Page 5

I glance toward the glowing light of the exit. It’s about twenty feet away. I’m so close to freedom. So close. I sigh and glance back at the coordinator. I should keep working. But I’m tired, and it’s been hours. My decision takes half a second, and I feel good about it. I tip my hat and turn, disappearing into the crowd, my head down. I’m out of here.

Five minutes later, I’m weaving through the stuffy casino floor, pulling my ball cap even lower, shedding my button-down shirt for a plain black T-shirt I have on underneath, and walking like I’m trying to blend in. The music fades from behind me, and the crowds thin. I finally loosen up and feel at peace. Or at least the Vegas version of peace. Slot machines ding, people chatter, and some guy yells, “Come on!” when he loses money and loudly informs everyone around him.

I spot a small hotel bar tucked near the high-limit area and immediately scan for a vacant stool. It’s dark, as quiet as it can get, and there’s no line. Hopefully no one recognizes me here, and I can chill for a while.

I slide onto a stool and nod to the bartender. “Whiskey, please.”

I curl the end of my ball cap and pull it lower. Maybe I can spend an hour just watching the Winter Invitational recap on the TV and find some peace. Just a normal man drinking whiskey in a bar.

I sigh, knowing damn well this is how it would be. Vegas is always loud, and the lights are bright. Some people like it and don’t mind the shoulder-to-shoulder crowds of chasing a good time that they probably won’t fully remember tomorrow. Sometimes I don’t mind it, but tonight I do. I wish I were anywhere but here.

The event was great, fans were awesome, and my sponsors were happy. They’d probably be happier if I spent a few more hours with fans. I just don’t have it in me tonight. I gave it three hours. I can’t do it anymore. I could sign hats for hours. But it’s the same damn questions I get tired of answering over and over.

Are you dating anybody? What’s next after the season? All questions I don’t know the answer to. At thirty, I’m apparently supposed to have all that figured out by now. Instead, I’m hiding from an after-party event at a random bar in Vegas.

The stool beside me pulls back. I glance over and practically do a double take. Suddenly, the whiskey in front of me isn’t as interesting as the person who just slid onto the stool next to me.

She’s beautiful, and not in the Vegas party way. No sequins, cowboy hats, spray tans, or too much makeup. She’s a beautiful woman wearing black jeans that fit like a glove, black boots, and a cream-colored sweater that falls off one shoulder. I sip my whiskey and pretend not to stare, but I can’t help it. Long curly brown hair falls down her back. Big, beautiful hazel eyes take in the bar as she nods to the bartender. She wears an expression that looks like she’s hiding from something, too, when I see her eyes dart to the casino floor and the relieved-sounding sigh that escapes her as she relaxes into her stool.

Interesting.

For a while we sit and watch the TVs and silence stretches between us. She glances at her phone a few times, and each time I can’t figure her out. How could a woman as beautiful as her be in this bar alone?

I recognize that sigh. I’m pretty sure I sat down on this stool with the same reaction. She’s had enough of whatever’s out there, too.

She ordered some sort of fruity cocktail and smiled when the bartender set it in front of her. I watch her out of the corner of my eye when she takes a sip and makes a face.

I chuckle before I can stop myself and give myself away as someone who’s staring.

Her head snaps toward me. “What?”

I shake my head, grinning. “Sorry. That look when you took a sip was funny. Probably the same reaction I’d have if I drank that fruity concoction.”

“What look?” she asks. “And there’s nothing wrong with fruity cocktails.”

“The one that says you’re questioning whatever led you to order that drink.”

She stares at the glass, and a smile finally tugs at her lips. “Okay, fair. It’s pretty bad.”

I realize that’s the first genuine smile and laugh I’ve had all night. “Bad choice?”

“Terrible choice.” She coughs as she sips it again.

“Then why are you still drinking it?” I laugh again.

She shrugs. “Because I paid for it.”

I bark out a laugh, and she’s smiling now, too. “That doesn’t mean you have to drink it.”

The bartender returns. “You want something else, ma’am?”

She nods to my glass. “I’ll have whatever he’s having. You look like you’re doing all right over there.”

I am now.

Her whiskey arrives a few moments later, and she takes a sip, her eyes widening. “That’s good. Smooth.”

“Never been a whiskey kind of lady?” I ask, suddenly even more curious about this mystery woman.