Noah cups a hand to his mouth and calls out, “Mark your calendars, boys. Grant Parker is joining us mere mortals for a drink.”
I grunt and head for the door, already regretting my decision. But there’s no way in hell I’m going home alone.
The Hideout is packed, just like it always is after a home game, and the noise level is exactly as overwhelming as I expected. The music is blaring, people are shouting over each other, and the general chaos rockets up several more notches once I walk through the door.
I’m used to getting recognized when I go out in public, especially in Denver, but the place is giving me the full rockstar treatment tonight. The rookies on the team are eating it up at a table near the entrance, but I’m fighting every single one of my instincts just to push past the throng of people at the front door. If I didn’t know for sure that Heather and April were already somewhere inside, I’d turn right back around with no questions asked and no fucks given.
I might not want to go home alone, but I’d get over it. We’re all here now, though, and I need a water before I do anything else.
Being tall does have its benefits in a place like this. I can see that April is with Margo in a booth along the wall, and several of the guys have already claimed tables with their partners. Reese and Callie are laughing with Declan and Hannah near the back,while Theo and Becca have squeezed into a corner booth with Sawyer and Violet.
Heather is in line at the bar—which, coincidentally, is exactly where I want to be.
She’s still wearing jeans and her Aces jersey, but there’s something different about her that I can’t fully put my finger on until I’m right next to her.
The first thing I notice is that her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail now instead of the messy one she had at the arena. And when she turns toward me, I can see that she’s put on lipstick. A little more makeup, too—not much, but enough to make her eyes more noticeable and her cheeks look like they’re permanently flushed a light pink under the bar lights.
“You look good,” I say, forgetting for a second where we are and that we’re surrounded by at least a hundred people.
The pink color of Heather’s cheeks deepens noticeably, though, and I’m pretty sure I can take all the credit for that.
“Thanks.” She reaches up and touches her ponytail, almost in a self-conscious way. “I thought it might be nice to feel like a person for a while. A grown-up person who doesn’t show up to someone else’s event looking like I’ve been through a tornado and with Cheerios in my hair.”
I’m not sure whether to smile or frown at the memory. On the one hand, she did show up to that event with a memorable look. But there was nothing good that came out of my conversation with her that day, as far as I’m concerned.
“You looked fine that day,” I offer, since it happens to be true and is probably the most neutral-sounding thing I can say at the moment.
“I looked like a disaster.”
“Not a disaster.” The words come out quickly and maybe a little harsh, but it’s the damn truth. “Never a disaster. You lookgood no matter what you’re wearing or whether you have your shit together or not.”
Her eyes go wide, and the noise around us fades until it’s just the two of us standing here, close enough to have what feels like a private conversation but still not close enough for me.
She leans in and opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, but then the bartender appears in front of us.
“What can I get for you folks?”
The moment passes, the silence breaks, and Heather blinks quickly before turning to place her order.
“I’ll have a glass of wine, please. And a Shirley Temple for my daughter.”
I order a water and we wait in silence until the bartender comes back with our drinks. Heather takes hers and April’s, then nods toward their table.
“I should probably get over there before April orders cheesy bread and ice cream for dinner.”
I want to go with her and almost start to follow her automatically before I realize I haven’t been invited. I’m not sure whether that’s on purpose or whether it even matters in a place like this where everyone seems to be mingling with everyone else, but I don’t want to push my luck when things are still so fragile and awkward between us.
“Of course,” I say instead, and park myself at the bar while she disappears into the crowd.
I gulp down half my water in two drinks while I pretend not to watch Heather laughing at something Margo is saying, and I don’t even notice the woman who has come up next to me until I hear her voice too close to my ear.
Well, more like my armpit, but still way too close for comfort.
“You’re Grant Parker, right?”
She’s blonde and wearing a tiny black dress that leaves very little to the imagination. And the look in her eyes when she smiles up at me says she knows exactly what she wants.
“That’s the rumor,” I mutter.
