“Hudson. Take us to my place first.”
The girls pile in, chattering excitedly about the evening. Their voices blend into white noise. All I can think about is getting home.
When Hudson pulls up outside my building, I'm already reaching for the door handle. “Ladies, this is where I get off. Hudson will take you wherever you want to go.”
“What?” Sasha asks in disbelief. “I thought we were going up to your place.”
“Not tonight.” I step out of the car, not bothering to look back.
“Are you serious right now?” Sasha scrambles across the seat, leaning out the open door. “You're just going to leave? After everything tonight?”
“The night is over.” I start walking toward my building's private entrance.
“What the hell, Nova?” she calls after me. “I thought you were supposed to be some kind of stud!”
Stud. Yeah, that's what they all expect. The legendary Nova, who can charm any woman, take them home, and give them a night they'll never forget.
But as the elevator doors close and carry me up to my empty apartment, all I can think about is how right and simultaneously wrong she is. I am exactly what my reputation says I am. But the reputation isn’tme.
The problem is, ever since that night in Chicago three months ago, being a stud isn't as much fun as it used to be.
The game is getting old. The women are so damn predictable. The constant partying is exhausting. The mask is slipping.
On Saturday's All-Star Game,I score twice, assist on another goal, and play to the crowd like the showman they expect me to be. But my mind keeps wandering to Avery.
I expected her to blow up my phone after last night's photos hit the internet.
But there's nothing. Radio silence.
Which means she's probably already on a plane back to Chicago, washing her hands of the impossible client who proved her right within twenty-four hours.
I can't figure out why that pisses me off more than her trying to control me in the first place.
She didn't strike me as the type to give up so easily. All that fire in the conference room, the way she went toe-to-toe with me without backing down. I thought she had more fight in her. I thought she would at least try to clean up my mess before cutting her losses.
But clearly, I was wrong. It seems that even Avery Carter has her limits, and I found them fast.
After the game, instead of going to the official NHL after-party, I convince the guys to hit up a different club. I even manage to convince Cole to go out with us.
“I'm too old for this shit,” Cole mutters, but he comes anyway, probably to keep an eye on me.
The club is packed, the music loud enough to drown out my thoughts. I order a whiskey and find myself surrounded by the usual crowd: beautiful women throwing themselves at us, and people who want to party with us.
I give them all what they want. I'm charming and flirtatious. I dance with three different women, making sure to linger long enough for the phones to capture it all. I buy rounds for strangers. I laugh too loud at jokes that aren't funny.
Fuck Avery.
“Dude, slow down,” Cole says during a brief moment when we're alone at the bar.
“I'm fine.”
“You're not fine. You're being reckless.”
“It's about having fun. Remember fun?” I drain my whiskey and signal for another. “Not everything has to be so serious all the time.”
A brunette slides up beside me, all curves and red lips. “Buy me a drink, hockey boy?”
“Absolutely.” I turn away from Cole's concerned stare and focus on the woman. “What's your name, beautiful?”
