Juliette, on the other hand, looks like she would rather be getting a root canal.
“Stay close,” I tell her, taking her hand as we push through the entrance. Her fingers are cold, gripping mine tight. “It’ll probably be crazy in here.”
She doesn’t argue, just lets me pull her through the mass of bodies toward where I can see Olivia waving from a raised section near the back. VIP area, bottle service, the whole setup.
Owen’s friends are already there, shirts half-unbuttoned, drinks flowing. Olivia squeals when she sees us and pulls Juliette into a hug.
“You came! Oh my god, you look amazing!”
Juliette does look amazing. The black dress hits all the rightplaces and I’m trying not to stare like a complete creep. Trying and mostly failing. I’ve seen her in practice gear for months—black leggings, hair scraped back, looking like the ice queen that earned her the nickname. This is different. This version of her makes my brain stop working.
Garrett and Melissa are on the opposite side of the section. They’re sitting close, her hand on his thigh, but Garrett’s eyes track to Juliette the second we walk in.
Yeah. I saw that and I throw him a chin tip just so he knows I saw it.
“Drinks!” Owen announces, already pouring from one of the bottles on the table. “We’re celebrating!”
“What are we celebrating?” I ask.
“Being young and in love and in Toronto!” He’s already drunk. This is going to be a long night.
I get handed a glass of something amber but pass it to Juliette and grab a beer for myself instead. She needs it way more than I do.
“Drink,” I lean close and speak right into her ear. “It’ll help.”
“Help with what?”
“Everything.” I clink my bottle against her glass. “Trust me.”
The music shifts to something with a heavier beat, and Owen’s friends immediately drag him toward the dance floor. Olivia goes too, pulling half the group with her.
Which leaves us in the VIP section with Garrett and Melissa and two of Owen’s cousins I haven’t met yet.
Fantastic.
“So Rodriguez,” one of them shouts over the music. “Olivia says you play for Seattle?”
“Yeah, three years now.”
“That’s sick. You guys making playoffs this year?”
We fall into easy conversation about hockey, the season, what it’s like coming up through juniors. I can do this in my sleep. The cousin is genuinely interested, and I’m giving him real answers because why not.
But I’m also tracking Juliette out of the corner of my eye.
She’s sitting stiff, sipping her drink, looking like she’d rather be literally anywhere else. Melissa keeps glancing over, saying something to Garrett I can’t hear over the music.
This isn’t working. Juliette needs to relax or this whole night’s going to be miserable.
“Come on,” I say, finishing my beer and standing. “Let’s dance.”
“What?”
“Dance. You know, move to the music? It’s a thing people do at clubs.”
“I don’t dance.”
“You ice dance.” I hold out my hand. “Come on, JuJu. Trust me.”
