“We’d better stop. I have to redo my lipstick as it is.” She reaches up and wipes away bright red lipstick from my mouth.
I growl reluctantly, nodding, parting to let her back into the bathroom. I observe the way she lines her lips in red and tops it with gloss.
“You deserve a night out after midterms and stress. Anything you want tonight, Stella, it’s yours. Champagne, chocolate, dancing, and then a nice bath here in the room before I take you back to Boulder.”
She glances toward the large claw-foot bathtub where I have set out candles waiting to be lit and a few bottles of luxurious bubbles because I wasn’t sure what fragrance she’d like.
“You’ve thought of everything.” Her gaze returns to me, sweet and soft, ready to leave the room. “I’m just happy to be here with you.”
I’m intoxicated by her before we even enter the party.
Ethan and Journey are by the ballroom door greeting every guest when we step into the event space. They spot us and we all erupt, seeing each other again. Stella squeals when she sees Journey, and the women hug. Ethan and I shake hands. They’re villains for the night, dressed as Sneed and Dolly Danger.
“It’s been forever. How have you been?” Journey asks, taking Stella a step aside to catch up.
“Nice surprise to see you two back together again,” Ethan elbows me.
“This time, I hope it sticks,” I elbow back.
More teammates arrive—Cam and Becca dressed as glamorous retro spies, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, and Kris and Bailey as Spiderman and Gwen—and introductions flow easily. I catch Cam eyeing me.
“Told you he’d bring her,” he mutters to Kris.
“Glad to see you’re getting along,” Kris adds with a grin.
I overhear Stella admiring a detail on Bailey’s costume. “That looks exactly like something my mom sells at her craft shop.”
She smiles. “That’s because it is. I love ordering from the Cozy Corner Craft Shop.”
Stella turns to me, a curious look on her face, holding us back as everyone heads deeper into the event, toward the bar.
“What?” I shrug innocently. “It doesn’t hurt to network.”
Her mouth twitches. “You told everyone about the shop?”
“And the WAGs, too,” I admit.
“Orders have been rolling in.” She shakes her head, smiling despite herself. “I guess I can’t be mad about that. Thank you.”
“I’d do anything for you. But by now you know that.” I pull her into me and kiss her temple. We join the others at the bar. I go in with the guys, ordering bottles of champagne.
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 thisas 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?”
