2
HADLEY
“Iknow it sounds crazy, but it felt like someone was watching me,” I say as I play with the wrapper of the straw.
Isla tightens her ponytail. “What do you mean? At the dance studio?”
“Yeah. I was doing my usual self-practice. Just dancing a modern piece to music on the speakers, in my own little world, but then I swear someone was outside watching. I had the backdoor to the studio open, but when I looked, nobody was there. Maybe I’m paranoid. Then again, I also didn’t feel unsafe, you know?”
She shrugs. “I mean, Lake Spark is one of the safest places to be.”
“True.”
I’ve lived here my whole life. I also grew up in that dance studio, and after my teacher Ms. Romy moved to Colorado, my father bought the place and gifted me the studio when I finished up my dance degree over at the university in Hollows nearby. I turned down a spot at a professional dance company, as it wasn’t for me. I don’t like rigid routine, and I love my family too much to be far. Teaching is my calling, as proven by the fact that it's been a few years and I’m still happy.
The waiter returns to take our orders. I go for a chicken salad sandwich, it’s my favorite at Catch 22, and Isla orders a Caesar salad.
The moment the waiter leaves us, Isla is in action mode while I down my glass of water. “Pause your gallon-a-day hydration for a sec, we have business to discuss.”
“Hydration is key for my dewy skin,” I playfully defend.
Isla crosses her arms on the table and looks at me with enthusiasm. “So,Vegas.” She flashes her eyes at me.
“What about it?”
Isla is a few years older than me, but it doesn’t deter our friendship. Her brother plays for the Spinners, and she’s close with the team, as she works for Ford at the training arena in project management for the summer camp that he runs.
“Come on, it’s my brother’s birthday. I can’t not go to Vegas. But Idoneed a trusted sidekick with me.”
A half-smile forms on my mouth. “As much as I love a good party, I’m not… sure.”
“Because of a certain player who is sitting somewhere in this restaurant?” Isla’s face screws up, and she pretends to search.
I huff out a breath, and my eyes do a quick travel to land on Connor Spears, the carbon monoxide of my air. His piercing brown eyes don’t affect me, nor do his cunning grin or well-defined biceps. And so be it if his hair is the kind of shade of light blondish-brown that I like, not quite as dark as his ruthless heart.
I hate the off-season. It means I have to see his face around town more than usual, and it exceeds my tolerance quota for the guy.
My eyes journey back to Isla. “Trust me, I could care less if I have to witness his partying antics or flavor-of-the-week puck bunny.”
Isla offers me a pained look. “Did you two ever talk about—”
My palm flies up to stop her. “Please don’t mention it.” I groan from the pure memory of a time I should have known better.
She nods in agreement to my request. “Then it’s settled. You will pack your sexiest dress and come with. The private plane that my brother arranged leaves tomorrow at lunch, and we should be back the day after.”
Picking up my phone, I see my screensaver. It’s my dad, mom, and little brother Ashton. It’s an old photo, which you could tell because Pickles, the beagle that lived to a hundred, is in the photo. I loved that dog. He was almost the best part of my dad marrying April, except April became my mom and nothing tops that. My biological mom was never in the picture, a fling of my dad’s. She even signed away her rights the moment I was born. But I don’t care, because it means my dad and I ended up with the person who I consider to be my real mom, and they had my little brother one day after my ninth birthday.
I bet if I told my mom that I was going to Vegas, she’d help me pack. My parents are the kind of people that you can throw back a drink with while listening to good music. They encourage living life to the fullest.
“I guess I should get out of the house,” I say. “Plus, I do want to get another small tattoo, which I could get in Vegas in the morning before we go.” I already have a small pair of ballet slippers, and a baseball because my dad was a pitcher. I would like to add a few tiny shooting stars somewhere. I keep my tattoos hidden in intimate spots near my hip bone. There are great tattoo artists in Vegas, so it would be a bonus for this trip.
“That would be fun, and you should get out of the house. You live with your parents.”
I give my friend a pointed look. “By choice,” I correct her. Why give up a great room in a beautiful house with an indoor pool, family, and a mom who cooks to professional standards?
Isla reaches across the table to take my hand between her palms. “Please, Hadley, I don’t get along with the other girls in the group. I need someone who can dance all night and tell a good joke. I think Cann has a thing for you too.”
“Shawn Cann, the center?”
