don’t have a chance to answer because Nicky’s voice interrupts as we pull apart.
“I’m turning in for the night, too,” he rumbles. “We can ride the elevator together.”
“I can get to my room on my own. I had one beer, and there is no driving involved,” I half-heartedly protest, trying desperately to downplay the moment. I feel like I’m a teenager again at the end of a party, that moment of anticipation coating every look, every move.
Nicky throws his hand up in a goodbye to the rest of the guys, and uses his other to gently steer me away from the table.
He keeps it across the small of my back all the way through the bar and the lobby.
He glides through the space with long strides, but never forces me to keep up with him.
When we reach the lifts, he finally drops his hand when he steps forward to push the call button.
There’s a ding from our right, indicating its arrival.
The space feels too small almost immediately. Nicky’s presence looms both physically and mentally as I stand beside him. He pushes eighteen, the button glowing under his thumb when he covers it.
“What floor, solnyshka?”
“Fifteen.”
The doors close, and with them, nearly all the air from my lungs.
I’ve been alone with Nicky dozens of times over the last few months.
I’ve ridden in a car with him. Sat on his couch as he and Natalia played Candyland.
Walked the hallways and tunnels of the team facility four times a week with him.
But none of those moments have felt like this one.
Somehow, this man has slipped under my skin.
He’s laid charges along the walls I’ve worked so hard to construct.
He could detonate them with ease, and I can’t imagine the fallout if he does, so I opt to break the tension by focusing on the only thing I know isn’t uncertain between us: work.
I clear my throat, gaining his attention from where he stands like a sentinel next to me.
“Andy mentioned wanting to bring up your personal life in a future interview. Not your history with Nat’s mom, but balancing professional obligations with everything else.
” I push the words out quickly because they leave a funny taste in my mouth.
The lift continues its smooth climb, but I feel like we’ve dropped a story or two.
“I think they were interested in discussing how some of the public attention on, um, player physicality has led to objectification, and if that has a negative effect on the athletes.” The muted ding counting the floors sounds like a death knell on this perfect bubble of possibility between us, but I keep going, “They might even ask specifically about your dating history or what you look for in a partner.”
He turns his body toward me, and I can’t help but take a small step back.
I don’t quite bump into the railing that wraps around the three walls, but I can sense it beyond the curve of my backside.
I want to see his face, to try and read how he feels about the idea.
His eyebrows are pinched, and there’s a slight frown turning down the corners of his mouth.
“I don’t know if I want to tell the world those things.” He shuffles forward, closing the gap I opened between us. “It feels like a secret I should keep with the person I am interested in.”
The look that was upsetting his features shifts into something darker.
Only it isn’t anger, it’s hunger. The predatory gaze locks me in place as one of Nicky’s hands boxes me against the railing that is now digging into my ass.
He leans down, close enough for me to catch the hops on his breath.
It mingles with his usual spice and cedarwood, and I feel like I’ve been wrapped up in him.
Surrounded. But it’s a trap I’d happily surrender to. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does.
Nicky’s face goes hazy as my eyes close, and I tilt my face toward him. The taste of him is so close, and even the tinge of “bad decision” isn’t enough to keep me from trying to chase it.
Until the elevator doors open and the sound of people in the hallway has my eyes flying open and my body pressing against the wall.
Nicky almost kissed me.
I panic.
After brushing a quick, friendly peck on his cheek, I duck under his arm and flee to my room.