undulating her hips like she was a damn belly dancer or something. She wasn’t all that coordinated, but she looked so good in that dress that it didn’t matter that she really couldn’t dance.
After Mark talked to Hugh and Mae, he got stopped by general manager Darby Hogue, who told him that the assistant coach position was still available. He wanted Mark to come and talk to him about it Monday. Mark said he would, but at the moment his mind was somewhere else. Somewhere approximately twenty feet away. While he listened to Darby, he watched Chelsea dance with Frankie, then Sam.
“Forget it,” he muttered, and headed to the closest bar. He wasn’t going to chase her down. Especially since he didn’t have anything to say and didn’t want to dance.
For the most part, hockey players were fairly decent on the dance floor. They had natural timing and rhythm in their bodies. Even though it wasn’t his favorite way to pass time, Mark wasn’t bad himself, but that didn’t mean he was about to drag his {t tass out onto the dance floor. He felt good tonight. Good enough to leave his cane at home. He hadn’t taken any medication, and on a scale from one to ten, his pain was only a three. Almost nonexistent, but even if he did feel an overwhelming urge to grab her up and drag her out onto the floor, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t fall on his behind. Like the day in his kitchen when he’d had her close to naked and his hand inches from her crotch. He’d been about five minutes from having sex with her, but instead he’d ended up on the floor gasping in pain and choking on humiliation.
He took a long drink from a bottle of Beck’s and watched Jules lead her out on the dance floor. Jules was young and healthy and wouldn’t fall on his ass. Jules pulled her close, and the acid in Mark’s stomach rose up his chest and ate at a spot just below his sternum.
He lowered the bottle and watched her smile. Somehow, in a matter of two short months, he’d gone from trying to get rid of her, to looking for her in a crowd. From avoiding her because he didn’t like her, to avoiding her because he liked her too much. She was the one person on the planet who made him feel whole again. Like a man.
Jules spun her, then brought her back against his chest. Suddenly Mark felt tired and old. He set the beer on an empty tray and moved toward the door. It was ironic as hell that the one person on the planet who filled him up, reminded him that he was empty.
* * *
Chelsea glanced over Jules’s shoulder as the band sang a decent version of “Harder to Breathe.” She felt the weight of his hand on her waist and the warmth of his palm against hers. She liked Jules. He was a good-looking guy with an impressive body, but it was another good-looking guy with an impressive body she looked for in the dark ballroom. A few moments ago, she’d spotted Mark at the bar. He wasn’t there now.
“John Kowalsky was inducted into the Hall of Fame a few years back,” Jules told her. “He was one of those guys, like Bressler and Savage, who dominated with size but whose slap shot was clocked at over a hundred miles an hour.”
“Where’s he?”
“I just told you. We’re you listening?”
No. “Sorry. The music’s loud.”
“He’s the big guy dancing with the tall brunette to your left. This room is filled with hockey legends.”
Jules sounded really excited, like he was about ready to bust an important vessel. Like he just might start spouting statistics. “So, are you ever going to ask my sister out on a real date?” she asked before he made her endure that particular snorefest.
Jules paused in mid-step. “We argue too much.”
“That’s because you guys are sexually frustrated.” Chelsea stopped and looked up into his green eyes. “You’re like cats yowling and scratching at each other. For God’s sake, go find my sister and just do it already.” Jules opene ~d his mouth to say something and closed it. The music stopped, and Chelsea moved to one of the round tables and grabbed her purse. She headed out into the foyer and glanced around for the restroom sign. She spotted Mark standing in a group of men and several women a few feet away. His head was bent to one side while he listened intently to Faith Duffy. He’d brushed back one side of his charcoal suit jacket and shoved a hand into the front pocket of his wool pants. As if sensing her presence across the foyer, he lifted his gaze and looked at Chelsea over the woman’s shoulder. His brown eyes stared into hers, then lowered to her mouth. He smiled and said something to the owner of the team, but his gaze slid down Chelsea’s throat to her chest. A hot shiver ran down her spine, and her footsteps slowed. She forced herself to keep walking. One foot in front of the other, moving farther and farther away. Down the long foyer until she was inside the cool bathroom stall. Of all the available men on the planet, why did she have to feel something for the one man off limits to her?
She used the bathroom, then set her purse on the counter next to the sink while she washed her hands. Of all the men on the planet, why did her body have to respond to him? She didn’t fool herself that what she felt was love. She didn’t love him any more than he loved her. What they had between them was nothing more than lust. The intense kind that burned hot and furious but ultimately burned out quickly.
She dried her hands and opened her purse. A tube of pink lipstick lay in the silky bottom and she bushed it across her mouth. She didn’t need that kind of complication in her life. She knew what she wanted. She had a plan, and he was the one person who could ruin it all. Best to take a page from his book and avoid him. Which of course wasn’t going to be possible. Especially when he stood in the hall across from the bathroom, leaning his back against the fire escape door. The door to the bathroom swung shut behind her, and his intense gaze reached across the distance and pinned her feet to the floor.
“Are you looking for the men’s restroom?”
He shook his head. “I’m looking for you.”
“Oh. Do you need something?”
His gaze lowered to her throat. “Yeh.”
A tight little ball of nerves tickled her stomach, and she forced herself to walk toward him. “What?”
He blinked and looked back up into her face. Instead of answering, he asked, “Are you having a good time dancing with the guys?”
“They’re nice.” She’d have a better time with him. “I saw you talking to Ty Savage. Did you mean what you said about being grateful to him?”
“Maybe. He’s not too bad a guy.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “For an asshole.”
Her nervous laugh came out sounding a little breathy. “Did you see the ring he gave Faith Duffy?”
“Hard to miss that ring. It’s like he thought that if he bought it big enough, she’d have to say yes.”
“It’d be hard to say no to a ring like that.”
“A big ring doesn’t mean you’ll stay married.” He leaned his head back against the door and gazed at her from ben?at eath lowered lids. “Believe me. I know.”
He looked tired, his face a little drawn “Should I call the car service to come and pick you up?”
“No.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“Stop. I’m not helpless.”
“I know.” She opened her purse and pulled out her cell. “But if—”
“I drove.”
She looked up at him. “What?”
He raised one shoulder. “I drove.”
“Your car?”
“What else?”
She dropped the phone back into her bag. “If you couldn’t get a service to pick you up, you should have called me.”
“Chelsea… ” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’ve been driving for a month now.”
“But… ” She’d taken him to a doctor’s appointment the afternoon before. “But I drove you yesterday.”
“I know.” He dropped his arms to his sides.
“I don’t understand.” Either she was crazy or he was. She chose to believe the latter. “You hate my driving.”
“True, but I love the way your skirts slide up your thighs when you drive.” He reached for her hand and pulled
