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Vaughn Vassar.
He’s our second-line center, my brother’s longest-standing rival, and the indiscretion I should have known would come back to bite me. Hard.
I gulp, hazarding another quick peek past the bulk of Rux’s arm. My belly knots around the butterflies that have been launching like missiles since the guy walked in. It’s definitely Vaughn. Even if I didn’t know every face on my brother’s team and most of the league really… for reasons I’d rather roll in hot coals than admit out loud, I would know his.
And in the eight months since I was this close to him, he hasn’t changed. The dark waves of his hair still hang loose around a jaw that’s heavy and square. But it’s that hard edge screamingdoesn’t play well with otherschiseled into every line of his rugged face I recognize first. Maybe because I know exactly what happens when it softens… when those hard eyes crinkle at the corners and that slash of a mouth lifts, changing his whole face.
Like the rest of him, that contrast is hard to forget.
Hard not to think about when I’m not supposed to be thinking about him at all.
Cripes, why does he have to look so good with those dark jeans hugging around the mass of his solid thighs, the assortment of tats peeking out from beneath the deep vee of a T-shirt that’s barely keeping up with the body it’s been tasked with covering? And why when I’ve been surrounded by guys with this body type for most of my life—guys I wisely don’t look twice at—isthis guyso hard to ignore?
A breath shudders past my suddenly dry lips, and I lean back.
This is bad.
Honestly, the chances of him remembering a girl he spent a handful of hours with eight months ago are next to none. Most of the single guys I know in the league wouldn’t. But Vaughn Vassar is a man too many people sell short and I’m not willing to risk being one of them.
Which is why I need to get out of here. And why I’m going to continue missing games and dodging out on plans with the team until Vaughn’s contract is up and Chicago’s most reluctant player moves on to a team he actually wants to play for.
Peering up at Rux, I give his shoulder a light slug. “Hey, look, it was great seeing you guys, but I’ve got to take off.”
He checks his watch and shakes the overlong mess of ginger he lovingly refers to as hisflow. “You got practice or something?”
That would be a great excuse. Unfortunately the 12U girls hockey team I coach doesn’t practice until Tuesday. “Not tonight. I’m just whipped.”
With an understanding nod, he pulls me in to his giant chest, practically suffocating me in his armpit, before setting me back with a wink. “Good seeing you.”
I steal one last glance at Vaughn. A waitress is taking his order, or maybe she’s just chatting him up. I can hardly see past the rack she’s got on offer about six inches in front of his nose.Subtle.
A twinge of jealousy blinks through me and it’s definitely time to go.
I cut around our group and slip out the front into the cool October evening. The streetlights are on and there’s a steady flow of traffic from either direction but no available cabs, so I order an Uber with less than a two-minute wait. The bar door opens behind me, and I turn toward the laughter, music and light spilling out onto the sidewalk—and freeze.
It’s not him. It can’t be.
He hadn’t even gotten a beer yet.
He didn’t see me. Wouldn’t recognize me even if he had.
It’s not—
My belly folds in on itself as eyes like granite lock with mine, and the one guy I was praying to avoid pulls the door closed behind him. “Thought you didn’t date players?”
God, he’s even hotter up close.
Arms crossed, he walks out to where I’m standing and props a massive shoulder against the streetlight.
The breath whooshes from my lungs, dragging his name behind in a shaky whisper. “Vaughn. I didn’t think you’d remember me.”
I’d been banking on it.
His brows lift, and his mouth—well, it’s not exactly a smile he’s offering so much as the absence of his scowl. “No?”
He looks like he’s waiting for me to say something, but when I don’t, the scowl returns, and he nods back to the bar. “So you and Meyers?”
What? “Rux?” God no. While most of Greg’s team thinks of me as a little sister in some capacity or another, Rux has taken the back-up-brother thing to the next level. “We’re friends. That’s all.”
