Dirty Score (Rough Riders Hockey 3)

But Mia could change. Mia had changed. And what she needed most right now was to stay focused on her primary goal: getting her heart unhooked from a ridiculous fantasy she’d held on to since adolescence—her romantic feelings for Rafe.

Once she accomplished that, everything else would fall into place.

And since Rafe was pulling his new normal tonight and avoiding her, Mia was going to have to take more desperate measures. What the hell? She didn’t have anything better to do. And she sure didn’t have anything to lose either.

So she leaned into the bar, smiled at Cole, and said, “Tell me about yourself.”

3

An older man in a staff uniform smiled as they approached the entrance to the restaurant. Rafe opened his mouth to tell him what name the reservations were under but Ashlee spoke first.

“Reservations under Savage,” she said. “Rafe Savage. I called down earlier and spoke with the restaurant manager, Dennis. He said he would reserve table twelve for us.” She glanced at Rafe. “Twelve is our lucky number, right? Your jersey number and the number I picked to win this dinner? It’s okay, isn’t it? I know hockey players are superstitious and all, but I figured if your number was twelve, you couldn’t have superstitions against it, right? Now, thirteen, definitely. And if there had been a table numbered sixty-nine, well, you know I would have jumped on that one first, but of course there’s not. Could you imagine how big a restaurant would have to be to have sixty-nine tables?”

“This way please.” The older man was trying—and failing—to hide his grin when he turned away and started into the restaurant.

Ashlee followed.

But Rafe stood there frozen for a long second, mouth still hanging open at the babble that had rolled out of the woman’s mouth in mere seconds.

How much trouble would he be in if he turned and walked out? Really? What could they do to him? Tate was right about benching him. In the normal season, he’d definitely be risking missing out on playing time, but not with the playoffs.

“Rafe?”

Her voice cut off his hopes of running. He refocused on her. She stood about twenty feet away, between two tables of diners, looking back at him over her shoulder. Her silky straight blonde hair swept over her bare, tanned skin revealed by the open back of her dress. And damn, the woman had an incredible ass.

An image of her riding him while he gripped that ass and hauled her into his thrusts flashed in his brain. His blood drizzled south and his cock tingled. Unfortunately, not as much as he preferred. Or needed.

But Rafe took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and sighed. She was probably just nervous. After a drink or two, she’d relax. After a drink or five, he wouldn’t care what she said. “Yep, right here.”

He pulled out the chair facing the wide windows, showcasing a gorgeous view of Capitol Hill for Ashlee.

“My, what a view,” she said. “You can just never get tired of that, can you? I love touring and walking all the neighborhoods of DC. No matter how many times you do it, you always see something new. And the museums… Can you believe they’re all free? That just amazes me. I don’t know how they manage that, what with their displays changing all the time…”

Rafe had long since taken his own seat on the other side of the table with his view of the bar, where people his age were actually having fun. And he had to fight not to roll his eyes as Ashlee continued to talk.

And talk.

And talk.

The waiter held out a tall, thin menu toward Rafe. “We have an extensive list of wines—”

Ashlee cut him off with a sparkling smile and, “We’ll have a bottle of Mondavi’s 1996 Opus One, please.”

Rafe’s breath caught in his throat. He felt the skin of his face chill. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t his money. But when the waiter turned his gaze from Ashlee to Rafe with the slightest lift of his brows, Rafe said, “Actually, let’s make that a bottle from 2012.” He smiled at Ashlee. “In honor of—”

“Your second hundredth goal with the NHL, and of course our lucky number—”

“Of course.” Rafe smiled, but his satisfaction came from knowing he’d just saved the team twelve hundred freaking dollars on a bottle of wine only Ashlee would be drinking. Rafe already knew he’d need something much, much stronger. “And could I get Patron?” he asked the waiter. “Best you’ve got on the shelf.”

The older man nodded, took the wine list, and retreated.

“I never dreamed you’d be even better looking in person.” Ashlee rested her elbows on the edge of the table, clasped her fingers beneath her chin, and sighed with a dreamy look on her face. “This is just so exciting. You should have seen me when I won. I don’t know if you saw that video clip of me when I picked the number twelve in the lottery, but, oh my God, when I saw the prize, I screamed like a girl. I mean, of course I am a girl, but I’ve never sounded more like a girl than I did in that moment. My heart was just bruising my ribs. Kinda like it is now. I’m not normally a nervous person…”

A server brought water to the table, and the waiter returned with the wine and Rafe’s Patron. Ashlee never shut up. Barely even paused to take a breath. While the waiter uncorked and poured the wine, Rafe swallowed the rich, luxurious tequila he should have been sipping. And when the waiter set the wine bottle back on the table, he offered the empty glass.

“Another, sir?”

Before Rafe could answer, Ashlee said, “If his glass is empty, just assume he wants a refill.” Then to Rafe, “I’ve read about your love for Patron. An elegant drink, if you ask me. Sexy. Suits you perfectly. I had a little extra time after I checked in earlier—I’m staying here at the hotel, by the way. I thought that would be easiest. No pressure or anything, I just like to be prepared. And it gave me time to look over the menu…”