“Come. I need candy,” Tenley announces and marches off to the lounge. Shelby and Harlow follow immediately but I hang back with Mallory and Dylan who has grabbed the end of one of my short braids and is trying to stuff it into his mouth.
“I told you Dylan, no eating hair!” Mallory says firmly as she gently takes his little pudgy fist and pulls my hair free. He makes a disgruntled sound but doesn’t pitch a fit, even when Mallory takes him from me.
“Are you sure you can handle four days with your school schedule and your internship?” Mallory asks and I nod.
“The way the hours are now, yes. I’m at your place three to nine three days and one weekend day from noon to six. That’s fine. I don’t have school or the internship on weekends and all my classes are over by three,” I promise.
“You’ll miss all of Tate’s games.” Mallory looks disappointed.
"Spoiler alert, I would miss them all anyway like I did last year and every year," I remind her with a sheepish grin.
“I just thought, since you went to the Vegas party and you seemed to enjoy yourself that maybe you would want to do more things with us,” Mallory replies and the disappointment in her voice is apparent. I feel instantly guilty, the way Mae and Conner used to make me feel when I didn’t want to spend my free time at the rink when we all lived at home and the two of them were playing local hockey.
Mallory must see the turmoil her words have created on my face. I’ve never had a poker face. She immediately tries to explain better. “It’s just I’m more of an introvert like you, but being a player’s girlfriend, I have to go to these things now, and Dyllie loves them. So anyway I just… it would be nice to have someone around who is mellow, like me. Ten, when she comes, is full throttle, like she is everywhere with everything and the other wives and girlfriends are more intense too. You bring this zen quality I love.”
Awe… she’s so sweet. And I love hanging out with her and maybe I would consider attending more games but… my thoughts are interrupted when thebutwalks by.
Crew Westwood is in the same Quake track bottoms as Tate and Nash, but he’s wearing a plain ribbed black tank on top. His inked, muscled biceps and forearms on full display. He sees Mallory and Dylan first and a friendly smile covers his wide mouth. A twinkle enters his eye as he takes in Dylan and gives the toddler a cute little wave.
But then his eyes meet mine and my ovaries, which had started to dance at the sight of him, start to do what feels like an Olympic-worthy rhythmic gymnastics routine. Good God, he is hotter than an LA August.
“Mal, Dyllie,” he says to them and leans in to hug Mallory and ruffle Dylan’s hair. His eyes stay locked with me though and then he turns that work of art he calls a body to face me. He doesn’t look shocked. He knows who I am.
“Olivia. Hi.” I wonder when and how he figured it out? Did he know all along?
Mallory lifts her eyebrows toward the fluorescent lighting above our heads. I am instantly nervous. "Hey. Hi. Crew, right?"
I stick out my hand abruptly and awkwardly. He stares at it for a moment but doesn’t leave me hanging. I feel the same electric jolt I felt in Vegas as our skin connects. “Are you here for the game?”
"Yep. Some cousins are in town. Doing a girls' weekend and Tenley wanted to harass her brother," I explain, my words rushing out of my mouth for some reason. "Anyway, I should go. Bye."
I turn and walk toward the stairs at the other end of the hall. I force my pace to be slow and casual even though my legs are itching to run. “Tell everyone I’ve gone up to the seats.”
I don’t wait for Mallory to respond, I just keep walking.
I make it all the way to the foot of the stairs before I feel his warm, large, strong hand on my shoulder. “Olivia.”
I turn around and keep my eyes level with his chest. His glorious, broad, firm, toned chest. All I can think is, I’ve kissed the nipples under that fabric. “Don’t call me that. No one calls me that. And you aren’t even supposed to really know me. Act like it. I haven’t told anyone about that… thing… and I don’t want you to, okay? Please say you haven’t said anything to anyone.”
My desperation sends my gaze upward and our eyes meet. Why does he have to be so handsome? Why did I spend the first few days home from Vegas googling him and checking out almost every interview he’s ever done? Studying every picture he’s ever taken? Stalking his social media? Why?
“I told you before I realized you were my best friend and teammate’s relative that I wouldn’t tell anyone, and that still holds,” Crew replies, his voice low but still deep and smooth like butter. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”
"Because you wouldn't have wanted to…" I let my sentence trail off knowing he'll know what I'm talking about. "It would have complicated things. A one-night stand is supposed to be uncomplicated, right?"
Yeah, I’m asking because what the fuck do I know?
"Oh I still would have wanted to," he replies, pausing while his eyes dart around to make sure no one is overhearing. The security guard is the closest person to us and he's ignoring us. Crew's eyes find mine again as he confesses, "I want to right now. But I wouldn't have because you're right, it does complicate things. The team has an unofficial pact. Relatives are off limits."
“I didn’t know that. Tate has never mentioned it.”
Crew sighs and keeps staring at me. I can't read his expression but I could get lost in those hazel eyes if I let myself. And I can't. This is still a one-night stand situation. I take a step back. "Look, we never have to talk about this, or tell anyone. You did what I wanted you to do and we don't have to make it weird if we happen to run into each other again."
"I did what you wanted me to do?" Crew repeats and the way he says it, with indignation, makes me realize I offended him. I didn't mean to so of course I feel bad, but I'm so beyond new at this and what the hell do you say to a one-night stand after the fact? Ugh. I should have Googled it or something.
"I won't come to any more games so don't worry about that," I tell him. "I'm sorry."
“For what?”
