She nods.
“Not interested. Besides, my dad would go through the roof if I ever introduced a hockey player as a boyfriend. He witnessed too many of Connor’s varsity team parties next door, and it’s only gotten worse since then, and his opinion has only grown since then thanks to the asshole over there.”
Isla can’t help but smirk. “A party. Is that how you and—”
“You are bad. Don’t bring him up. Con is his nickname, and trust me when I say it’s purely fitting for his personality too.” Connor is the opposite of what he seems, but few people know that, and I don’t call myself lucky that I’m one of those people. “Your pitch to get me to Vegas really sucks,” I tease her.
Isla sits up and clears her throat. “You’re right. Okay, how about my brother is getting you and me a luxurious suite with a hot tub, full breakfast, and unlimited champagne.”
My eyes slightly bug out, as I’m impressed. “You should have led with that.”
“Come on, please? You know I’m not a big party girl, but this sounds like something fun and out of my norm, plus it’s my brother’s birthday.” She brings her hands together in a pleading gesture.
I debate for a few seconds, but it doesn’t take long. “Fine.” A grin slowly forms.
She nearly squeals. “It will be unforgettable.”
“I’m sure.” I look at my phone and see the time is near one. “I’ll get someone to sub my classes tomorrow. Be sure to have a glass of champagne ready the moment I walk onto that plane.” My eyes sideline to Connor who is standing up from the table with his family. “I’ll need it,” I murmur softly.
* * *
Isla handsme a glass of champagne as I settle in my seat post takeoff on this private plane, and I adjust my black dress; it’s casual, but I know it turns heads. Already, the party seems to be going, so I’m not sure many would notice anyhow. Shots of tequila are being poured, and a few women are sitting on hockey players’ laps.
Why I signed myself up for this, I’m not entirely sure. Maybe it’s growing up with professional athletes always around me, but I appreciate that these guys have an unusual life. I guess that I have more understanding than most, which is why I’m often invited to their social gatherings. Most of the guys here are good men who treat Isla and me with respect and as a friend. They’re fun to hang around with too.
Well, all except one.
Connor is sitting by the window with a nice pair of jeans and a baby-blue button-down. It nearly makes me miss his glared look of steel or appreciate how baby blue brings out his eyes. But the scotch in his hand has me thrown. The image itself makes me chortle.
Scotch is a man’s drink. And I’ve seen Connor as a boy, the next-door neighbor who made fun of my ballet costumes when I was a little girl, to the teenager whose parties I would crash and he would shoo me away. The guy who lived and breathed hockey his whole life and gave roses to girls, with a charming grin plastered on his face. God, I had such a crush on him. Made worse when I was fourteen and his uncle forced Connor to walk me home after Connor’s party got busted, then he surprised me and kissed me on the cheek.
His parents are the sweetest and are good to me. They raised him well, which is why it doesn’t make sense that, when it comes to me, Connor is…
Our eyes connect, and for a mere second, I could swear something underlying is there, and I hate my treacherous heart for jumping.
Isla breaks my focus by nudging my arm with hers. “Drink up. Tequila is next, and it’s calling our name.”
I laugh. “We should pace ourselves.”
“Don’t you want to be a little numb and hungover when you get your tattoo tomorrow?”
“You’re getting a tattoo?” Shawn asks, having overheard as he flops onto a seat nearby. He has a sweet smile, so it’s a shame I seem to be drawn to hardened looks.
I offer him a polite smile. “Yeah, I think so. I’ve been wanting it for a while, but I didn’t have the right moment. I actually got my last tattoo with my dad, and he got one too—a baseball glove with names of everyone in the family.”
“Your dad is cool like that. He comes to our games sometimes, but in truth, I used to watch him play baseball. He was a really talented pitcher. Where are you getting the tattoo?” He swipes his hand across his jaw in a suave manner. “Let me guess, your inner thigh?”
The sound of a cough breaks our conversation, and my eyes sideline to the culprit. Connor gives his teammate a death glare. “I’m confident princess tippy-toes keeps her tattoo destinations above the waist.”
My eyes roll before I down a long sip of champagne. Of course, this would happen. My favorite villain always surprises me when he decides to go possessive on me, as if he has a fucking right. He doesn’t. Yet he still takes it upon himself.
“Or I enjoy very intimate locations. Hidden, private, slightly questionable for the tattoo artist,” I challenge with my eyes set on Connor whose jaw clenches slightly.
“If you need someone to hold your hand, I’m there,” Shawn volunteers with a grin.
Isla makes a sound of approval.
Connor, on the other hand, is quick to stand up. “Cann, now,” he orders and indicates to follow him.
