“Please,” Nine said, gently clutching my elbow. She tugged me out of the way of other patrons entering the club. “I’m sorry. I can’t help myself. Ask Bailey and Paige. I interfered when they were miserable, too. And hey, that worked out pretty damn well.”
I chuckled but tension clung to my muscles.
“Look,” she said. “You’re in a shit spot. No one is denying that. Rules are rules and history is history, but I’ve seen you these past two weeks and I’ve seen him. The friendship thing is one blink away from combusting.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Bentley and I had seen plenty of each other at work.
Enough that we’d come to this comfortable and professional kind of friendship that only made me miss him more as opposed to ease the craving.
But we couldn’t cross that line. We both needed our jobs too damn much.
“I can’t do anything about it,” I said.
And while I looked forward to seeing him every morning at work, I had avoided seeing him outside of the rink. I was mortified at how easily I’d fallen into our old banter when he’d showed up at the bar and I was already four bottles into buzzed—something I hadn’t done in a long time, in public anyway . . .
He never allowed it. Terrified I’d embarrass him.
An entirely new wave of cold crashed inside me with the thought.
He’d sent a text two nights ago.
I’d ignored it, but his threat rang clear in my mind.
You’re mine. I catch you with anyone and I’ll make sure you never work again.
He could do it, too—that is what was most terrifying.
He was charming, convincing, and one of the best players on the team. Money, power, sexual appeal. The holy trifecta. The man had it all. The charm had pulled me in so deep, I’d been drowning before I’d even noticed the red flags.
All six-hundred of them.
“You can do something about it. You can choose,” Nine said, clutching my shoulders. “Your life. Your body. Your business.” She eyed me, sincerity flashing in those baby blues. “If you’re the one in control then it won’t sneak up on you. Because with the way you two look at each other? One of you is going to slip and it’s going to be in the locker room or your office and then you will get caught.”
My soul clenched.
She was right.
We’d been tiptoeing around this line we’d drawn between each other since the day I came here. And how many times had I already fantasized about him locking my office door and taking me on the table?
Too many to count.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
“I know,” she said, wrapping me in a side hug. “I’m trying to help.” She motioned toward Phantom. “It’s pretty discreet. You could be with him without anyone noticing. Or, you could not be together and just be friends. Your choice. I was just trying to give you the option to breathe.”
I smiled at her. “You’re an incredibly good friend.”
She shrugged. “It’s my curse.”
We walked with our arms looped into the club, the massive, low lit place pulsing with music and hundreds of conversations. The dancefloor was packed, the bar more so, and glancing around at all the sparkly sequin cocktail dresses and mini-skirts, I suddenly felt totally underdressed. I spared my outfit a look—my red pumps, black leather leggings, and a breezy white blouse that hung off my shoulders.
“You look smoking hot,” Nine whispered in my ear, noting my self-appraisal.
“You do,” I said.
The woman could easily be a model with her mile-long legs, gorgeous blonde hair, and sky-blue eyes. She’d opted for a sleek black strapless dress, while Paige wore a more conservative red, and Bailey a hunter green.
I headed toward the bar, but Nine shook her head and tugged me toward a set of roped off stairs. The bouncer didn’t hesitate to lift the barrier and let us pass. Each step up toward one of the few VIP balconies increased my heartbeat—not because it was a challenge walking up the stairs in heels, though it was always a bit of an effort—but because I knew who was waiting up there.
The balcony looked over the dancefloor, the pulsing music filtering up in wave. The air was crisper with the lack of packed bodies, and a waiter was currently setting a bottle on one of the small round tables that sat nestled between lush leather couches and chairs.
Bailey perched in Gage’s lap on the couch, Rory and Paige on the opposite end. Warren leaned causally against the railing, his eyes lighting up the second he set them on Nine. There was so much love flying around up there I almost felt sick.
Then I turned and spotted Bentley, looking sexy as hell in an all-black suit, his muscles straining against the fabric. He held a drink—looked like whiskey—in one hand, the other resting easily against his knee in the chair he occupied. Lost in thought—thankfully, because he didn’t register my complete lack of breath at his presence.
Jeannine’s words rolled through my mind on repeat. Each time they made a little more sense.
If we wanted to explore what was between us . . . then we should.
Because if we kept fighting it . . . it would blow up in our faces.
Or this could all be me.
He may not feel a thing.
The reality of that thought dropped my stomach, and I halted my steps, standing there like I didn’t know where the hell I belonged.
“Chloe,” Bentley’s voice washed over me like warm honey. He’d blinked out of his daze, immediately rising from his seat and meeting me in a few strides.
I swear the air crackled around him, shooting out tiny sparks that made chills race across my skin.
“You’re here,” he said, gazing down at me.
“And sober,” I said, the joke coming out more awkward than funny.
Brilliant.
He laughed anyway. “I didn’t mind it,” he said, and my smile deepened.
Maybe I wasn’t alone in feeling the buzzing, begging, thing between us.
“Are you drinking tonight?” he asked, motioning to where he’d been sitting.
“Maybe just a tiny one,” I said, taking the chair opposite his, the small round table between us, and the couches and other chairs a few feet to our left.
Jeannine was tugging Warren down the stairs, likely to dance, while Bailey and Paige were laughing and chatting with their husbands. I imagined it was a rare treat—to get to steal a few hours of freedom to just be a couple instead of mom and dad.
Bentley poured me a drink and slid it across the table.
“You call that tiny?” I asked, scooping it up. “That’s at least three fingers.”
“I know you’re partial to two,” he said and wetted his lips. My heart crawled up my throat. “But I feel like you can handle it.”
I took a sip, allowing the warm, slightly sweet liquor to soothe my tight lungs.
“You’d be surprised how much I can handle,” I teased, setting the drink down. “I’m so much stronger than that girl you knew.”
“I can tell,” he said but there was no tease in his tone.
Those eyes locked onto mine, seeing right through me.
Like always, I was certain he knew there was something haunting me.
Something more than our past—which was a huge contender.
There were countless times these past few weeks I’d parted my lips to tell him the truth about why I hadn’t followed him all those years ago, but I’d always shut the words down. It was in the past.
He’d
ended up where he was meant to me.
He rested his elbows on his knees, drawing closer.
I crossed one leg over the other, unable to sit still with him looking at me like that.
Like I was . . . dinner.
“You ready to talk to me, yet?” he asked, his mouth so close I could smell the sweet liquor on his breath.
Teasing, tempting.
All I’d have to do was lean down and take a taste.
“I thought that’s what we’ve been doing,” I said, a soft smile on my lips.
“Memories. Old times, sure, but I’m talking something real.”
I swallowed hard, reaching for my drink and taking a deeper swallow.
“What do you want to know, Bent?” I asked with a slight shrug.
“Everything, Chloe. Everything.”
I sighed. “That is an awful lot.’
“What can I say?” he asked, a sly smirk on his lips. “I’m a man who likes to have it all.”
“That’s never changed,” I said, chuckling.
He’d never settled in life, and he shouldn’t. He worked his ass off since the day he learned how to skate. He deserved everything life had to offer.
“And I’m glad. You’ve gotten everything you ever dreamed of, Bent.” I raised my glass toward him. “NHL, sponsorships, a slew of women vying for a permeant spot at your side.” The last part stung more than it should—but I’d known about his conquests since college. Sometimes the internet was a torture device. “Cheers,” I said, forcing the word around the sting in my chest.
He clinked his glass against mine, took a drink, and then shook his head. “I don’t have everything I ever wanted.”
I licked a few drops of whiskey off my lips. “What’s missing?” I asked, thinking about all the things he’d wanted when we were kids. “A bigger, better truck?”
He sighed. “You.”
The word was practically a whisper, but it crackled in the space between us like a bolt of lightning.
He shifted closer, his knees touching mine, causing a thrill of heat to snake into my blood. Sparing a glance at his friends, and noting they were properly engaged with each other and not our conversation, he turned back to me. “Why didn’t you come with me, Chlo?”
My lips parted and tears pricked my eyes.