Chapter 14 Rodriguez
RODRIGUEZ
The club is exactly what I expected. Bass so loud you feel it in your chest, strobing lights, packed wall-to-wall with people already three drinks deep.
This is my element.
I’ve been to clubs in almost every NHL city. I know how to navigate crowds, get a bartender’s attention, and make sure everyone’s having a good time. It’s practically a professional skill at this point.
Juliette, on the other hand, looks like she would rather be getting a root canal.
“Stay close,” I tell her, taking her hand as we push through the entrance. Her fingers are cold, gripping mine tight. “It’ll probably be crazy in here.”
She doesn’t argue, just lets me pull her through the mass of bodies toward where I can see Olivia waving from a raised section near the back. VIP area, bottle service, the whole setup.
Owen’s friends are already there, shirts half-unbuttoned, drinks flowing. Olivia squeals when she sees us and pulls Juliette into a hug.
“You came! Oh my god, you look amazing!”
Juliette does look amazing. The black dress hits all the right places and I’m trying not to stare like a complete creep.
Trying and mostly failing. I’ve seen her in practice gear for months—black leggings, hair scraped back, looking like the ice queen that earned her the nickname.
This is different. This version of her makes my brain stop working.
Garrett and Melissa are on the opposite side of the section. They’re sitting close, her hand on his thigh, but Garrett’s eyes track to Juliette the second we walk in.
Yeah. I saw that and I throw him a chin tip just so he knows I saw it.
“Drinks!” Owen announces, already pouring from one of the bottles on the table. “We’re celebrating!”
“What are we celebrating?” I ask.
“Being young and in love and in Toronto!” He’s already drunk. This is going to be a long night.
I get handed a glass of something amber but pass it to Juliette and grab a beer for myself instead. She needs it way more than I do.
“Drink,” I lean close and speak right into her ear. “It’ll help.”
“Help with what?”
“Everything.” I clink my bottle against her glass. “Trust me.”
The music shifts to something with a heavier beat, and Owen’s friends immediately drag him toward the dance floor. Olivia goes too, pulling half the group with her.
Which leaves us in the VIP section with Garrett and Melissa and two of Owen’s cousins I haven’t met yet.
Fantastic.
“So Rodriguez,” one of them shouts over the music. “Olivia says you play for Seattle?”
“Yeah, three years now.”
“That’s sick. You guys making playoffs this year?”
We fall into easy conversation about hockey, the season, what it’s like coming up through juniors. I can do this in my sleep. The cousin is genuinely interested, and I’m giving him real answers because why not.
But I’m also tracking Juliette out of the corner of my eye.
She’s sitting stiff, sipping her drink, looking like she’d rather be literally anywhere else. Melissa keeps glancing over, saying something to Garrett I can’t hear over the music.
This isn’t working. Juliette needs to relax or this whole night’s going to be miserable.
“Come on,” I say, finishing my beer and standing. “Let’s dance.”
“What?”
“Dance. You know, move to the music? It’s a thing people do at clubs.”
“I don’t dance.”
“You ice dance.” I hold out my hand. “Come on, JuJu. Trust me.”
She looks at my hand like it might bite her. Then she drains the rest of her drink in one go and takes it.
The dance floor is packed, bodies pressed together, everyone moving to the bass that’s literally rattling my ribcage. I pull Juliette into a space near the edge where there’s slightly more room to breathe, though we’re still surrounded on all sides.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she says, and she sounds nervous.
“There’s no right way. Just move.” I put my hands on her waist, guiding her into the rhythm. “Feel the beat. Stop thinking so much.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re absolutely thinking. I can see it all over your face.” I pull her closer. “Stop performing and just exist for like five minutes.”
She’s stiff at first, moving awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable. But after a minute she starts to loosen up, her body remembering how to move without overthinking every step.
Her hips move more naturally. Her shoulders relax. She’s not thinking about the steps anymore and I can feel the exact moment she stops fighting it.
There we go. This version of Juliette—the one who’s not performing, not controlling everything—I want to memorize this.
Her eyes are closed, head tipped back slightly, completely lost in the music.
She has no idea three different guys are staring at her right now.
I shift closer, making it clear she’s with me.
“See?” I say close to her ear. “You’re doing it.”
“This is stupid.”
“This is fun, JuJu. You can say ‘poodle’ anytime.”
The song shifts into something slower and Juliette’s body molds against mine without her seeming to realize it. My hands slide from her waist to her hips and she doesn’t pull away, just moves with me.
This is—fuck. This is dangerous. I’m forgetting we’re pretending.
I don’t even care.
She turns in my arms, back against my chest now, and I try to remember how to breathe like a normal human. Her hair is in my face, soft and smelling like that floral shampoo. Her body’s moving flush against mine and every functional part of my brain just shuts down.
“Rodriguez,” she says, and I can barely hear her over the music, but I feel her say my name.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For this. For making this bearable.”
“Anytime.”
She tips her head back against my shoulder, the curve of her neck right there, and we just move like that for a while. My hands stay on her hips, guiding her movements, and all I can think is that I could do this every night for the rest of my life and never get tired of it.
Two songs later, we head back to the VIP section. Juliette’s flushed, smiling, a thin sheen of sweat on her neck, and Garrett notices immediately.
He’s been watching us dance. I saw him. Every single time I looked up, he was staring.
Good. Let him watch what he gave up.
“Having fun?” Olivia asks, appearing with fresh drinks.
“Yeah, actually,” Juliette says, and she sounds surprised.
“Good! Because we’re just getting started!” Olivia hands us both shots. “To my big sister and her hot hockey player boyfriend!”
Everyone drinks. The alcohol’s starting to hit, I can feel it making everything slightly softer around the edges. My joints are loose and warm from that initial buzz.
Juliette’s leaning against me now, not performing it for anyone, just naturally gravitating into my space. Her arm brushes mine. Her shoulder presses against my side. Each point of contact feels deliberate even though I know it’s not.
Garrett’s jaw is tight. Melissa’s saying something to him but he’s not listening to her at all.
I’m leaning forward to grab another beer when Garrett appears next to me, dropping down heavy on the bench.
“So. Rodriguez.” He says it like it’s a punchline. “What kind of name is that anyway?”
Fucking here we go again.
“It’s my last name,” I say, keeping it easy. “Most people go by their last names in hockey.”
“Right. Hockey.” He takes a drink. “Must be nice. Playing a game for a living.”
“It has its perks.”
“I bet. Traveling, partying, different girl in every city.” He glances toward where Juliette has her back to us, talking to Olivia. “That’s the stereotype, right?”
I’ve been chirped by guys who do this professionally. Garrett’s barely even trying.
“Some guys live up to stereotypes,” I say. “Some of us don’t.”
“But you did though, right? Before Jules?” He’s leaning in now, trying to get under my skin. “I mean, a guy who looks like you, professional athlete, you’ve probably got a list a mile long.”
“Not really my style.”
“Come on. You’re telling me you’ve been a monk?”
“I’m telling you when I meet someone I actually care about, I don’t waste time looking at anyone else.” I take a long drink of my beer. “But I guess some people need more than one option to figure out what they want.”
His face goes red. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, man. Just making conversation.” I clap him on the shoulder, harder than necessary. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”
I turn my back to him and see Juliette watching us, with a curious look on her face.
“What did he say?” she asks.
“Nothing worth repeating.” I take her hand. “Come on. Let’s dance some more.”
The night continues. More drinks, more dancing, more of Juliette actually laughing at something one of Owen’s friends says. She’s loosening up, having fun, being the version of herself she doesn’t let people see very often.
And I’m memorizing it. Every smile, every laugh. The way she throws her head back when she’s actually amused instead of just being polite. I want this to be her all the time. But also, selfishly, I want her to only show this to me, not every other guy in the club.
Around midnight, we end up back on the dance floor. It’s more crowded now, everyone drunk and happy and pressed together. There’s barely room to move without touching someone. Juliette’s in front of me, my hands on her hips, and she’s moving in a way literally going to kill me.
“You’re good at this,” she says, turning to face me. Her hands find my chest, resting there.
“At what?”
“This. Clubs. Making everything fun.” She’s looking up at me and her eyes are bright, pupils dilated in the low light. “I bet you do this all the time.”
“Used to. Not so much anymore.”
“Why not?”
Because I’ve been too busy trying to get your attention. Because going out stopped being fun when all I wanted was to spend time with you.
“Just got boring,” I say instead.
“This doesn’t feel boring.”
“That’s because you’re here.”
She blinks. Opens her mouth like she’s going to say something.
Then I see Garrett pushing through the crowd toward us, his expression determined.
No. Absolutely not. He doesn’t get to ruin this moment.