Chapter 28 Joelle
JOELLE
Vegas is loud, bright, and overwhelming in the best way.
The arena is packed with a sea of red. The teams showed up ready to make our lives difficult.
But the Mavericks came to play, and right now, we're up by two with six minutes left in the third.
I'm on the bench with Mike, Sarah, and David, watching the game unfold.
My job tonight has been easy. A few minor tweaks, some tape jobs.
Nothing major. Which means I've had way too much time to watch the ice. To watch him.
Emmett is a force out there. He's been relentless all night. Winning faceoffs. Setting up plays. Blocking shots. When he scores the team's fourth goal with three minutes left, the Mavericks’ bench erupts. Of course, I cheer for the team. Not just for him.
We haven't spoken, texted, or done anything since the gala a week ago.
Guess I should be happy that he is respecting my boundaries, but I'm not.
All I can think about is the way he kissed me on that terrace like I was air and he was drowning.
Since I walked away and spent the rest of the night pretending my lips weren't still tingling, there’s been no texts, no late-night calls.
Nothing. And I keep checking. I thought distance would help.
I thought if we just ... stopped, whatever this is would fizzle out. Instead, it's worse.
Every time I see him at practice. Every time he skates past me on the bench. Every time our eyes accidentally meet across the room, it's like gasoline on a fire I can't put out.
The buzzer sounds. Game over. Mavericks win. Yes!
"We're going out." Collette appears in my hotel room doorway like a tornado in heels. She's already changed out of her work clothes into a tiny black dress that would give our brothers a heart attack.
"I'm tired," I lie.
"Bullshit. It's Vegas, Jo. The team won. Everyone's celebrating." She walks in without being invited, and starts rifling through my suitcase. "You're not sitting in this room alone watching TV."
"I like TV."
She ignores me and pulls out a red dress I forgot I packed. "This. Wear this."
"Lettie ..."
"Nope. Not hearing it." She throws the dress at me. "Shower. Change. We're meeting everyone in thirty minutes."
"Everyone?"
"The team. The wives. The girlfriends. The whole crew." She gives me a pointed look. "Is that a problem?"
Yes. "No."
"Great. Then stop arguing and start getting ready." She disappears into the bathroom to fix her makeup. I stare at the red dress in my hands.
This is a bad idea, going out with the team, in Vegas, after everything that's happened or hasn't happened with Emmett. I should stay in. I should order room service, watch TV, and pretend I'm not thinking about the way his hands felt in my hair.
"Jo!" Collette yells from the bathroom. "I can hear you overthinking! Stop it!"
Fuck it.
I sigh and start getting ready.
The club is exactly what you'd expect from Vegas.
Dark. Loud. Pulsing with bass that you feel in your chest. The VIP section is roped off for the team, with bottles of champagne on ice, and beautiful people everywhere.
I spot Harper and Issy in a booth, and they wave me over.
Collette has already disappeared into the crowd with some of the PR girls.
"You look amazing!" Harper hugs me as I slide in beside her. "That dress is killer."
"Thanks. Collette made me wear it."
"Sisters are good for that." Issy pushes a glass of champagne toward me. "Drink. Celebrate. We won."
I take a sip and let myself relax a little. This is fine. I can do this. I can have a fun night out with the girls and not think about .... Then he walks in.
Emmett. The boys. My brothers. Fresh from whatever postgame media obligations they had.
They're all in dark jeans and button-downs, looking like they stepped out of a magazine spread.
My eyes find Emmett immediately, like magnets.
His sleeves are rolled up, showing off his forearms, his hair is still a little damp from the shower.
He's laughing at something Sully said, that easy grin that makes my stomach flip.
Then his eyes scan the room and land on me.
The smile fades, and something darker takes its place as his eyes scan my face.
I look away first. Reaching for my champagne like it's a lifeline.
"Are you okay?" Issy asks.
"Fine. Just hot in here." I fan myself.
She doesn't look convinced, but she lets it go.
The boys settle into a booth across from us, and for a while, everything is normal.
Music. Laughter. Drinks flowing. I talk to Harper about work.
I listen to Issy complain about a case she's working on.
I pretend I'm not hyperaware of every move Emmett makes.
Then the puck bunnies arrive. They swarm the VIP section like sharks scenting blood.
Beautiful women in barely-there dresses, all long legs, glossy lips, and hungry eyes.
They zero in on the players with practiced precision.
Two of them make a beeline for Emmett. I watch as a blonde slides into the booth beside him, pressing her body against his side.
She's saying something in his ear. One hand on his chest. One of the guys leaves so her friend, a brunette with legs for days, positions herself on his other side.
He's surrounded. And he's not pushing them away.
"Jo." Harper's voice cuts through the noise. "You're going to break that glass."
I look down. My fingers are white-knuckled around my champagne flute. "Oops." I giggle, setting it down.
She follows my gaze to Emmett's booth, and understanding dawns on her face. "Oh."
My brows pull together. "No, no. There's no oh."
"Then what is it?"
The blonde is laughing now, her hand sliding up Emmett's arm. The brunette is whispering something in his other ear. He's smiling at them. That polite, distant smile I've seen him give fans. He doesn't seem interested, but he's not stopping them either.
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I need some air.
" I stand abruptly. "I'll be back." I don't wait for a response as I push through the crowd toward the back of the club, looking for an exit.
A bathroom. Anywhere that isn't here. I find a hallway leading to the restrooms and lean against the wall, trying to breathe.
This is ridiculous. I have no claim on him, we're not together, I have no right to be jealous.
But I am. I'm so jealous I can barely see straight.
Shit. I bang my head against the wall. I don't want to be jealous.
"Running away again?" His voice hits me like a physical blow.
I turn to find Emmett standing at the entrance to the hallway, hands in his pockets, watching me with those stormy green eyes.
"I needed a break from the noise."
"Sure you did." He walks toward me, slow and deliberate, until he's close enough that I can smell his cologne. That familiar scent that makes me want to bury my face in his neck.
"Shouldn't you get back to your fan club?" I ask. I hate how bitter it sounds.
"My fan club?"
"The blonde. The brunette. They seemed very ... attentive." I try to hide the sneer that wants to form across my lips.
Something shifts in his expression. "Are you jealous, Joelle?"
"No. Don't flatter yourself."
"Liar." There he goes again, calling me that.
"I don't care what you do or who you do it with."
"Really?" He steps closer. My back hits the wall. "Because you looked like you wanted to murder those women with your eyes."
"You're imagining things."
"Am I?" He braces one hand on the wall beside my head. "Because I've been watching you all night. Watching you pretend not to watch me. Watching you clench your jaw every time a woman got too close."
"Get over yourself. Your ego is out of control, Captain."
Those stormy eyes narrow on me. "You're playing with fire, Trouble." His other hand comes up to grip my chin, forcing me to look at him. "I've been watching every man in that club look at you in this dress. All night I've been wanting to break their fucking faces for daring to look at you."
I'm confused. He hasn't spoken to me. Hasn't even attempted to look at me since the gala. He's made sure Mike, Sarah, or David has looked after him if he's needed help.
"You've been keeping your distance."
"We both agreed." This is true. But at least I was trying to be civil, not ignore him completely.
His thumb traces my lower lip. I shiver.
"I'm trying to be good here, Trouble. But I'm finding it so fucking hard.
Especially seeing you dressed like pure sin.
" His hand slides up my leg, over my ass.
His thumb slides across the side of my boob till he reaches my other cheek. "I've tried to stay away from you."
"I know." I pout. This is wrong, but I hate the pull this man has over me.
"It's been the longest week of my life trying to forget you," he confesses, his thumb caresses my face. My body turns liquid as I fall under his spell.
"My brothers are here ..." I remind him.
"I don't care." He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. "I tried to stay away. But seeing you now wearing this fucking dress. All I can think about is peeling it off you."
"Emmett ..." His name is a plea against my lips.
"Tell me to stop." His mouth moves along my jaw, barely touching. "Tell me you don't want this and I'll walk away."
I should say it. I should push him away, go back to the club, and pretend this never happened.
Instead, I grab the front of his shirt and pull his mouth to mine.
The kiss is desperate. Hungry. All the tension of the past week explodes at once.
His hands grip my hips. Lifting me so my back slides up the wall.
I wrap my legs around his waist. He groans into my mouth, pressing me harder against the wall.
I can feel him, hard and wanting against my center.
"Fuck," he breathes against my lips. "Joelle ..."
"Don't stop."