He points in the other direction from where I was walking. So much for a strong finish to this weird failure of a night.
“Oh.” I could pull my arm back, but I don’t. I love how his skin feels on mine. How he holds me with gentle force. I feel safe but nervous when he touches me, and I like that chaotic blend. Who knew?
"You were heading home, right?" he questions. "Or do you have another club to go to where you mind fuck another poor hockey player?"
“All the hockey players are in this club.”
“You are equal parts intriguing and confusing.”
“Thanks.”
We’re still chest-to-chest. His hand is still around my bicep. We’re within kissing distance and the thought of doing it again crosses my mind, but that would be crazy, right?
But didn’t I come here for crazy?
“What did you mean when you said youknowhockey players?” Crew wants to know. “How? Why did you ask if I recognized you?”
"Because I'm drunk and confused. You confuse me," I babble and then answer the first question with some vague lies. "I follow TMZ Sports. I know the Quake won the Stanley Cup and are here to party hard. I'm not into partying hard or wild nights and random hook-ups. No judgment, but I don't fit. So best to avoid me, so you're not disappointed."
“There was absolutely nothing disappointing about that kiss.”
He’s right.
A warm breeze wanders through my hair, sending a piece across my face where it sticks to what’s left of my lip gloss. Before I can brush it away, Crew does. It’s such a simple, gentle gesture but it births butterflies the size of pterodactyls in my belly. Whoa, this man is reeling me in like a fish on a hook. I’m not at all used to this. But isn’t that the point?
“I’m not going to lie, I’m not a relationship guy, and we, as a team, are definitely here to party. But why are you in Vegas, letting dudes you don’t know kiss you if you’re not looking for something meaningless too?” Crew just took a proverbial hammer and nailed it.
Iamhere looking for some random guy to rid me of my virginity because that near-mugging-slash-more proves if I don’t make the decision, someone may make it for me. And what would be safer than hooking up with Crew Westwood? I know for a fact that hockey players get regular STD tests and that they don’t want a baby as much as I don’t. They always have protection on them. And they’re usually incredible in bed. At least, that’s what I hear.
“Fireball, that wasn’t a tough question for a smart woman like you,” Crew reminds me. His eyes sparkle. His smile is somehow equal parts cocky and kind.
“Wanna go back to the hotel with me?”
My heart gallops as soon as the question leaves my lips. See, Mom, I do have some of your DNA. He doesn’t say a word. He just wraps his arm lazily over my shoulder and we start to walk together.
* * *
On the short stumbling walk back to the hotel, I make a mental list of everything I know about Crew Westwood, which isn’t much. I know my cousin Tate talks about him a lot and considers him a friend, which is good. It means he’s a nice guy. Tate doesn’t suffer fools. I know he’s the son of Avery Westwood who was the league’s poster boy when he played. He was a child phenom from Canada who was drafted number one when he was eighteen and an avalanche of trophies, Cups, and endorsement deals followed. Avery made the most money of any player in the league in his day. I know Crew is a twin. I know his mom is the sister of one of Avery’s old teammates so his bloodline is double hockey, like ours. My mom’s dad was also a professional hockey player. I know he had a significant other at some point because I remember Tenley coming home from a party she went to with Tate and complaining that “Crew Westwood had just gone through a horrible break-up.”
So as we approach the lobby I decide to be direct. "Do you have a girlfriend? Because I don't do one-night stands with guys who cheat."
“Fair policy,” Crew replies. “I’m single. Entirely unattached in every possible way.”
I nod and he holds open the door to the Wynn for me. As we cross the lobby, his hand pressing gently against my lower back, I feel like every set of eyes in the place is on us. I'm probably paranoid, mostly. I mean Wynn employees know there's a slew of hockey players in their hotel, but no one cares about the women they bring up to their rooms… probably.
“And for the record,” his head dips so his breath glances off my cheek, causing me to fight a shiver, “I have the same policy. I don’t fuck with people’s relationships.”
“I’ve been single since last October,” I reply, and he gives me a small nod as he punches the button on the elevator panel.
The doors slide open and he ushers me inside. He stares at the panel of floor numbers. I watch him carefully. The elevator is filled with light. Crew looks even more handsome than in the dimly lit club and shady street. His skin is dewy and smooth, a tan making the lighter grays and greens in his eyes pop. He's so damn big. I've been around hockey bodies my whole life, but I've been related to all of them so I've never really looked at them. There's a lot to admire. Broad shoulders, bulky biceps, taut, trim tummy, the bubble butt. Yeah, I get why women like that now. It felt really nice to grab onto.
“Your place or mine, Fireball?” he asks as the elevator doors slide closed but we don’t go anywhere. He pulls his room key from his back pocket. “Full disclosure I’m in a two-bed suite on the second to last floor. It’s nice. Has a private hot tub on the balcony, but it also has the thief of joy in the other bedroom.”
“Who?”
“My brother. He’s what would happen if Squidward and Eeyore fucked without protection.” He says it without an ounce of jest or sarcasm in his voice and the absurdity makes me smile. “He’s likely home from the club already and muttering to himself about the room being too cold or the club being too loud, and how he never should have come.”
"Oh. Well then my place it is." I take my keycard out of my tiny little purse and swipe it over the reader before punching the button for the top floor. My head tilts back and I look at him. "Since we're being brutally honest, I'm in a three-bedroom suite with three other people, but they definitely aren’t home and they definitely won’t bother us when they do come home. If you’re still there.”
