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There’s loud celebration in the locker room afterward. When I check my phone, I find a text of congratulations from my dad. Our games might not be televised, but they’re all taped, and Dad always manages to call in favors so he can watch them live from home.
When the bus returns to the hotel, I get a message from Ryder.
RYDER:
Hey. Are you able to get away from the girls? I’ve got something to show you.
ME:
Is it your dick?
RYDER:
Of course, but we’ll do that later. I’m in Portland.
ME:
I thought you weren’t arriving till tomorrow!
RYDER:
I came up early.
Next thing I know, he calls me. I step away from my teammates, who are all filing into the hotel lobby.
His husky voice fills my ear. “Sorry. Easier to call. I told Jensen I had an appointment in Portland, so the school sprung for an extra night at the hotel for me.”
“Wait, you’re in the hotel?” My heart skips a beat. “Right now?”
“Yeah. Did you pack a dress by any chance?”
“Yes…” I say suspiciously.
“Go put it on. And be quick. We don’t want to miss it.”
“Miss what?”
“Meet you in the lobby in fifteen,” he says without answering.
I’m intrigued.
Ryder is not Mr. Spontaneous, so I definitely want to see where this is going.
I tell the girls I’m bailing on dinner, and fifteen minutes later I stride into the lobby in a little black dress, very little makeup, and with my hair down. His eyes flare with appreciation when I approach. He’s wearing black pants and a dark gray sweater, his dark hair artfully tousled as usual.
“Come on, we gotta get out of here quick,” I urge, already heading across the lobby. “My teammates are coming down for dinner soon. Someone might see us.”
He trails after me, hands in his pockets. “God forbid.”
“Oh, are you ready for Case to hate you five seconds after you two called a truce?”
Ryder flinches. “Good point.”
As we quickly exit the hotel, I’m sure to keep three feet between us in the event that we are spotted.
“I can’t believe you actually brought a dress with you,” he says with a grin.
“I always have one on hand these days. My aunt Summer is a fashion designer, and she has this strict rule that any time you travel, you should bring an LBD with you. Little black dress,” I clarify at his raised brow. “I used to think it was a silly rule, but a couple years ago I was in New York for the weekend, and my cousin Alex and I were invited to a runway show at the last minute. The only outfit I had with me was jeans and a shirt that said…wait for it…Hockey players like it rough.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “You’re lying.”
“Nope. Google it. It’s actually on all those official stock photo sites. Me sitting in the front row with my aunt and cousin, and I’m wearing that ridiculous shirt. They’ve never let me live it down.”
He’s still chuckling as we slide into the back seat of an Uber. I still have no idea where we’re going, and I don’t know Portland well enough to recognize any of the streets we drive on.
“Where is this mystery ride taking us?” I ask him.
“Nowhere, really.” He’s the epitome of innocence, his large warm palm against my bare knee.
And he’s freshly shaved, when normally he’d be rocking a five o’clock shadow. I check him out from the corner of my eye, resisting the urge to run my fingers over his smooth jaw. It’s so chiseled. I think I like him clean shaven. Although I also wonder what he looks like with full facial hair. Like a scruffy, glorious god, I bet.
When the car comes to a stop and I notice where we are, my jaw drops. The bright, shining marquee in front of the theater advertises we’re here for a production of Samson and Delilah.
My mouth drops open. “Oh my God. You’re taking me to the opera?”
Ryder shrugs. “You said it’s the only date you’re interested in going on.”
“I was lying.”
“Yeah, I know.” His eyes gleam. “And now you’re being punished for it.”
“You are such an asshole,” I say, but I’m laughing.
I’m also downright astounded. I can’t believe he brought me here.
“It already started, though. Curtain was at seven thirty. We missed a lot already.”
I’m not sure I care. I’m more interested in the fact that we’re here in the first place.
Ryder pulls up the tickets he purchased and passes his phone to the ticket taker at the door. The suit-clad man scans the barcodes and lets us into the theater. We walk down the empty red-carpeted lobby, following the signs to our seats. I’m startled to realize we’re not sitting in the mezzanine, but on the second level in one of the opera boxes.
“How the hell did you swing a box?” I whisper.
