Chapter 12 Never a Mistake #2
The night unfolds in waves—drinks, passed hors d’oeuvres by tuxedo-clad servers, plenty of reminiscing and laughter.
Ethan and Journey make their speeches to the guests, announcing this as the fifth year in the fifth state since they started.
They’ve donated hundreds of thousands of books to families, schools, and libraries.
When they say Portland, Oregon would be next year’s location for the event, Kris and Bailey practically levitate, eager to host them.
Formalities aside, it was time to party.
I stick with water, but Stella gets tipsy on the bubbly, something we talked about beforehand.
She hasn’t had a night to let loose in so long; Aiden’s at home with her mother, so she deserves this night out, and I’m happy to be the sober man watching over her.
We dance most of the night. I don’t consider myself the best dancer, but if she wants to let it all hang out on the dance floor, then I’m with her there—mostly to warn other men from even approaching her.
During upbeat songs, we’re grooving together, singing if we know the words.
Mine is more of a shuffle of my feet, swaying my arms and shoulders, bopping my head in time with the music.
Hers is a wiggle of her sexy ass, a shimmy of shoulders and breasts, a turn here and there, gyrating against my leg.
I love every second of her show, and I try to believe she’s dancing only for me.
When the tempo slows, her body heats against mine, laughter spilling easier as the champagne flows.
I can tell she’s tipping toward being drunk by the way she hangs on me more, her head lolling against my shoulder, fingers curling into my shirt.
Her eyes are half-lidded when she flirts, her words revealing things she wouldn’t otherwise say.
“You’re so handsome, my hockey hero,” she wraps her arms around my neck.
“You’re beautiful, my sexy redhead.”
She snorts. “You just want in my pants.”
“Is it working?”
“Maybe, although I need to get back to Aiden tonight.”
“It’s almost midnight. Wouldn’t he be in bed by now?”
Her face morphs, and she holds me tighter, as if she realizes this dream of a night must end.
I hold her tighter, too, thankful for this moment. For her. And getting harder, hoping she lets me bathe with her in my suite soon.
I scan for our friends, ready to say goodbye and carry her away after this song is over. My eyes land instead on a woman at the edge of the dance floor, staring me down. Blonde. Sharp smile like a viper. Familiar posture with her hand on one hip.
Bunny.
I blink hard. Couples dance between us, and she’s gone.
Fuck, I hope she was just a ghost. I don’t need my ex bringing this perfect night with Stella down.
I haven’t seen her since last summer at a team picnic when she showed up, thanks to mutual friends, and I left that party early because I couldn’t stand the sight of her.
Stella yawns. “That bath would feel good about now.”
“Agreed.” I sweep her off the dance floor and over to our friends. We say our goodbyes. The women all promise to stay in touch. The guys wink and nod, watching us leave. They’ll want details on our group chat tomorrow, no doubt.
I check my phone as we wait by the elevators. There’d been a winter storm warning an hour ago. No travel on the roads unless absolutely necessary.
“Shit.” My chest clenches. “Stella… the storm’s bad. Whiteout conditions.”
“What? But I need to get back to Aiden.” She frowns, voice slurring.
“I’m not driving in this,” I say firmly. “And I’m not putting you in a car with someone else either. I need to keep you safe.”
She drags me over to the hotel windows, peering out at the wall of snow coming down outside as if she had to see it to believe me.
I wrap myself around her. “Stay with me tonight. I have the penthouse. I’ll take you back in the morning.”
“You’ll sleep on the couch?”
I swallow. Wasn’t the answer I had hoped for. “If that’s where you really want me.”
She gazes up at me, eyes tired and ready to rest. “We’ll see.”
The corner of my lips turns up. Maybe she’ll feel differently after I run her a bath.
When we turn back to the elevators—Bunny is right there.
The statuesque blonde in a black leather Batwoman costume is equal parts dramatic and terrifying. Before I can evade, she throws her arms around me.
“There you are,” she purrs. “I missed you.”
“Get off me.” I scowl and pick her up and set her aside. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“We have mutual friends, remember? And who is this?” Bunny peers down her nose.
Stella crosses her arms, glaring hard. “Eli…?”
“This is my ex-wife,” I snap.
Bunny laughs. “A.k.a. the love of his life.”
I shake my head. “No. Money is. You only cared about my money.”
“And you didn’t want to spend it,” she shot back.
“We’re not doing this.” I clip through a clenched jaw. I take Stella’s hand and turn away, ducking into the first available elevator. “We’re divorced, remember?”
“That’s right,” Bunny sneers, following us. “You walked away from the best thing you ever had.”
“Trust me. You were never the best thing in my life.” I press the elevator button for the penthouse. Then I lift Stella’s hand and press it to my lips.
Bunny snarls by the elevator door. “This is the best you can do? She looks like trailer park trash. And are those hand made costumes?” She ends with a wicked laugh that unnerves me.
My mild manner dies. “I won’t fucking stand here and let you tear her apart.”
Stella suddenly steps in front of me, smiling sweetly.
“Careful, little bunny,” she says. “Talking down like that is an ugly look on you.”
The doors slide shut, closing Bunny out.
I exhale and pull Stella back into my arms, heart pounding. I’ve never been prouder to stand by a woman’s side. “You’re fucking amazing.”
She faces me, the entire encounter sobering us both up. “So, that was your ex?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s hideous. I can’t even picture you with her.”
“That was a whole phase of my life I try not to think about.”
She snickers. “Guess we both suck at picking exes.”
“I don’t want to make that mistake again.”
She peers up at me with all seriousness. “How can you be so sure we aren’t?”
“Because we were never a mistake to begin with.” I press my lips to hers, slow and certain. And holding her there, a storm of our own brewing between us, heating us up, I know—I wasn’t letting her go again. Not to fear or to timing. Not to anyone.