“He’s going to do something he’ll regret,” I hear Dix say, and I tear my eyes off Shay. He’s frowning, still looking over at Chooch, who is now standing even closer to the long, lean brunette.
“We want him over Ainsley, don’t we?” Jordan counters, taking a swig from his beer bottle. “Sometimes the fastest route to that is fucking someone else.”
“Chooch isn’t technically broken up with Ainsley,” I remind my teammates. “They haven’t had a final talk. He just got mad at her and spent the night at a hotel. We need to get him home and make sure he ends this properly before he sleeps around.”
Jessie must have walked up behind me in the middle of my little lecture because suddenly her slender arm is around my shoulder, and I glance sideways and see her face. “Seb is right. Ainsley might be a total bitch, but Chooch did love her. Let’s make sure he doesn’t disrespect that. Go over there and untangle him from the girl.”
She gives her fiancé a little push; Jordan groans but wanders away from us and over to our goalie. She turns to me with a grin. “And now to fix your love life.”
“I’d be forever grateful if you did,” I reply honestly. “I have no idea how to do it myself.”
Jessie looks over to where Shay is still dancing her ever-loving heart out. “She likes you. She likes me too, but she was blowing both of us off, and today I figured out why.”
“Hockey.”
“Her father, more specifically,” Jessie adds and wraps another arm around my shoulder. “I think he’s a total narcissistic dick.”
“A cheating, narcissistic dick.” I lower my voice a little, even though it’s loud in here. “I saw him making out with a woman at the game the other night. Not his wife.”
“Shut up,” Jessie bursts out in shock and then she groans, dropping her head onto my shoulder. “Ugh. Did you tell her?”
“No. I didn’t know what to say,” I reply. “I mean, it’s not my family or my business and…I think she knows anyway.”
“I think you should tell her,” Jessie says.
My eyes land on Shay again, and this time she’s looking back. The song ends and the cover band goes right into “Living on a Prayer,” one of the only Bon Jovi songs I like. I glance at Jessie, uneasy.
“I would want to know,” she urges.
I don’t answer her. I just take a deep breath and walk over to the edge of the dance floor. She’s watching me the whole time, even though both she and Audrey are still bouncing around and singing along. I wiggle my finger at her, beckoning her to come to me. I don’t expect her to do it. I almost expect her to flip me a middle finger or at the very least roll her pretty eyes and turn away. But to my utter amazement, she walks over to where I’m standing. Shay grabs my beer and takes a sip and then smiles as she hands it back. But it’s a guarded smile. “You summoned?”
“You look great out there,” I tell her as my eyes feast on her flushed cheeks and the dewy look of her skin.
“You should join me,” she replies with a small seductive smile.
I shake my head reluctantly. “I don’t dance.”
She snorts at that. “No guy dances. They just rub themselves up against girls.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you saying you want me to rub myself against you?”
She pauses and fights a smile. She loses the battle and grins as she reaches out, pinches the fabric of my sweater between her fingers and pulls. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
I wanted to talk to her about her dad, but she’s flirty and happy and I’ll be damned if I’m about to ruin that. It’s such a rare moment, something I haven’t seen since that first night.
I drop my half-empty beer on a nearby table and let her lead me onto the dance floor. I’m not graceful. I never have been. It’s why I’m a defenseman. I just need to have speed and good aim—both for my shots and my hits. I’m about as good at moving to music as I would be at figure skating, which is not at all. But there is no way I am going to turn down the chance to touch her in public, like she’s mine and only mine, for the world to see.
I might not be a dancer but I have a fairly decent voice and I know the words to this old eighties tune, so I lean close to her ear and sing. “Take my hand, we’ll make it, I swear.”
She looks up at me, our eyes latched on to each other. I reach up and move a hand through her hair, pushing it back off her shoulder, exposing her long, slender neck. I lean forward, take a deep breath of that scent that is all Shay—vanilla and lilacs or something—and let my lips ever so slightly touch the side of her neck.
She heaves a heavy breath and leans into the touch. I want to roar in victory. Instead I whisper, “Every man in this place wants you.”
“Well, now they think I’m with you,” she responds, and it makes my heart do a stutter step. I pull her closer and move my hips in rhythm with hers. I can feel her fingers curl into my hair. It sends a shiver down my spine.
“Every woman in this place wants you,” she whispers.
“I only want you.” The words leave my lips before I can filter them, and I instantly regret it. It’s too honest. Too needy. Too much. But her eyes dart downward, as if suddenly shy, and then she steps a little closer. Our torsos are pressed against each other and she’s just about riding my leg now. Since she hasn’t run screaming yet, I decide to tell her everything I’ve been thinking. “Shay, hockey isn’t who I am. It’s what I do. You would like who I am if you let yourself. I’m good for you. And I know you’re good for me.”
