Page 75 of Playing for Keeps

I blinked because I wasn’t used to Bridget being this honest.

Her smile turned into a smirk. “Or do you think I still have a shot?”

“No,” I said without a second thought. “It’s Emma.”

“Thought so. But hey, it was worth a try.” Something in her eyes flickered – not hurt exactly, just acceptance – and then she lifted her glass in a mock toast and turned around.

I blew out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Good. Clear. Done.

And then warmth. A hand on my lower back.

I didn’t have to turn around to know. My whole body knew. Emma.

My mouth was already curving before I even saw her. I turned, and there she was. Her cheeks were a bit flushed from dancing, her eyes bright, and strands of hair were sticking to her temples from the heat.

“Having a good time?” I asked.

She nodded, a bit breathless from dancing. “Actually, yes. A very good time.”

I cupped her cheek without thinking, bent down, and kissed her. Not too much, because this wasn’t the place for it, but enough. Enough to taste the salt of her skin, to feel her lips part slightly, and to lose myself for a moment before pulling back. Seth whistled. Lewis smirked. Will clapped like an idiot.

Emma laughed, embarrassed, and I shook my head at the guys, flipping Will off for good measure. She talked to them like she had always been part of our group. Banter about hockey, about the pizza night at Will’s, even a couple of jokes at Lewis’s expense. She was warm, quick, and so fucking easy to be around.

After a while, she leaned back toward me, her eyes teasing. “I’m joining Simon on the dance floor again. Do you want to come?”

I snorted. “Not a chance.”

“Coward.” Her smile curved wickedly.

I couldn’t resist kissing her again, deeper this time. “Go have fun,” I whispered.

She squeezed my hand once, then slipped back toward the dance floor. She glanced over her shoulder one last time, which almost made me follow her. Instead, I followed the guys to a booth. Hockey talk. Playoff predictions. The usual conversations that came with beer and downtime. Then Will, who never lets things stay too serious for long, leaned back with that shit-eating grin of his and said, “All right, boys. Have I ever told you about the time I ended up half-naked in a hotel lobby in Montreal?”

Seth groaned. “Oh God, not this again.”

“Shut up,” Will said cheerfully. “Max hasn’t heard it yet. It’s a classic.”

“Classic disaster,” Lewis muttered.

I leaned forward, interested despite myself. “Naked?”

“From start to finish,” Will confirmed proudly. “So, this was last season. Road trip. We had just beaten the Habs, so of course I celebrated, maybe a little too much. Drinks, shots, the whole nine yards. Anyway, I wake up at three in the morning because I hear this chirp. It wasn’t a normal chirp; I swear on Gretzky’s stick that it was the fire alarm. My drunk brain goes: ‘Evacuation mode. Move now or die.’ So what do I do? Do I put clothes on? Grab my wallet? Nope. I grab what I think is a jersey. Spoiler: it was a towel. Scratch that, it was a hand towel. I try to cover myself, but fail and stumble into the hall. Now, here’s where it gets fun. My card? Left in the room. The door? Snaps shut behind me. All of a sudden, it’s just me, a towel, and a hotel hallway.”

Seth was already wheezing. “I remember this. Oh my God.”

Will continued, ignoring him. “Anyway, I’m running down the hall, my heart racing, trying to find the stairs because I can’t use the elevators during a fire. Duh! Except halfway there, I drop the towel. Everything out on display. And that’s when Edith, our team’s sweet, sixty-year-old nutritionist, comes out of her room.”

The table erupted. Lewis slapped the booth so hard his beer almost fell over.

“Edith!” I gasped. “She saw your…”

“Yep. And I swear to you, she just shook her head and said, ‘Hydrate, William,’ before closing the door. Absolute legend.”

I was laughing so hard my ribs hurt. “Jesus Christ, man.”

Will held up a finger and said, “I’m not done yet… So, again holding onto this tiny towel like my life depends on it, still not able to find those stairs, I think I’m stuck, half-naked, sweating tequila, death imminent. Finally, a bachelorette party rolls through – sashes, tiaras, plastic champagne flutes. I move to get out of the way, but the bride-to-be thinks I’m the entertainment and starts trying to tip me with five-dollar bills. But of course, no underwear, so she just tucks them under my armpit. I bow. They cheer. It was a moment.”

Lewis nearly spat out his drink.