After a few seconds, I send it off to Genevieve with a simple “missing you.”
She writes back a second later. Miss you too. Wish I was with you.
Can you be? I respond without thinking. When I do, shit. Of course she can’t. She can’t just show up in a place like this. And what? Sit at a table with her lame date who can’t even dance?
My phone buzzes, and I glance down. Where are you?
Is she serious? My heart rate picks up. The Six Stone Lounge, but I get it’s not easy for you to be seen like this.
Genevieve: I can be seen in The Six Stone Lounge. My publicist would love it actually *winky face*
Her publicist. I pull in a deep breath and stare at my teammates on the dance floor. They’re having fun, why can’t I? Do we have to live our lives for everyone else all the time?
Are you sure? I type out anyway. Her song continues to blast around me, filling my brain and body with surges of electricity. I see her naked beside me. Feel her firm hips in my hands. I’m one hundred percent regretting making the responsible decision to turn down sex in my apartment last night. I’m technically on day three of my recovery. Okay, fine, day two. Two-point-five.
Are YOU sure? She writes back. Things could get ugly if we’re seen together.
Me: I live for ugly.
Be there in an hour.
An hour. Seems like an eternity, but I know from past experience, we’re just starting our night at the club. An hour from now I’ll still be sitting here like a loser, watching everyone else have fun. Her comment about things getting ugly sits uneasily in my brain, but I promised her I’d fight. I face ugly every day on the ice. Every day I wake up and battle through pain and scars and grueling rehab. If ugly is the cost of being with her, then we take that on too.
“Hey. You’re a hockey player, right?” a voice shouts over my kind-of girlfriend’s song.
Glancing to my left, I find a plastic-looking brunette leaning over the table toward me. I offer a brief smile and nod, which she clearly interprets as an invitation. She slides in beside me, and I swallow my irritation.
“I’m Regina,” she says, offering her hand. “And I’m totally single.”
“Hi,” I respond stiffly. I don’t like judging women. My sisters taught me to respect the pressure they face with unfair standards of beauty, but I’m just not attracted to the fakeness in front of me. I can’t even tell what her natural features look like. She’s completely molded her appearance into something else. There are plenty of guys who buy into that, however, so I’m sure she’ll find a host of other takers tonight. The sooner I can get her on the prowl for them, the better.
“You want to dance?” she purrs near my ear.
“No, thanks. I can’t. Bad knee,” I say, shrugging. First time I’ve been grateful for this nightmare injury.
She looks disappointed, even makes a pouty face I think is supposed to be cute. It all kind of reminds me of Genevieve’s off-putting behavior at her house that first day. Can’t believe she thought this is what I’d want when she had that amazing girl living beneath the mask.
“Can we at least do a selfie then?” she asks, and I force away my irritation. If it gets rid of her…
“Sure,” I mutter, then immediately regret it when she shifts even closer. Her thigh pushes against mine; her breasts press firmly into my arm as she angles her body in a strange pose for the camera.
“Wow. You’re so strong,” she says, practically whispering in my ear again.
I shift away with an uncomfortable smile. “Um… thanks.” Not sure what response goes with that. I search out my teammates for some kind of S.O.S. rescue, but when I make eye contact with Sandy, I get a grin and air kiss instead. No way. He sent this girl over to me? My fists clench beneath the table as I drag in a heated breath.
“Look, I don’t know what they told you but—”
“Just that you were single and lonely and a super-hot hockey player. Are you? Oliver something, right?” She pulls out her phone and starts typing. Is she actually searching Oliver the super-hot hockey player?
I roll my eyes but have mercy since this is Sandy’s crime, not this poor woman’s.
“Oh. Wait. Here’s an Oliver who got hurt. A goalie. Is this you?” She flips her screen to show me a picture of myself. I’m not even sure how to respond to that. Also, how frightening is our world when she can find me with no other information than my first name and profession? “It is you. Omigod. You’re way hotter in person, though,” she says, squinting at her screen.
“Well, I’d just had my knee ripped up and was in excruciating pain in that photo so…”
“I guess,” she concedes and tucks her phone away. “Anyway, want to dance? I can make the pain go away, Oliver.”
I stare at her for a second, hoping she’s joking. Wow, I don’t think she is. “Knee is as messed up as it was five minutes ago, Regina. Still can’t dance. Thanks, though.”
She laughs and taps her forehead. “Oh, right! Duh. Ha ha. So what are you drinking?” She reaches for my glass.
“Seltzer and lime,” I say casually. She laughs again and draws my glass to her lips in a swift movement. Is this girl for real? I wait for the surprised reaction that comes a second later. It’s like reading a Kevin Steen neutral zone pass.
“Wait, it is seltzer.”
I shrug. “Yep.” And now I’ll have to order another one.
She makes a face and shoves it back toward me. “You want to do shots since you can’t dance?”
“No thanks.”
Her face goes pouty again before slipping into a sly smile. “We could just make out. I’d be cool with that.” She whispers something else that I can’t interpret and don’t feel the need to clarify.
I blink at her, shaking my head for a second. “Look, Regina. Clearly, they gave you bad information, and I’m sorry for that. Thing is, I’m not actually single, and I’m definitely not interested in hooking up right now.”
Her bottom lip protrudes further as she tilts her head. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” She lifts a finger to her lips as her smile returns. I think that one is supposed to be coy. Okay, yeah, she’s definitely drunk on top of it all. In a weird way, I take some solace in the fact that this might not be normal behavior for her.
“Look, are you here with friends or something?” Now I’m just worried for her safety. She giggles and waves toward the other side of the club.
“Yeah, they’re around. Should I call them over?”
I shudder at the thought of this one multiplied. “No. But I suggest you find them and stay close to them for the rest of the night. Okay?”
Her face falls again, and I’m relieved she’s finally getting the message when she slumps and starts sliding away.
“Your bum knee made you grumpy, Oliver the Hot Hockey Player.”
I can’t help but smile at that. “Yes, Regina. It really did. Take care of yourself tonight.”
Once she’s gone, I breathe a sigh of relief and check my phone for updates from Genevieve. Nothing, but there’s a message from Sandy. I can’t see him anymore, so they must have moved to the main part of the club, away from our VIP area. Good, then I won’t be tempted to risk my knee with a swift kick to his balls.
Sandy: See that’s how you have fun. Get the difference?
You’re a dick, I write back.
Hope yours is getting a workout. You’re welcome, he responds.
I decide not to tell him I’ve already sent his “gift” away. The last thing I need is to be grilled about it, or even worse, trigger a replacement. Let him think I’m hooking up and having “fun.” I resist the urge to message Gen again. I’d do anything to have her beside me right now.
I signal the server and order another drink now that mine is contaminated. Bored, I scroll through my phone while I wait. It doesn’t take long for my one-track brain to return to Genevieve, and I let my fingers tap out a search for her on social media. She said her platform was big. Just curious what that means
to her. When I find her, my heart nearly stops in my chest. The woman beside that little blue checkmark is definitely my girl. The eighty million followers next to her name makes me choke on my newly delivered drink. I have my fair share of followers, but holy shit. I check another platform: ninety-two million. Another is seventy-three. I can’t even wrap my brain around the pressure of those numbers. She wasn’t kidding that everything she does will be judged and critiqued. She probably can’t go to the bathroom without a committee, and suddenly my pulse picks up. Did I do the right thing inviting her here? Am I being selfish to expose her to a public narrative with me? I thought my hundred-thousand followers and small spotlight qualified me to understand her world. Now my protective fingers hover over the keypad, preparing to retract the invitation, but I stop myself.
She wanted to meet me.
She knows her situation, the ugly, and she still wanted to venture out to see me. I’d be a hypocrite to encourage her to be brave and follow her heart, and then tell her to hide when she does. Damn, that also means she thinks I’m worth the risk…
My heart flares in my chest, my limbs already tingling with anticipation at seeing her. Has it really only been hours since she woke up beside me? It feels like days. I’ve become addicted to her presence. Watching hockey with her took away the sharp pain of not being on the ice for a brief moment. She made me feel the joy and exhilaration of it instead. She’s a painkiller.
Sandy, Kelsie, and a few of the others come laughing back to the table, and I brace for the ribbing. With a brief scan, Sandy’s eyes narrow as he slides in beside me.
“Where’s Regina?” he asks.
“Really, dude?” I return, shaking my head.
“She seemed fun.”
“She was drunk and not even close to my type.”
He rolls his eyes and takes a swig of the drink he brought back. “See that’s your problem. You take everything too damn serious. You need to loosen up. Just have fun with a hot girl without considering whether or not you could marry her.”
“Wait, so, I can ‘have fun’ with some random girl at a club I feel zero connection to, but not with a woman I actually like and enjoy spending time with?” I ask.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Sandy says, pointing his drink at me. “You can’t even enjoy yourself unless you’re having some deep spiritual connection. You’re too intense.”
“I’m disciplined and focused.”
“You’re uptight.”
“I’m a goalie.”
He smirks and takes another gulp of his beer. “And a damn good one. S’why we need to get your uptight ass away from distracting popstars and back on the ice.”
He bumps my shoulder with his, and my retort stutters in my throat. We all glance over at the commotion at the entrance to the VIP section, and I instinctively check my phone. Sure enough, there’s a message from Genevieve.
I’m here. Where are you?
“Excuse me,” I say.
“Oliver…” Sandy warns, but I ignore him and continue pushing until he moves with a grunt. “You’re making a big mistake,” he mutters. I feel Kelsie’s displeased stare as well. The other guys still haven’t clued in to the fact that the arrival of someone big has anything to do with our table. I forget all about them and potential fallout when I see her.
Genevieve looks stunning in a form-fitting silver dress that makes her hair glow in the club lights. Her bodyguards hover close, a hostess leading the way to a newly cleared table beside ours. Her face lights up when she sees me, probably mirroring my own.
“Hey,” she says, looking up at me as I approach.
“Hey.” My smile slips out, along with a sense of relief at having her in my presence again. I resist the urge to pull her into my arms and kiss her, not sure what she’s comfortable with in front of all these curious eyes. Because we have everyone’s attention. My teammates. The entire world probably after this night.
“You sure about this?” she asks, searching my eyes. I know what she means, the depth of what she’s asking. Is what we have worth the ugly? Is this happiness worth the pain?
“I’m already craving more egg-vegetable salad,” I say with a smile.
She laughs and slips her arms around my waist. “Then let’s do this.”
I pull her into me, breathing in her calming scent as I rest my lips on the top of her head. “Let’s,” I say, even though I doubt she can hear me over the commotion of the club. Everything that felt so wrong just minutes ago, now feels right. Out of the corner of my eye I see the phones waving and flashing around us, but in our private island of two nothing else matters.
“You want to meet the guys?” I ask, adjusting so she can hear me.
Her grin says it all. “I’d love to.”
CHAPTER 10
She swims with purpose from the depths below
She drifts unafraid of the dark
She holds tight to hope through the undertow
And washes ashore with a spark
GENEVIEVE
Fantasy. That’s what last night was. And maybe this morning too when I wake to warm, strong arms around me. I pull Oliver’s forearm tighter against my chest, shuddering at the thought of him releasing me in just a few minutes. He’s already stirring, and I close my eyes to enjoy another moment of bliss before confronting the reality of what last night’s indulgence cost us. Anxiety for later. For now, I focus on the thrill of our time together over the last twelve hours. We spent the night snuggled at my table in the club, laughing and talking, pretending we were alone in the universe while Brett and Walt worked hard to make sure we were. Also pretending Oliver’s teammates were friendly and polite because I was his date, not because I was Genevieve Fox. That their discreet (and non-discreet) photos of me were normal night-out behavior and it would be no big deal for me to show up at one of his workouts or host a team charity event with the other girlfriends and wives. For a few more seconds I pretend that he will leave here, go to his meetings, get cleared to train again, and things will be exactly the same today as they were yesterday.
“Morning.” Oliver’s gravelly sleep voice stirs my insides, forcing my backside to involuntarily seek him. He lets out a soft chuckle against my ear when I press into his hips. “You sleep okay?”
“Never better. You gave me quite a workout last night, so I’m not surprised.”
He brushes the hair from my neck, and soon I feel the scrape of stubble and rush of a kiss. I melt into it, reaching back to tangle my fingers in his hair and encourage him.
“You can probably use your performance last night as evidence that you’re healed enough to return when you talk to the doctors today,” I tease.
“Yeah? You want to come as my Exhibit A?”
“I would if you thought it would help.”
I’m practically grinding against him now, loving the feel of his lips on my neck as I tug his hair in tandem with my hips. Flashbacks from last night come screaming into the present. His devastating body displayed on my sheets. Sculpted and hard, mine to play with for hours of uninterrupted fantasy. The perfect finale to our night of pretend.
“This is definitely helping,” he murmurs against my skin. “We should add this to my rehab protocol.” His mouth moves to my ear, just as his phone erupts in a shrill alarm. He stills with a groan and rests his forehead on my shoulder. Just like that, the fantasy is over.
“I guess your meetings aren’t optional, huh,” I say, also disappointed.
“Are yours?” he asks with dry humor.
I pull in a breath, trying not to think about mine. I got the notice at his apartment the other night. It’s official: tour rehearsals begin today. Typically, that news is met with excitement, not dread. “Can you at least do a shower and breakfast? I could use some Oliver therapy to get through my day.”
I hear the grin in his voice as he says, “Absolutely.”
I lock myself in the studio and open the message from Joel as soon as Oliver leaves, ignoring the others for
now. I’ll deal with those later. First, I need more good news to bolster my strength for the coming storm. I pull up the link on my laptop so I can listen on the studio monitors, my heart pounding with excitement. This rush is so different than the tedious chore the recording process usually feels to me. Joel sensed it too that night in the studio, and I can’t wait to see what he’s done with my vision.
Got Xander Silva to track the drums for us. Let me know what you think, reads the corresponding message from Joel. Xander Silva? The Falling Back North drummer? I love their sound. Now I’m really excited. I click the link and settle into my chair for a listen.
The kick drum comes in with heartbeat-sounding double hits on beat one.
Boom-boom.
“Unremarkable,” my haunting voice breathes out in the silent break.
Boom-boom.
“Unsustainable.”
Boom-boom.
“Unreliable, deniable, holy hell, I’m shakable, replaceable, untamable. I’ve heard it all.
Heard heard heard it all.”
A sick bass line counters my complex vocal cadence on the last line of the opening verse in a spine-tingling mesh of rhythms. At the pre-chorus, a heavy electric guitar chugs over the bass while the drums shift into a more steady beat with an added snare and hi-hat.
“Such a shame your endgames
Don’t concern me anymore
Yeah, see, I’ve heard heard heard it all before”
A small drum fill breaks up the driving undercurrent and adds just the right amount of intensity to build into the next verse.
“Oh, she’s a one-trick pony
Breaking South: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 3) Page 12