5. Snake Hips and ‘96
Chapter five
Pursing my lips, I look at the empty doorway. Again.
“Elena will be giving him a hard time.” Ethan runs a hand over his hair before kicking his legs out and crossing his ankles. “Why don’t you come upstairs with us, Ro?”
This room was full an hour ago, before players started trickling in to meet their families.
Now only Ethan and Katie are still waiting.
With me.
In an otherwise empty room.
I wave my hand, feigning carelessness. “Eh, I’ll hang around. He might not want to do the party if his shoulder’s pulled again, you know? They know I’m here.”
Katie hugs me once more. “You sure?”
“All good.” I mumble it into her shoulder. “Say hi to snake hips for me.”
“Snake hips?” Ethan demands as we break apart, his cheeks reddening. “Who the fuck is snake hips?”
Katie tries not to laugh as she takes his hand. “Calm down, Elmo. Feed me and I might tell you.”
Whatever she whispers in his ear makes the tips flood scarlet as they slip through the doors, and I flop back down into my seat, turning my phone over in my hands.
Nothing on the group chat. My messages haven’t been read, and I blow out a breath.
That was a hard hit. On top of an injury.
I end up staring at the clock with nothing better to do. The faint hum of bass sounds from the floors above, impromptu celebrations kicking off in chaotic style.
Twenty minutes turn to thirty before I give up on waiting and head down to the player levels, flashing my badge to the guys on the door.
Everything is… silent. Every room is dark, except for the very end of the corridor. The door to Elena’s office is closed, and I wander past it to the faint glow.
“Did you know there’s a pool running on how long it’s been since you last left this place?” I prop myself against the doorway as Eddie turns. “1997 was my guess. The earliest was 1901, but Ryker can’t count for shit.”
Half a broken stick sits in each bear-sized hand, and I frown. Jonas is the only player who uses lime green tape, but he didn’t break any sticks tonight. “Is that Jonas’s stick?”
“Boy goes through them like pencils. Have a word.” Eddie’s gruff face breaks into a smile. “And I started that pool, you know. It was ’96. What you still doing down here?”
“Looking for my errant alphas.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “You seen them? I’m guessing Cart is still with Elena, but I haven’t seen Liam or Jonas either.”
Eddie frowns. “Elena headed out a while back. Haven’t seen any of them since. They’re not at the party?”
Oh. I pause. “Uh. Yeah, probably.”
Nobody sees more in this place than our grumpy-as-hell equipment manager. I’m pretty sure it’s a requirement for the job in every NPHL team. They probably have a group chat full of single word responses and thumbs ups.
I suddenly wish I hadn’t interrupted him.
His eyes narrow. “Everything okay?”
“Always. You know me.” I push myself off the doorway and force a smile. “You’re probably right. I’ll head up there now. Great match, Eddie. All down to the equipment, of course.”
“Flatterer. Get out of here. You’re too young to spend your evening with a grizzled goat like me.” He waves his hand at me. “Want me to come up with you?”
“Nah. I’ll probably bump into them on the way. See you tomorrow.”
My feet are heavy as I make my way upstairs.
We probably missed each other. Easily done in an arena this size. Annoyed at myself for my own pity party, I swipe my face before following the noise down the hall.
Whoever decided on this impromptu celebration picked the swanky suite.
Noise that’d give the arena some serious competition sweeps over me as I push the double doors open.
The set of connecting rooms are dark, light coming from a few colored moving strobes that illuminate flashes of an impromptu dance floor and the corner bar.
I hover by the doorway until I’m spotted.
“Rosie!” Ryker bellows in my ear. I let him wrap his arm around my shoulders in a sideways, slightly sloppy hug. “Where you been? We were looking for you!”
“Who was?” My chest jumps as he jerks his thumb behind him.
Benji raises his free hand in greeting. The other one grips his usual OJ and soda. There’s a deep crease between his eyebrows, and I follow his gaze when it flickers uncertainly.
“Me and Benj.” Ryker is still babbling away, oblivious to the way every muscle has stilled. “He said we had to go look for you, so we were on our way out.”
“I’m here now.” The words are barely a croak. “I’m gonna get a drink, Ryk, but I’ll see you in a minute.”
He plants a kiss on my cheek. “Good plan. Gotta celebrate.”
Celebrating suddenly feels like the last thing I want to do.
Benji starts forward, but I duck into the crowded dancefloor before he can reach me, my heart racing.
Everyone who speaks to me is smiling.
I choke on my answers as I shift forward, inch by inch. Ethan and Katie are already dancing, and I duck my head to slip past before they can spot me.
Until I’m lingering on the edge of the dancefloor. Close to the bar.
And close to them.
It doesn’t look like anything. Not really.
But… It sure looks like my alphas left me waiting alone to hide in a corner with an omega that isn’t me.
Lauren smiles slightly as she leans in to listen to Liam, her eyes taking in the dancefloor over his shoulder.
She’s still wearing her suit from today. He hands her a full flute of champagne, those perfect neat nails gripping it tightly. And Jonas—Jonas is standing on her other side. Staring. At her.
Lauren stops smiling when our eyes meet.
There’s no thought in my head as I stride forward. Nothing except for panic closing my chest as I slap a smile on my face and slip between them. The space is tight enough that Lauren’s forced to step back. “Is this for me?”
I swipe the glass from her freakishly perfect hands, grinning manically. “Thanks! I was really thirsty. They ran out of drinks in the family room.”
Lauren’s cheeks flush to a shade of crimson only seen in children’s paint palettes as I twist, putting my back to her and facing off with Liam and Jonas.
Jonas blanches. “Rosie. Hey—”
“Oh good,” I interrupt. “You do remember my name. A toast, I think.”
Liam stares at me as I lift the glass. Their faces, more familiar to me than my own, distort through the pale bubbles until they’re barely recognizable. “To you.”
Nothing. They give me nothing.
My smile falls somewhere on the scale between get me a fluffy blanket and run like fucking hell, bitch. “Hell of an opening night.”
The air around me is thick with different scents. Two of them, I recognize. Liam dominates. The scent of clove smoke and warm, worn leather fills my nose, overlaid with sweet vanilla brandy and fresh pine resin from Jonas.
But beneath that, beneath them, is something soft and floral and unfamiliar.
Something that cloys in my throat and makes me want to vomit all over this picture-perfect tableau.
The several empty glasses to my left tell me they’ve been here for a while.
I tilt my head and hold Liam’s gaze, waiting for a response.
It doesn’t take long. He straightens. “Give Lauren her drink back.”
I—what?
I almost flinch.
It’s not a bark. None of them have ever barked at me. I’m pretty sure it’s in the NOC by-laws somewhere that it’s forbidden.
I’ve never had to think about it before. But his tone is closer to one than I’ve ever heard.
I don’t move as we stare at each other.
I don’t know what I expected from interrupting them, but it wasn’t this.
This... anger.
As if I’m the one in the fucking wrong.
“Ro,” Jonas murmurs placatingly. “Look. This isn’t…”
And then he stops.
“Isn’t what?” My breathing is getting louder. Embarrassingly so, and I feel my face flushing with heat. Swallowing, I gesture wildly around us. “Isn’t a party? A rodeo? A fucking pink and green striped duck? What isn’t it, Jonas? Spell it out for me.”
Jonas’s face floods with color. His mouth opens, only to snap closed again when Liam holds up his hand.
“Give Lauren back her drink,” he says. Quietly. “And then I want you to apologize for being so fucking rude.”
My inhale is audible over the music. “What?”
I almost forgot she was watching. My back stiffens further when her voice invades the suddenly wide fucking open space between my alpha and I. “That’s really not necess—”
“Yes.” Liam cuts Lauren off, keeping eye contact. “It is. I’m sorry about this.”
His voice softened, though. When he spoke to someone who wasn’t me.
My wrist twitches toward the bar, my body pushing me to do what he’s asking. Even my throat grows tight, the words gathering on my tongue.
Liam’s disapproval is heavy. His scent deepens with every silent moment that passes, and for the first time, it feels as though I’m drowning in it.
His eyebrows lift, as if I’m a child to be scolded and not his. “Well?”
Yanking the flute to my mouth, I down the drink in one.