“That is not what you think it is. She’s not a distraction. She’s amazing, andyou all don’t know what the hell I need right now.”
I storm forward, ignoring the pinch in my knee as I stalk toward the basement.
“Oliver…”
I ignore him, reaching for the doorframe to support my descent down the first step.
“Oliver,” Sandy says, firmer. He grabs my arm to pull me around. I narrow my gaze at him, tired of fighting everyone on this. Tired of pain and weakness. Tired of being a fraction of what I should be. Just so damn tired. “Come out with us tonight.”
“What?”
“We have an off-day tomorrow so a few of us are going out with the wives to grab a bite and a drink. Come with us. You need some time with the team.” He looks sincere, like he’s genuinely worried about me. My gaze flickers to Kelsie who looks the same, and my anger starts to lift. I know they care. As annoying as these intrusions are, it’s only because they all want what’s best for me. And truthfully, I miss the guys. I miss feeling like part of something.
“Okay, but I’m not supposed to be on my knee so no dancing, bowling, or other lame-ass activity.”
Sandy laughs and claps my shoulder. “Fair enough. We missed you on this road trip, man. We really missed you.”
“I saw,” I mutter.
Liars.
Not sure what part of “no dancing” was confusing for my teammates, but here we are at a trendy club, enjoying a VIP table and bottle service. Since I don’t drink and can’t dance at the moment, my night with the guys is turning out to be painfully underwhelming. It was great seeing them, and I appreciate their thinly veiled attempts to make me feel included. Thing is, it’s hard to feel better when you see right through the B.S. A half-hour into the night, I’m already alone at the table. The single guys are off on random conquests, while the committed ones are enjoying a sensual night with their significant others. Even Sandy and Kelsie are rocking a rare evening out with no kids. I’m happy for them, I am, but my brain is already consumed by a petite redhead when her song blasts over the sound system. Heavy bass thumps a remix of this already popular club anthem, and I feel downright sick with longing at her silky signature voice. I’m pretty sure Sandy and Kelsie look over the second the song comes on, but I don’t give a shit. I pull out my phone. Open the video app. And record.
After a few seconds, I send it off to Genevieve with a simple “missing you.”
She writes back a second later. Miss you too. Wish I was with you.
Can you be? I respond without thinking. When I do, shit. Of course she can’t. She can’t just show up in a place like this. And what? Sit at a table with her lame date who can’t even dance?
My phone buzzes, and I glance down. Where are you?
Is she serious? My heart rate picks up. The Six Stone Lounge, but I get it’s not easy for you to be seen like this.
Genevieve: I can be seen in The Six Stone Lounge. My publicist would love it actually *winky face*
Her publicist. I pull in a deep breath and stare at my teammates on the dance floor. They’re having fun, why can’t I? Do we have to live our lives for everyone else all the time?
Are you sure? I type out anyway. Her song continues to blast around me, filling my brain and body with surges of electricity. I see her naked beside me. Feel her firm hips in my hands. I’m one hundred percent regretting making the responsible decision to turn down sex in my apartment last night. I’m technically on day three of my recovery. Okay, fine, day two. Two-point-five.
Are YOU sure? She writes back. Things could get ugly if we’re seen together.
Me: I live for ugly.
Be there in an hour.
An hour. Seems like an eternity, but I know from past experience, we’re just starting our night at the club. An hour from now I’ll still be sitting here like a loser, watching everyone else have fun. Her comment about things getting ugly sits uneasily in my brain, but I promised her I’d fight. I face ugly every day on the ice. Every day I wake up and battle through pain and scars and grueling rehab. If ugly is the cost of being with her, then we take that on too.
“Hey. You’re a hockey player, right?” a voice shouts over my kind-of girlfriend’s song.
Glancing to my left, I find a plastic-looking brunette leaning over the table toward me. I offer a brief smile and nod, which she clearly interprets as an invitation. She slides in beside me, and I swallow my irritation.
“I’m Regina,” she says, offering her hand. “And I’m totally single.”
“Hi,” I respond stiffly. I don’t like judging women. My sisters taught me to respect the pressure they face with unfair standards of beauty, but I’m just not attracted to the fakeness in front of me. I can’t even tell what her natural features look like. She’s completely molded her appearance into something else. There are plenty of guys who buy into that, however, so I’m sure she’ll find a host of other takers tonight. The sooner I can get her on the prowl for them, the better.
“You want to dance?” she purrs near my ear.
“No, thanks. I can’t. Bad knee,” I say, shrugging. First time I’ve been grateful for this nightmare injury.
She looks disappointed, even makes a pouty face I think is supposed to be cute. It all kind of reminds me of Genevieve’s off-putting behavior at her house that first day. Can’t believe she thought this is what I’d want when she had that amazing girl living beneath the mask.
“Can
