"Unlikely."
I line up my pool stick and take a shot. The eight ball drops. Game over. Steve walks over and shakes my hand.
That should be the end of it with Annabella, except I feel the shift in the room before I see her.
Natalia steps inside.
Dark jeans, a burgundy sweater that looks good against her tanned skin but not warm enough to have walked from the chalet to the bar. Her jacket is folded over her arm like she took it off once she entered the hotel lobby.
She hasn’t seen me yet, but I clock several men in the bar who have seen her. Their attention follows her the way mine did in the media room last week when I missed a question from a journalist because I was watching her instead.
Heat flashes against my rib cage, but I ignore it.
She spots me. Then she spots Annabella.
I watch the moment land. The flicker of surprise in her eyes, the quick composure snapping back into place, her spine straightening as if she’s bracing. She looks disappointed to see Annabella standing nearby.
Like it’s a confirmation that I’m exactly what the headlines say. An NHL playboy, commitment-phobe… And maybe I am.
Did she come here for me? I shouldn’t care that she looks defeated the moment she sees Annabella. That I noticed her reaction at all is a bad sign. Getting involved with Natalia would be a mistake. So if Natalia did come here for me, I have to make sure she doesn’t stick around.
We’re sharing a bed for Christ’s sake. It would be too easy to cross boundaries we both set. I have rules about the women I sleep with. I leave after it’s over. No pillow talk and absolutely no snuggling.
I turn back to Annabella and soften my posture deliberately.
"What are you drinking?" I ask.
Her face lit up.
We walk up to the bar and she orders a whiskey sour. I decline anything for myself. I wasn’t lying about the early morning.
Annabella leans closer, her hand landing on my thigh as she laughs at something I didn’t mean to be funny.
From the corner of my eye, I see Natalia at the bar, a dozen stools down from us. Back straight. Phone in her hand.
She doesn’t look at me. Not even once.
Annabella is saying something about Milan, about how the snow here is better than St. Moritz, but I’m only half-listening. I nod at the right moments. Ask a question when I’m supposed to. Let her think she has my attention.
Natalia chuckles at something the bartender says as he sets a glass of white wine in front of her. And then a few minutes later my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Natalia:I came to talk, but I won’t ruin this for you… again. I won’t wait up. Goodnight.
My jaw tightens at ‘ruin this’. As if this thing with Annabella is something worth protecting.
Before I can decide whether to respond, a guy slides onto the empty stool on the other side of her. He’s in his mid-thirties. Ski jacket still on, a beer in his hand, and the look of cocky confidence I’ve seen plenty of times in my lifetime.
He leans in and my fists tighten.
Even from here, I can read the body language.
Are you here alone?
I shift slightly on my stool, pretending to adjust, trying to see around the six other people sitting on the stools between us without being obvious.
Annabella is still talking. Something about fashion week, or the invitation-only dog park she takes her… pet iguana? Hell, if I remember what animal she said she has. I have no idea what kind of pet she has because I lost interest a long time ago.
I give her a hum of acknowledgment and tilt my head just enough to get a better angle. I can’t see Natalia’s face now. Just the back of her head and one shoulder.
