“What?! That’s so cool! Dang, you’re so fancy,” I tease.
The smile he gives me feels real this time, so I lean into it, continuing to joke with him as we make our way through the lobby. When we climb into the back of the black SUV with Charlotte, I squeeze into the middle, Beckett’s side fully pressed into mine. It’s glorious, and I can’t decide whether I want to take this opportunity to lean into him further or to force myself to maintain an appropriate distance.
“Well, this is a fun surprise.” Charlotte’s eyes dance with undisguised glee as she takes in Beckett. “You’re looking fine tonight, Kane. Must be getting good sleep lately.”
I want to murder her. I knew I shouldn’t have told Charlotte about the hotel room, but I was feeling so guilty about masturgate that I needed someone to talk to. Someone I knew would tell me I was overreacting. I still feel a deep need to confess that I overstepped a boundary, but Charlotte convinced me that what I do in the confines of my own mind can’t be used against me. Her actual words were, “If players got in trouble every time they picked you from the ol’ spank bank when they were alone in a hotel room, there wouldn’t be anyone left on the team, so I think you’re safe.”
Unfortunately, I’ve always had what Charlotte calls an overactive guilt complex that causes me to confess to any minor infraction. Though I don’t think it’s overreacting. I just believe rules exist for a reason. That if you make a mistake, you need to confess and make amends. It’s literally the backbone of my push for a culture of accountability.
But I can’t disagree that masturbating, alone, in my hotel room, technically isn’t against any policies.
Instead of commenting on the sleep comment, Beckett tips his head in acknowledgment. “And you look lovely as always.”
“And we both know Finley looks like a snack,” Charlotte says, clearly enjoying her ability to stir shit.
“Charlotte!” I exclaim, my cheeks starting to burn.
It feels like the vehicle has become an MRI machine, Beckett’s gaze scanning me, millimeter by millimeter. Finally, in a voice deeper than I’ve ever heard from him in the day, he agrees. “We do.”
Charlotte asks Beckett how he ended up with an invite tonight, and when she learns he’s in a suite with Jameson Walker and his family, her excitement kicks up a notch. Apparently, Charlottemet Jameson’s sister through work, and now they’re the type of friends who get a drink whenever Lila happens to be in Denver.
“So, I guess you’re stuck with us all night!” Charlotte exclaims.
“Wait, what?” I ask, as Beckett’s arm tenses, his hard muscles a wall against mine.
“Lila asked me to join them,” Charlotte says again, like she’s not shaking my entire world, even though she totally knows she is. “Lila took the night off from work so she could hang out with us since I told her I wouldn’t be working, either. It should be so much fun. Plus, everyone in the box will be a professional athlete, seriously dating one, or related to one in some way, so it should be pretty low stress.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “You have a different definition of low stress than I do.” I had big plans to scream the lyrics at the top of my lungs for two hours straight from the safety of Charlotte’s family’s box.
We pull up to the side of the arena, one not open to the public, but it also isn’t the player entrance we typically use, and I realize what this odd feeling in my gut must be—I’m never here when the floor isn’t ice. The arena hosts all of Denver’s professional hockey and basketball games as well as the big concerts and other events that Charlotte and her team put on, but if it’s not a game day, I’m not in the main part of the building. Just the practice facility.
We climb out of the car, and Charlotte pulls a badge from her purse. She scans it to open a side door, and we make our way through what is apparently the most VIP entrance. Beckett’s fingers brush mine as we walk, and instead of stepping further away, I just let myself have the moment; hope and excitement filling my chest as I anticipate the next swing of our arms, the next contact made.
The backs of our fingers meet again, and it’s all I can do to keep my face straight, my steps unfaltering, because I know itmeans hechosenot to move away. At the thought, my traitorous mind conjures images of what tonight could be, if only he weren’t my player. Holding hands as we make this walk, our fingers intertwined. Laughing, his arm around my shoulders, as we mingle with our friends. Listening to love songs with Beckett’s arms wrapped around me from behind, engulfing me with his size and heat. I’d lean my head against his chest, singing along as we gently sway to the music of my absolute favorite singer.
“Here we are,” Charlotte announces excitedly as she scans a ticket at the door before handing a second one to me. “In case you need to leave for anything.”
I tuck it into my pocket as Beckett holds the door to the suite open for both of us. It’s fairly crowded inside, and Charlotte pushes her way forward, quickly finding her friend and giving her a big hug.
“Callan is waving at you.” I nod toward the man. Beckett looks around, finding the men who invited him here.
“Go,” I say when he seems hesitant to leave. He looks between us again, so I reiterate, “Go. Really. I’m good. I’m at a Jaxon Steele concert! Literally nothing could stop this from being the best night of my life.”
Beckett chuckles as he finally walks away, and I slip into the corner, content to watch the flow of people around me.
Beckett is talking to Callan and Jameson, and even though I can only see half of his face, it’s clear he enjoys their company. There’s a wide smile crossing his face, and his shoulders are relaxed. It’s Night Beckett. The man I spend my time with on a couch watching game film, not the professional hockey player who is laser-focused on his goals.
I’m still staring at Beckett when Charlotte joins me, leaning against the wall in a mirror of my posture. Her gaze followsmine, and she lets out a sigh. “The online world is rooting for you two.”
“That’s because no one in Colorado cares about sea lions.” I feel a smile break across my face as Beckett laughs.
“Sure,” Charlotte agrees. “Well-known fact that the people of Colorado, really the whole Rocky Mountain region, are sea-lion haters.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know you haven’t taken your eyes off that very attractive man since he begrudgingly left your side.”
The body parts in question snap to her face as if proving her point. “That’s not true.”
