What would Grant say about that? And now I’m back to square one, with his intense, brooding eyes front and center in my mind again.
“Excuse me,” I motion the bartender over with what I hope is a sweet smile. “Would you mind changing the TV across from me to the hockey game? The Aces are playing tonight.”
He reaches for the remote behind him without hesitating. “Yeah, no problem.”
He doesn’t ask me if I know anyone on the team. Or if I’m feeling guilty for being out on the town while a certain someone is playing his heart out, tending his goal like his life depends on it.
The bartender flips through the channels and stops right on Grant’s face. The game is in its final minutes and the score is close. I scoot to the edge of my barstool and watch as he makes save after save, with reflexes that are so lightning-fast and natural that it seems like he’s hardly even trying.
The Aces pull ahead with less than a minute left, and the arena erupts into cheers and chants as the final buzzer sounds. The camera follows Grant as he skates away from the goal, and I feel myself starting to smile as his teammates mob him with their congratulations.
He takes off his helmet and I can see that he’s smiling too. Well, as close as he gets to a smile while he still has his game face on. But the corners of his mouth are turned up and there are a few crinkles at the edges of his eyes.
When he looks into the camera, it almost feels like he’s smiling right at me.
“Hi there, pretty lady.” A man’s voice startles me from my thoughts, which is probably for the best. Especially that last thought. “Is anyone sitting here?”
I look over like a deer caught in headlights to find a man gesturing to the empty stool next to mine. He’s probably in his mid-forties, well-dressed and decent-looking, with a confident smile.
“No, it’s free.” I try to muster some of that flirty energy I was supposed to be channeling tonight, or at least a little enthusiasm for the possibility of some grown-up conversation.
But I’m distracted now, and my rebellious brain is already finding ways to compare the new stranger to the man I can’t seem to get off my mind, no matter where I go or what I do.
The new guy doesn’t seem bothered, though, and his smile doesn’t falter. “I have to say, it’s refreshing to see a beautiful woman who is actually into sports. Are you an Aces fan?”
“Sort of a newer fan, I guess. I mostly started following them this season.”
“You’ve picked a good team, and a good season to start watching. They’re having a hell of a run.”
I nod and make small talk with him for a few minutes, all while reminding myself that this is what I came here to do. The wine feels warm in my belly, and this guy is clearly interested in more than just hockey.
But it feels all wrong.
His compliments sound rehearsed. His smile is a little too quick and a little too wide. When he leans in closer and drops his voice lower, I can tell he’s trying to be intimate, but all it does is make me feel uncomfortable. It’s so different from the way I felt when Grant boxed me in against that wall. That wasn’t uncomfortable at all.
I should be paying more attention to the guy next to me, but my eyes drift back over to the TV just as they’re replaying thatclose-up of Grant’s almost-smiling face, and I realize I’m already smiling again in anticipation. My heart is beating faster, and my stomach is doing that fluttery thing that I’ve come to associate with Grant—and only Grant.
And I’m getting all of this from a five-second close-up shot of the hockey game.
“So what do you say?” The guy is still talking, and I realize I haven’t heard a single word he’s said for at least the past minute. “Can I buy you another drink?”
“Actually, I—” I fumble for my wallet, then pull out enough cash to cover my tab and a generous tip. “I need to go. I’m sorry.”
“Wait, what? Did I say something wrong?”
But I’m already off the barstool with my purse on my shoulder. “No, it’s not you. I just have to leave. Right now.”
I don’t wait for a response. I just start walking through the crowd until I make it out the door and into the parking lot. My keys are in my hand and I’m staring at my car, but I stop myself from getting behind the wheel. I’m not drunk, but I’m definitely too tipsy to drive home safely.
I need a cab. I’ll deal with coming back for my car in the morning. Or later tonight. Or whenever. I just need to get away from this bar. My phone says there’s a driver available seven minutes away, so that will have to be good enough.
The worst part about tonight is that I’m still not sure why I felt like I had to come out here in the first place. I’m not sure if I was trying to prove something to myself, or to Grant, or to the universe in general.
But all I’ve succeeded in proving so far is that I can’t stop thinking about Grant, even when I have every reason in the world not to.
Chapter 24
Grant
