The week flew by in a blur of classes, newspaper, dinner with Zara and Noelle, and trying to squeeze in some time with Chase. Emphasis on trying, because the universe seemed perpetually determined to make our schedules incompatible. If we didn’t have sleepovers, we’d never see each other.
Getting ready for the gala consumed a good half of my Saturday. Probably because Siobhan made an event out of it. We ordered takeout for lunch, we pre-gamed—in my case, that consisted of only one drink, because I had zero alcohol tolerance—and we listened to music while we got ready. I even curled my hair, which was a momentous twice-a-year event. Shiv had to swoop in and help me with my makeup because I still hadn’t mastered the fine motor skills necessary to make a straight line with liquid eyeliner. Probably never would.
When it was time to leave, Chase strolled through the door, and his jaw literally dropped. “I definitely should have tried to squeeze in a quickie with you earlier, because now I might die waiting.”
“Well, hello to you too.”
“Do you think there is any chance we still—”
His phone chimed, and he glanced down, brow furrowing. “Guess not. Ward’s timing strikes again.”
When Chase said the gala “nice,” that was a massive understatement. It was by far the most lavish event I’d ever attended. To be fair, that list mostly consisted of family weddings, which, in my middle-class suburban circle, meant they were held at a community center and were sometimes potluck. They were nice in their own way, but they weren’t high-end like this.
On top of feeling out of place at such a formal event, I was beyond starstruck. The banquet hall was stacked with college players, AHL players, NHL players, and management from teams at all levels. I had to stop myself from fangirling multiple times.
And the food? It was freaking filet mignon. Siobhan’s salmon looked amazing too, though I would pick steak over seafood any day.
After dinner wrapped up, Chase excused himself to go to the bathroom and get us another round of drinks, leaving me behind with Siobhan, Zoe, and Kristen. Siobhan and Zoe were immersed in a heated debate about purse designers, which left Kristen and me to our own devices.
Awkward.
We sat in silence for a few moments, and I scanned the hall for familiar faces, hoping I could find an excuse to make an exit. To my dismay, the only people I recognized were Luke and Paul. I quickly looked away, a jolt of nausea shooting through my stomach when I noticed Luke’s gaze on me from across the room, but I could still feel his attention linger on me.
Guess I was out of options. Something about Kristen made me uneasy, but she was still better than Luke. Given the circumstances, I’d make an effort to be friendly.
“Kristen, right?”
She glanced up at me, and the slightest frown grazed her face before she assumed a more neutral expression. “Yeah. You’re Hailey? Hannah?”
“Bailey.” I’d met her multiple times. At this point, the attitude came across as nothing but passive-aggressive.
“Right.”
“You go to Boyd with the guys?”
“Yup.”
Unfortunately, the rest of my attempts to make conversation were just as stilted. I’d have been better off talking to the orchid centerpiece at our table.
Blessedly, Siobhan and Zoe wrapped up their fashion chat a minute after and started a table-wide conversation about the guys’ last game, which I had unfortunately missed. From there, the conversation flowed much more smoothly and eased most of the tension.
Then Shiv started recounting the guys’ funniest and most noteworthy hockey moments. There were some real gems, like the time a guy from an opposing team tried to pick a fight with Chase, then tripped and fell flat on his butt before the fight even started. Another time, Dallas’s shot hit the backboards, rebounded, and bounced into the net against the other team’s goalie. And Ty got himself thrown out of a game last season after getting into a shoving match with a player who took a dirty hit on Dallas.
While I did my best to listen attentively, the skin on the back of my neck prickled. I glanced up, expecting to see Chase watching me from nearby. But it was Luke. Again. I immediately dropped my gaze, pretending I hadn’t seen him. Because I wish I hadn’t. I couldn’t wait for him to graduate this spring so I’d never have to see him again.
CHASE
Halfway through the night, I’d successfully avoided any run-ins with Morrison. Things were moderately weird with Kristen, but she was being friendly enough to Bailey. I had hopes that things would continue smoothly.
On my way back from the bathroom, I got roped into a conversation with a few guys from the Bulldogs—Palmer and Reed, plus a few others who weren’t total pieces of shit. We started talking stats, which turned into a lively debate about which NHL player was the biggest disappointment so far this season. It was Hancock, obviously. But try telling that to those guys.
By the time I excused myself, Bailey was at our table talking to Shiv and Kiara. Shiv tilted her head back, howling, while Bailey covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with laughter. Bailey was more than nice to look at in that black dress. Damn. Who knew backs could be so sexy? But the way it dipped low, revealing all that bare skin, put very dirty thoughts in my head. Then again, she always made me think dirty things.
Maybe I could get her to keep those heels on later.
My gaze lingered on Bailey for another beat. Then I remembered I was supposed to be getting drinks. Stay on task, Carter.
I continued past the clusters of tables, heading over to the corner bar. As I drew closer, I caught sight of Morrison with a drink in his hand, watching my girlfriend like some kind of fucking stalker. He was angled away from the counter, pretending to look at his phone and fooling absolutely no one because his gaze was blatantly glued to Bailey.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Didn’t he have a date? Sophie or Sophia or something? Then again, I doubted her company would stop him from being such a creep. He’d probably ogle James right in front of his own girlfriend.
I caught the bartender’s eye, ordered, and stuffed a couple of bills in the tip jar while I waited.
Then I set a motherfucker straight.
“Don’t even think about it.” I leaned against the wooden countertop, facing Morrison’s back.
He swiveled in my direction and gave me a haughty once-over. “What are you talking about? Are you a psychic now or something?”
Didn’t need to be a psychic to know he was a cretin.
“My girlfriend.” I nodded at Bailey. “Do yourself a favor and stay the hell away.”
“Last I checked, this was a free country.”
I shook my head. “Not for you, it isn’t.”
“Calm down, psycho.” He scoffed, but a hint of fear shone in his pale blue eyes. He pretended to brush off his navy suit to avoid my searing glare. “Maybe I want to make things right with her.”
“And maybe I’m Mary fucking Poppins.”
He only wanted one of two things: to hurt Bailey or to hoover her back in. The first one wasn’t happening on my watch and the second one wasn’t happening in this lifetime or the next. Which meant he had zero reason to interact with her ever again.
Luke’s eyes darted over to the left, where Paul was standing with a few of their teammates—dirtbag ones. His posture straightened, shoulders squaring then. Right. He was feeling brave now that he knew there were reinforcements nearby. Too bad I didn’t care about that.
“Best mind our own business.”
“Bro.” I laughed. “Bailey is the definition of my business.”
The bartender returned with my beer and Bailey’s vodka seven and handed them to me. I thanked him before turning to face Morrison again.
“Pretend she has a restraining order against you. Because she really should. Do you follow?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “I know you’re a little slow, so I want to make sure.”
He took a sip of his dark drink. I suspected the alcohol was making him even more obnoxious than usual. Hard to say, I guess, when that bar was already set so high.
“Last I checked, Bailey was an adult who could make her own decisions.” His voice oozed with an arrogance that matched his smug face. I’d bet good money that was the way he spoke to servers at restaurants too. What a douche.
“And she has made her own decisions. Repeatedly. You just don’t respect them.” My knuckles turned white as I tightened my grip on the drinks I was holding.
He was always a punk in settings where he thought he was safe from my wrath. With every word he uttered, every breath he took, every second he continued to exist, my constant low-level anger toward him crept closer to incandescent rage.
Having him within grabbing distance wasn’t helping my self-control. I wanted to pummel him. Had wanted to for some time now. But I needed to keep it in check until the next game. It would be sweet satisfaction to demolish him like I did last time.
Taking a step closer, I lowered my voice. “I know about your little car stunt, you piece of shit. I should drag your ass outside right now for that alone.”
“You know, your whole tough guy act is really lowbrow,” Luke said. “But I guess it matches your cheap suit.”
Pretty sure he wouldn’t know a Brioni if I strangled him with it. Morrison was a walking example of how money couldn’t buy taste—or class. But whatever. Quibbling over designer clothing with him would be a waste of time. I wasn’t going to let him ruin my night. Or hers. So I would keep it on a leash for now. As long as he didn’t go near Bailey.
I drew in a breath, steadying myself. “Just be smart and steer clear of her. Neither of us wants a scene. After all, we’re here for the kids.”
“Exactly.” Luke smirked, taking another pull of his highball. “Even you wouldn’t be crass enough to start something tonight.”
“See, that’s where you’re confused,” I said. “I don’t start things. I finish them.”
He made a face. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Fuck around and find out.” I turned, then, and strode toward my girl.
