Victor (Chicago Blaze 3)
Victor seems to think I’m an immature child who can’t take care of myself. I didn’t let on how aggravated I was that he wanted me to text him everywhere I went last night, but it made me feel like he didn’t trust my judgment. I’m from the South Side—I may not broadcast that I’d shank any guy who tried to get frisky with me, but I would. My dad never would have let me ride the El alone as a teenager if he hadn’t taught me how to defend myself.
“Boring! Those drinks ain’t gonna serve themselves.” Bruce gestures toward the door that leads from the small kitchen we’re working out of into the VIP event room.
I pick up my tray and head out, glad I at least bought a new white dress shirt for tonight.
I scan the room and my gaze lands on Victor immediately. He and Easy are talking to several beautiful women. It’s all I can do not to turn around and walk back into the kitchen.
“Lindy, hey.” I turn to see Luca Campbell approaching. “How are you?”
“Hi, Luca. I’m good, how are you?”
He shrugs. “Not used to doing meet and greets before a game; it’s kinda weird.”
“Yeah, I’ve never heard of the owners holding one before a game, either.”
“Apparently there’s a beauty pageant going on this week, and the contestants are here to meet the players and do a small performance in between one of intermission breaks. One of them is dropping the ceremonial puck, I think.”
“Ah,” I say, finally realizing that it’s not just the women Victor and Easy are currently talking to—every woman here tonight is crazy beautiful.
“Why aren’t they hanging on you?” I ask Luca, puzzled.
He holds up his left hand and I see his shining silver wedding band. He grins, and I can’t help laughing.
“Well, can I offer you a drink?” I ask him.
“I wish. Gotta stick to water and Gatorade before a game.”
Bruce is walking in our direction, and I preemptively move on to avoid him calling out my last name in front of all these people.
“Better work the room with these drinks,” I say to Luca. “Good luck in the game.”
“Thanks.”
Men in suits and women in fancy gowns take drinks off my tray, not even acknowledging me as they do. I shouldn’t care, I know. This is my job. But since meeting Victor, I’m getting used to not feeling invisible, and I like it.
“Ah, you’re amazing!” a beautiful brunette woman says to me as she peruses the tray of drinks I’m carrying. “What kind of champagne is that, do you know?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“No worries, I’m sure I’ll like it.”
I pass her a flute, and she meets my gaze and says thanks before taking a sip.
“You’re welcome.”
She probably has no idea how good it made me feel to be seen and acknowledged. Most people don’t. That, or they don’t care.
After our encounter, my tray is quickly emptied. I go back into the kitchen for a refill, and Ari’s on her way out as I head in. I notice that she’s got another button undone on her shirt and she’s wearing fresh lipstick. Always on the prowl, that one. She winks at me as she sails past.
Bruce passes me a tray filled with little meatballs on toothpicks, instructing me as I take it.
“Stick to the wall and get around to the far side of the room. Everyone’s trays are getting picked clean before they make it over to the side where the general manager and owners are.”
“Okay.”
Great. Now I have to go work the side of the room Victor’s standing on. I was hoping to avoid him.
Time to pull on my big-girl panties. After a deep breath, I walk out of the kitchen, tray in hand.
“Hey, Lindy,” Anton says as I pass him.
“Hi.”
My coworker Dwayne gives me the side-eye when he hears the exchange. I ignore him, my focus on the other side of the room. While I wish I could just be cool, I’m not made that way, and I’m pretty much staring at Victor and the women he and Easy are talking to.
It’s the same two as before, and the blond one now has a hand on Victor’s arm. She’s gorgeous.
“Hey, yo.” A man steadies my tray after I run into him with it.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.”
“You’re okay. Just keep those meatballs safe. Can I snag one?”
“Of course.”
He grabs a tooth-picked meatball and nods his thanks. I have to force myself not to look at Victor—or the women he’s talking to—so I don’t crash into anyone else.
It’s stupid for me to be jealous. Victor’s a professional athlete, and he’s crazy hot. Of course women want him. And not just average hockey fan women like me—all women.
Even women who look like they need to lay off the Botox and eat a cheeseburger.