“You don’t have to be cheerful,” I said, forcing myself to focus on him. It shouldn’t be that hard—he was gorgeous, my brother’s best friend, and despite being a broody man of few words, he’d been sparing me a few.
But it was hard. Because each second I stood there and those women kept boldly reaching over the rope to touch Jansen, I wanted to throttle them. And I had no right to do or think that.
“It’s okay to be exactly who you are,” I continued, glancing up at him. That was one thing the brothers shared—they were freaking tall. “I know we asked you and Sterling for some slack during promos, but you shouldn’t try and force yourself to be anything other than how you feel.” Savannah had taught me that. It had taken me a while, but slowly I’d learned it was okay to be me—awkward, career-driven, me.
Maxim shifted, sliding his hands into his pockets. Something distant colored his eyes, a far-off gaze I suddenly felt I shouldn’t be privy to. “Not everyone thinks so,” he said, his voice low, rough. “Some people believe it’s perfection or nothing. Please the masses or your worth holds no value.”
My lips tugged down at the corners as I studied him. Who could possibly think Maxim was anything but a perfect specimen? He was an NHL legend, descended from practically hockey royalty. He could land any sponsorship he wanted, any woman he wanted, and had a tight-knit circle of friends eho trusted him.
I cast a glance toward Jansen, wondering if Maxim meant the jab toward him. But that didn’t make any sense because Jansen’s opinion had never appealed to Maxim before.
The mystery of the brothers deepened, but I didn’t have second to register it as hope flared in my chest when Jansen turned away from the redhead, heading our direction.
“You never answered my question,” Maxim said, drawing my attention back to him.
“What was it again?” I asked, flashing him an apologetic look.
“What are you doing tonight?”
Jansen slowed as he came within hearing distance of us.
“We’re going to this local bar,” Maxim continued. “Want me to swing by your room and pick you up on our way out?”
“I…” I floundered in my own head as I watched Jansen stop and turn, changing his path from toward us—toward me—and heading inside the hotel instead.
I blinked a few times. A drink sounded exactly like what I needed, but drinking with my brother and his friends wasn’t exactly a night off. “I have to close out this event,” I said, motioning to the fans who wore smiles and glazed looks. It was nice, seeing them so happy.
Except maybe for the redhead, because she looked downright devious as she chatted with her friend.
“And then I think I’ll just crash,” I continued. “Thanks for the offer, though. I’m sure you and Caz will have a great time.” Maxim nodded, taking a step back. “Not too much though,” I said, eying him. “Hangovers on the plane are a bitch.”
His eyes did that squint thing that they did when he looked like he might laugh but wasn’t physically capable. “You have my number if you change your mind,” he said before turning into the hotel.
I hurried over to the crowd, thanking them for coming and wishing them all well. Most of them dispersed, holding their autographed photos to their chests like prized pieces of gold. Two fans in particular, though, headed inside the hotel instead of away from it.
I followed in behind them, having completed my duties for the night. And after the tension storm Jansen had delivered, I was more than ready for a scalding shower and a good night’s sleep. Maybe I’d rent a movie and zone out—
“Omigod, did he actually invite you up to his room?” the awestruck friend from earlier asked her redhead friend as they hurried into the elevator I’d just boarded.
Oh, kill me now.
I assumed the enthusiastic pair had been headed toward the hotel bar—the easiest place to find the single Reapers looking for a good, and consensual, time. But no, here they were, crowding the already small space. Elevators were a part of life, despite my fear, and I’d gotten really great at only boarding the ones that had zero to one person inside. All I had to do was count to twenty and the doors would open.
But these two? They practically suffocated the space—their voices loud and this side of slurred, like they’d started the party before the fan event.
“He didn’t exactly come out and invite me,” the redhead said, twirling a spiral curl of hair in her hand. “But I could tell he wanted me to. The look in his eyes? It was pure lust. How can I not show up to his room.”
Ice shards bit into my stomach. Thirteen more seconds, and the doors would open.