Page 44 of Hockey Nanny

Her laugh was a short, nervous sound. “That’s if we even make it that far.”

We weren’t making it. Every step forward felt like pushing against a wall of chaos. Microphones jostled us. Headshots and autograph books were shoved at me. My patience snapped.

“Fuck it.”

I grabbed her hand firmly, and spun back toward the limo. The red carpet exploded behind us, voices climbing, flashes snapping. She stumbled, half laughing, half alarmed.

“What are you doing?” she asked, breath coming quick as I slammed the door shut behind me.

“Drive,” I instructed, ignoring her for the moment.

The limo jerked forward, tires shrieking against the asphalt. The Vegas Strip streamed past in streaks of neon and gold. Adrenaline still rushed through me, but already the clamor of the paparazzi started to fade.

She stared out the back window for a beat, then turned to me, shock and surprise playing on her face.

“You okay with ditching that shit-show?”

That bright, incredulous laugh came again. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” I admitted, the corner of my mouth twitching under threat of a smile. “Or maybe I have a better idea for how to spend our down time.”

Her eyebrow quirked, and she settled into the seat. “I’m intrigued.”

“Good. Sit tight and let me show you what I mean.”

I didn’t push at the way the plush leather dipped as she inched closer, the warmth of her thigh seeping into mine. I just let the space between us shrink naturally, and pretended I was totally okay with the things that did to my body.

The limo cut through the quieter side streets, and Carissa shifted beside me, curiosity getting the better of her.

“So… where are we going?” she asked, voice edged with amusement.

“Wait and see,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road, though I caught the way her gaze flicked to mine. I liked the light, playful turn the night had taken.

Minutes later, we eased into a cramped lot. Neon bled from a battered sign above a dive bar. Paint peeling, the kind of place you pass a dozen times without even noticing.

She peered out the window. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Trust me.” I offered my hand, and she took it, stepping onto the cracked sidewalk beside me. The bass thumped out from the bar, gritty and unpolished, determined to shake our formal wear straight off.

“I used to come here all the time back in the day,” I said. “Before I was Dawson Barnett, captain and star winger for the Golden Knights.”

A slow smile crept onto her face. “Now I’m really intrigued.”

She let me lead her through the door, and instantly the place came alive with recognition. It had been years, but regulars looked up, lifting their drinks in greeting. Some shouted my name. I kept my hand on hers, squeezing lightly in a bid to assure her this wasn’t going to be a repeat of what happened at Mandalay Bay.

“This is Carissa,” I said to everyone we passed. No qualifiers, no labels. Just her.

One guy at the bar grinned, lifting his phone. “Dawson, can I get a photo? My nephew’s gonna get a kick out of this.”

Before I could reply, a voice barked over him. “I don’t run that kind of establishment.”

Marlena, the owner who carried her years proudly, shooed him away. She pivoted, letting out a laugh that carried a familiar warmth, and pulled me into a crushing hug. I peeked over her shoulder, and caught Carissa stifling a laugh behind her hand, averting her eyes.

“I thought I was never gonna see you again. Now you’re a big star and all.” When she finally let me go, she almost seemed sad to do it.

I gestured to Carissa. “This is Carissa. I wanted her to see my favourite hang-out.”

The woman’s eyes flicked to Carissa, approving, then she guided us toward a quiet booth in the back. “A nice quiet spot for you and your… friend.”