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But I look around, aaand… No dice.
“Oh, come on, how big is a damn hockey stadium?”
My back-tracing yields no results, just more endless, featureless concrete hallways. The farther I go, the more panic starts to rise up in my chest. What happens when they close down the stadium? Am I supposed to stay stuck in here? I could always call Reese and tell him what happened so he can come find me and we can leave, but that’s opening the cans of worms that is explaining what in the hell I’m doing here in the first place.
I refuse to cause myself the embarrassment.
I take a deep breath and, after a few more dead ends, find myself close to the area where I’d entered the bleachers.
“Well, you’re definitely not on the stadium staff.”
I jump and whirl around, not expecting the voice that sounds way too close to me. I’m sure I look crazy, all flustered, eyes wide. It probably doesn’t matter either way. I’m busted, aren’t I? What’s the sentence for trespassing?
“I, uhm, sorry,” I sputter out, my eyes trailing up from the torso to the face of the man who just approached me. “I was just here watching the team practice. I got lost trying to get back out to the parking lot.”
The man laughs. It’s the kind of sound that I know would have probably charmed college-aged Olivia. That too-affected tone where a guy is trying to sound like he finds you incredibly funny, but really it’s just a ploy to get in your pants so he can add you to his bedpost notches.
“Happens all the time,” he assures me, though I doubt that’s true. “I noticed someone who wasn’t the usual puck bunny sitting up there tonight and was curious. Must be you.” He tilts his head. “So who were you watching? Marcus? Dante? Me, perhaps?”
Yeah, no. You’re not charming enough, dude.
I give him a polite smile and shake my head. “Just, uh, watching the whole team, yanno.” I can’t tell him I came here to watch Reese. Even if I just tried to play it off like being some kind of weirdo fan, it seems like that’d be something that might come back to bite me in the ass.
“Whole team, eh? Well, maybe instead of paying attention to the whole team, you and I can?—”
“I, uh, really just want to find my way out and then head home,” I interject. Last thing I need is this guy trying to finagle something weird out of me. He’s got this sharkish gleam in his eyes that’s starting to unsettle me.
“Alright. I can lead you on outta here, for the low, low price of giving me your phone number. How ‘bout that? There are a few places I can see myself taking a piece like you out to eat.”
I suppress a gag. Does he seriously pick up women like this?
“Uh, no, that’s alright. Thanks, though! You know what, I’ll just go ahead and try to find my way out. I’m probably bothering you.”
When I go to leave, however, he puts his hand on my upper arm. It’s massive, large enough to wrap around it completely. The guy has a grip, too, locking me in place.
“Come on now, don’t be rude. We just got started talking. No need to try and run away?—”
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Oh, no.
I don’t have to turn to look to know who it is. The voice that I wanted to avoid at all costs tonight.
Reese.
49
REESE
When I saw Bastian talking to some random brunette with an ass, I figured he’d found himself another puck bunny to screw under the bleachers.
I didn’t expect Olivia.
What is she doing here? The question flies across my mind and is immediately replaced by the more pressing issue.
Why the fuck is Bastian talking to her?
He’s got that look in his eyes. That hungry, predatory glint when he sets his eyes on a woman. I’ve seen it so many times it’s not that hard to clock.
