My body is still buzzing as I hit the button for my floor.
So, now we have a secret. Her job will be safe, and my family won’t know about us. I feel like we’ll be walking a tightrope throughout the season, but the guilt I was carrying is gone.
Maybe I’m justifying it because I want her so badly. Or maybe it’s gone because this thing between us feels so right.
CHAPTER SIX
EVA
For the firsttime in nearly three weeks, I can finally relax.
Since the Vikings game, my father has been running me ragged. He’s testing me by dumping an avalanche of logistical scheduling, travel coordination, and unedited broadcast onto my desk. He wants to see if I’ll buckle under the pressure of the network’s top tier. No producer in the history of the network has gotten this much direction from top brass.
But I’m a Carrington. I’m not complaining, and I certainly won’t let my dad or anyone else see me sweat. I want to prove I can handle the throne he’ll eventually hand down to me someday.
But tonight, I can have some fun. And by some miracle in the league’s schedule, Aston is off this weekend too.
Some of my friends that I’ve grown up with in elite social circles, all from families as famous and rich—or richer—as mine, dragged me out tonight. Despite our high-society statuses, these girls are all pretty down-to-earth, like I am.
They are, however, completely different from my friends I made at Walker, but I like spending time with them occasionally.Honestly, I’m usually too busy to hang out. Ellis and I are the only ones who actually have careers, and we both work in our family businesses.
Tonight, we’re at Obsidian Court in Central Park South. The venue is a crown jewel of Manhattan’s nightlife. It’s a masterclass in dark opulence. The ceilings are low, and the floors are a rich, chevron-patterned oak that gives the space its name, while the walls are covered in provocative artwork and mirrors that catch the amber glow of the lights.
To get through the velvet ropes outside, you either need an ironclad reservation, a famous face, or a direct line to someone who can sneak you in. Tonight, the main room is packed with high-fashion models, Wall Street multi-millionaires, and athletes I recognize hiding in the VIP alcoves under the haze machines.
I lean back against the plush leather banquette of our table, swirling the vodka soda in my highball glass, when my phone buzzes against my thigh. I pull it up to the table, the screen illuminating my face.
Aston: We just finished dinner. Where you at?
Eva: At Obsidian Court.
Aston: Never been there. Is that in Central Park? Who are you with?
Eva: Yeah. I’m with my friends Ellis, Cher, and Devon. You should come. Bring your friends.
Aston: I’m with some of the guys from my team, including Brody. That gonna be a problem?
Eva: Aren’t we all friends, Aston? *wink*
Aston: Give me thirty minutes. Don’t leave.
I smile, the alcohol loosening me up, blurring the boundaries I intentionally put in place not to be seen with Aston. I lock my phone and put it back in my small bag on my lap, then look over at my friends.
“Eva.” Cher laughs, waving a manicured hand in my face. She’s already half drunk, her cheeks flushed as she adjusts her dress. “Who are you texting?”
“Just checking on a production schedule,” I lie smoothly, taking another sip of my drink. “What are we talking about?”
“Ellis has a new guy,” Devon chimes in, leaning across the table, her eyes sparkling in the soft light. “Tell her about your hockey god, Ellis.”
She lets out a laugh, brushing her dark curls over her shoulder. Ellis is the global brand director for Overtime Sports, her family’s company. She oversees high-level marketing campaigns for elite athletes, leveraging their athletic credibility.
“He’s not a hockey god. He’s just a defenseman for the New Jersey Reds. Six-four, lethal on the ice, and a body that belongs in a museum. We’ve been messing around for a few weeks. It’s not a big deal. But let me tell you, hockey players have a different kind of stamina. My vagina is pretty much bruised at this point.”
“Is he coming out tonight?” I ask, laughing.
“Maybe after a team dinner or something.” Ellis shrugs. “You know how they are, Eva. They like to travel in packs.”
“That they do,” I mutter, thinking about my own defensive lineman who’s been dominating my entire life, it seems.
