Chapter 5
Oliver
The noise level in the lower lounge is a riot—drinks flowing, music pumping, players and fans mingling in a post-win euphoria.
People congratulate me, pat my back, clink their glasses to mine.
I try to summon my usual grin, respond with the typical good cheer—“Great game,” “We’re pushing hard for playoffs,” “Yes, Striker was phenomenal out there.” But my mind’s elsewhere. Specifically, it’s on Lacey.
My gaze darts around the crowded lounge, scanning faces, searching for her.
Part of me wants to avoid her, give her space, maybe pretend none of this happened.
But the bigger part of me—a part I’m not proud of—hungers for her.
I want to see her, make sure she’s okay, maybe steal another moment alone.
Just the thought of it sends a thrill through my veins.
I spot Fiona first, standing on one side of the room, phone in hand. She’s texting frantically, probably trying to coordinate with Striker or line up after-party plans. Next to her is Stellan, talking to a reporter. Good. That means Fiona’s with him—she’s safe. Then there’s Lacey.
She’s leaning against a tall table, holding a fresh drink.
A man I vaguely recognize—one of our sponsors’ associates, maybe?
—stands very close to her, speaking animatedly.
The second I lock eyes on her, my gut twists.
She’s smiling, but it’s that polite, slightly uncomfortable smile I’ve seen her wear at sponsor events before.
The man touches her arm, leans in a bit too much. My blood heats.
It’s not my place to react—she’s not mine.
And yet… that logic dissolves under the wave of possessive anger flooding my system.
My hands curl into fists, nails biting into my palms. She’s not a kid, Oliver.
She can handle herself. But reason doesn’t win out.
I’m already moving, weaving between people, my eyes locked on Lacey and the guy invading her space.
As I near them, I catch fragments of his conversation: “—just a quick drink somewhere quieter, get to know each other, come on—” He’s leaning in again. Her back is angled, as if she’s trying to ease away without making a scene.
I step up behind him, and the words erupt out of me before I can stop them. “She said no, pal. Back off.”
The man turns, startled, then he recognizes me. His eyes flicker with confusion and embarrassment. “Mr. Green. I didn’t realize—”
I keep my voice firm. “You didn’t realize what? That she doesn’t want your company? Because it’s pretty damn obvious.”
His cheeks flush, but he tries to save face, squaring his shoulders. “I… Look, this isn’t—”
I cut him off. “This conversation is over.” My tone is sharp, the same voice I use to finalize multi-million-dollar deals. He glances at Lacey, who remains silent, jaw tight. Then he huffs out a barely audible curse, spins, and stalks off.
I turn to Lacey, my pulse hammering. “Are you all right?” My voice softens at once, everything in me gentling when her eyes meet mine.
She nods, stepping closer. “I was fine, Oliver. I had it under control.”
Her words are quiet but direct. She’s not chastising me exactly—just letting me know she’s capable of standing up for herself. Guilt pangs in my chest. I swallow, nod. “I know. I just—”
My explanation never comes. The sponsor’s associate storms back with two equally tall, broad men in suits. “This is the asshole,” he announces, pointing at me. “He thinks he can manhandle me in front of everyone—”
Before I can even respond, one of the men shoves me back.
Instinct and adrenaline surge; I block his arm and twist away.
People nearby shriek. Tables scrape across the floor.
Another suit lunges. I can’t risk a brawl in the lounge, but they’re clearly not worried about that.
The first man takes a swing at me—I duck and counter with a hard punch to his gut. He doubles over, gasping.
It’s chaos. Cheers, jeers, the ring of glass shattering on the floor.
I see Fiona on the other side, eyes wide, Stellan rushing to her side.
Lacey yelps, stepping away from flying fists.
My focus snaps back just in time to see the second man making a grab for her arm.
Fury flares white-hot in my veins, and I slam my fist into his jaw. He staggers back, cursing.
Security floods the lounge, pushing through the scuffle. There’s shouting—someone barks, “Break it up!” Lacey stands frozen, eyes huge. I grab her hand, the warmth of her fingers fusing with my own. “Let’s go.” I tug her toward the side exit.
We burst out into the corridor, breath ragged.
I don’t let go of her hand, and she doesn’t try to pull away.
My heart is in my throat, adrenaline surging.
Behind us, I hear security still wrangling the men, trying to contain the situation.
My only thought is to get Lacey away. Protect her. To hell with the consequences.
We dart past a couple of startled staffers, rounding the corner to the private parking area. I slam my fist on the elevator button. Lacey squeezes my hand—hard. I glance down at her, searching her face for any sign of fear or panic.
Her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright. “Oliver, are you okay? That was—”
“I’m fine,” I cut in, though my fists throb and my chest is tight with residual anger. “Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head. “No, just… freaked out.”
The elevator doors slide open, and we step inside.
I jab the button for the parking level, and the doors hiss closed.
The enclosed space suddenly feels too small, the air too thick.
Lacey licks her lips, still breathing fast. My gaze tracks the movement of her tongue, and heat flares in my gut. A new kind of tension coils between us.
The moment the doors open again, I guide her into the parking garage.
My car is in its reserved spot, sleek and dark.
I unlock it with a push of a button, my free hand never leaving hers.
Once we’re at the passenger side, I finally release her fingers to open the door.
She slides in without a word, looking up at me with worry and something else—something that makes my pulse race all over again.
I close the door, jog around, and slip into the driver’s seat.
The car roars to life, headlights illuminating the concrete path out of the garage.
I glance at Lacey, her hands clenched in her lap, phone buzzing in her purse.
“Text Fiona,” I tell her, my voice still rough from the adrenaline. “Let her know you’re safe.”
She nods, fumbling for her phone. Her fingers fly over the screen.
I keep my gaze on the ramp, turning the wheel sharply.
We emerge onto the street, neon lights reflecting on the car’s hood.
My heart is still going a mile a minute, but a different kind of awareness seeps in—Lacey is in my passenger seat, alone with me.
After everything that happened tonight—our kiss, the fight—I’m not sure how to handle the next five minutes, let alone the entire drive.
Eventually, Lacey exhales. “Fiona says she’s with Stellan, and they’re heading out. She’s worried about you, though.”
I nod, swallowing. “I’ll text her later. Let her know I’m fine. Right now…” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence. Right now, I have you in my car, and every nerve in my body is on fire?
Lacey stares at me for a moment. Then she glances away, out the window. “Where are we going?” she asks softly.
“I’m taking you home,” I say. “It’s not safe back there. People are probably still riled up. You’ll be better off at your place.”
Her lips curve in a small, rueful smile. “What if I don’t want to go home yet?”
My grip on the steering wheel tightens. “What do you mean?”
She sighs, leaning back against the seat. “I just… I feel too wired to go sit in my apartment alone. But maybe you’re right.” She fiddles with the hem of her skirt. “Anyway, you shouldn’t have to babysit me. You’ve done enough.”
Babysit? The word grates on me. Because there’s nothing about my feelings for Lacey that’s paternal.
Far from it. I flick my turn signal, deciding not to overthink it.
I drive us toward her neighborhood in tense silence.
Streetlights flash by in rhythmic patterns, and the hush inside the car grows heavier.
I steal a glance at her. She’s biting her lip, eyes uncertain. The memory of our kiss surges up—her lips parted beneath mine, her breath catching, my body roaring to life like I was twenty again. Desire throbs in my chest, mingling with guilt and the leftover anger from the brawl.
She said she didn’t want to be alone. Do I dare invite her someplace else? What if I ask her to come back to my place? That’s insane. Fiona will lose her mind if she finds out. But then again, tonight’s already crossed every line imaginable.
The tension finally snaps when I turn onto the street that leads to her apartment building. I slow the car outside the complex. She glances out the window at the nondescript concrete facade, then back at me.
I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice steady. “We’re here.”
Her eyes linger on the front door of her building. She makes no move to get out. Instead, she looks at me, her expression open and searching. “Oliver,” she says softly, “what if I’m not ready to go inside?”
Everything in me clenches. I grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles whiten. “What do you want to do?” I rasp, my mouth suddenly dry.
For a moment, she doesn’t answer, just studies me. The seconds stretch. Then she leans closer, her hand finding my forearm, her voice barely above a whisper. “Take me somewhere. Anywhere. I don’t want this night to end.”