AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’m either the dumbest man alive or a genius. I don’t have the blood in my brain to figure it out right now, and I’m not sure when I will. The same can be said for the guys because we apparently brought the team’s social media manager to a strip club. I would lean towards idiots, except for the fact that she seems to be enjoying herself.
The Velvet is as if a strip club and a burlesque club had a baby. It has girls in fancy lingerie and smartly placed handheld accessories, but it also has private rooms and two smaller stages with poles. It’s not like any of the other places I’ve been to in my time. And I know, I know, that makes me sound seedy and creepy and like I’m a first-rate predator, but it’s hard to find any pro-athlete who hasn’t been to at least a few. The team travels in groups, and not many places are open after the game ends.
At the start of my career, it was a good way to blow off steam. Contrary to popular belief, most kids getting drafted at eighteen don’t have a lot of sex or dating experience. There’s no time for either when every spare moment goes toward conditioning, skill practice, proper nutrition, and rest. Playing in the juniors may seem glamorous, but most players are living with host families and their goal is to be drafted into the pros.
It’s after the contracts are signed, after the photos are taken, after training camp and preseason, that the rookies relax. Most of us head into the adult world with no concept of what to do with hundreds of thousands of dollars a year or the constant attention of the fans. A lot of kids let a little too loose, myself included. But the shine and appeal of all-night parties wears off.
Now I only go out to these kinds of places because I’m the captain andsomeonehas to keep an eye on the team. As much as we’d love to say that losing Haine was no big deal—our record would indicate as much—the team has had to bust their asses. Haine left a hole behind when he totaled his car and his life. I’m not about to do that again because someone did something stupid when all he needed was a babysitter.
I’ll admit that I should have done my due diligence before inviting Tristan to come with us. If I’d planned ahead, we could have seen a show—with clothes—or grabbed a drink, but my brain has been glitching since I saw her seated in the stands at the game. Time speeds forward until my head starts to spin and then it slows to a crawl. I blinked and was scoring a goal. Blinked again and the final buzzer sounded. A third time and there she was, standing across the lobby from me being chatted up by Spags.
“You’re doing a great job keeping things friendly,” Robbie says, falling onto the velvet seat next to me with all the grace of a demoed building going down. I tip my head back to keep Tristan in my line of sight as I look at my best friend. “I’m just saying. Kudos for not humping her like a caveman.”
It takes effort to shrug my shoulders as if I don’t care.
I do.
“I don’t think the boys have seen a single dancer. They’re just falling all over themselves to play with our shiny new friend.” Robbie’s trying to goad me into a response. Iknowhe’s trying to get me up and out of my seat. To claim my kitty cat as mine and mine alone, but I can’t. It’s not as simple as he thinks it is.
She looks stunning. I can’t blame the guys for being starry-eyed, little hearts beating away in the centers of their pupils. I don’t know what I expected her to change into, but it wasn’t this tiny white scrap that reminds me of a nightgown. The fabric shines in the low lights, flowing over her skin like water as it drapes low enough to show the dimples over her ass. There are two slender ties across her narrow back. That’s all that holds the entire thing together. If I snagged just one finger in the loop of that top bow, the entire thing would slip off her. I’m trying not to think about that too much.
“She’s having a good time,” I say instead because it’s true. Her red-painted smile shows off the straight white gleam of her teeth. I’ve seen her throw her head back to laugh at something one of the guys has said no less than six times since we walked in the door, my palmnotat the small of her back. If I get my hands on her bare skin, I’m not sure I’ll be able to remember to keep things just friendly.
“It was a good idea inviting her to join us.” Is Robbie still talking? I thought the man barely knew how. “Maybe they’ll send her on the road with us again.”
And maybe that’s an awful idea. Maybe I stood in the hotel lobby and willed myself not to follow her to the bank of elevators. To not follow her up to her room and lean against her doorframe as she picked out the outfit meant to torture me. Maybe I thought about how she’d get down to her panties—I’d bet money that they matched her bra—and I’d press up against her, backing her to her King-sized bed and taking her down to the plush comforter in the span of a single heartbeat. Maybe I thought about pushing her thighs wide and looping them over my forearms as I ground against her until we both forgot we were supposed to go anywhere.
What happens in Vegas might stay in Vegas, but the way I want her won’t stay neatly packaged on the road. I’ll damn us both. Tristan, because her job is on the line. Me, because I’m not sure I want to hit the ice every day in my baby blues without her nearby.
Fuck.
“She’s looked over here no less than once a minute.” Robbie leans forward, dropping his elbows onto his knees. “Man up, Varg. Stop letting life happen around you and take what you want.”
It’s a flash of white-hot rage that fuels my response.
“What, like you did?”
I regret the words the minute they’re said, but I can’t take them back. They’re horrible, but true. Robbie Oakes might be my best friend. I may have known him since we were missing teeth and dreaming of stepping onto the ice in our first NHL games, but he doesn’t have a leg to stand on giving me advice like this. It’s like a slideshow of images sliding across my brain. Robbie sitting on the back porch, holding the hand of the girl next door. Him sliding an arm around her shoulder anytime she was close enough to touch. Him tipping her chin up and pressing their mouths together under the old oak tree in his parents’ backyard.
“How is Vera, anyway?” I hear the words and they aren’t me. They’re mean, vicious, meant to wound, and I hate the way they taste in my mouth. “Didn’t I read an article about her in Vanity Fair?” An article about Vera Novak and her new boyfriend, an underwear model from Italy.
I’m a fucking dick. I might wish I hadn’t said it, but I’m still pissed when Robbie doesn’t even flinch.
“So learn from my mistake,” he says.
I shake my head. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is.”
Beau Pelletier leans down and whispers something in her ear and I wait for her to pin him with her fuck-off stare, but she smiles up at him instead. I swear someone shoved all my internal organs into a food processor and hit pulse. I can hear my heartbeat thrumming in my ears, blocking out all the sound in the room as my focus narrows to where he’s slid a hand against her waist.
His fingertips are touching her skin. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I’m going to kill the kid. I’m going to—
“Hey,” a strong hand grips the back of my neck, squeezing as I suck in air. “She stepped away from him. Breathe Vic.”
Can’t he see I’m fucking trying?
I have to get out of here. I have to go away. Far away.
