It’s evident that more beer is in order, so I take a few more gulps.
Max’s eyes narrow. “Is that IPA?”
I chuckle as I set the cup down. “No,Dad, it’s not.” He doesn’t need to know I spent three hours with my head in Mo’s toilet after that Bruins game and haven’t had IPA since. “It’s a honey blonde.”
“What are you doing after this?”
My eyes widen. “What?”
“You heard me. Have dinner with me.” He scans the field slowly, assessing the crowd before pinning me with those dark brown eyes. “Unless you have plans…?”
I open my mouth to tell him that yes, of course I already have plans, but I’m finding it difficult to lie to him. “I have no plans.”
Max’s grin is wicked as it spreads across his face. “Then it’s settled.”
“Is it?” Annoyed by how much that smile disarms me, I bring my beer to my lips and realize it’s empty.
“Go easy on those,” he says with a cheeky wink, pointing to my empty glass.
That wink indicates that he’s teasing, but embarrassment still heats my cheeks from the last time we drank together and he had to drive me home. I still have no recollection of what I might have said to him for that car ride to Imogen’s.
My bestie filled in a few blanks for me, though, like how when he carried me up the steps and tried to pass me off to her, I clung to him tighter and begged to go to his place.
Fuckingswell.
“I’ll be done here in about thirty minutes,” Max says, drawing my focus back to him. “You good to leave around then?”
Shaking my head, I scan the people around me. The two players I planned to chat with tonight have ghosted me, not even bothering to show up to their own team event, and the one player on the Raiders that I already represent is at the hospital while his wife gives birth to their second son—three weeks ahead of schedule.
At least, if Max takes me out to dinner, the trip won’t be a total waste, right?
God, whoamI?
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his smile falling.
I try to perk up. “Nothing, really, I’m just…” I laugh awkwardly, letting the words trail off, then shake my head and avert my eyes. What is it about him that makes me want to be honest?
“Sutton.”
My eyes snap up at the firmness in his tone.
“Speak your mind.”
My breath catches. I blink a few times as I try to understand why.
“What are you thinking about?” Max says, motioning toward me. “You got so serious for a second there, when I said I needed thirty minutes. Do you need more time? I can wait.”
Laughing, I admit, “Honestly, Max, I’m not sure what to do with myself for thirty minutes.”
Understanding widens his eyes and he says, “Oh. Understood.” He looks over his shoulder, scanning the crowd, then shrugs and looks back at me. “Fuck it. Let’s go now.” He tosses back his drink, then grabs my empty cup and tosses them both in the trashcan, jerks his head toward a side exit, and begins to head that way.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I hurry to catch up with this man I’ve turned down more times than I can count, reluctantly excited about spending the evening with him.
Not that I’ll tell him that.
As we slip through the tunnel and into the hallways of the stadium, I glance behind me to get a glimpse of the sunset—
And my eyes catch on the buildings in the distance, one tall hotel in particular.
