“How did you get these? When did you get these?”
“Two months ago, when they told me I’d be shooting today.”
“Remember when you came over to my apartment this morning and tried to coerce me into coming to Vegas with you?”
“Yeah?”
“Was there a reason you didn’t show me these? Because I’m always a sure thing when there are hot hockey players involved.”
“Hey, that’s no way for a wife to talk in front of her husband.”
“Oh my god! We’ve gotta go!” I jump up off the bed, and rustle around in my overnight bag for jeans and a cuter bra. Then I take my stash to the bathroom and change with the door ajar because the bed isn’t in plain view of the bathroom and who has time to lock the door right now?Definitely not me. “We need T-shirts before the game.”
I crash out of the bathroom, tugging on my Chuck Taylors.
Gabe catches me before I can go careening into the wall. “Hold your damn horses, sports fan.”
I grab my purse and slick on some red lipstick, then I pout at my reflection.Shoot. I forgot I still had my photoshoot makeup on. I debate washing it off and reapplying, but there’s just no time.
“Hey, I thought you were in a hurr—” Gabe meets my gaze in the entryway mirror and stares at me. “Fuck.”
“What?” My brow furrows, because clearly, I have to make time to wash my face now, if his expression is anything to go off. He doesn’t say a word, just continues staring at me like a slack-jawed yokel. I turn and slug him in his perfect, tattooed six pack. “Gabe!”
“Sorry. I just ...” He clears his throat. “I never see you in red lipstick.”
“What? Yes, you do. I wore it the night we met.”
“Yeah, I remember that. I haven’t seen you wear it since. You should do it more often.”
“Seriously?”
“Well, I mean, I guess that depends on your goal. If you want every man on the planet looking at your mouth and imagining shoving his dick between those perfect red lips, then yeah.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re a dick.”
“No, I have a dick. And right now, I’m not gonna lie. I’ve got a bit of chub happening. Maybe I should just go back to the bathroom and rub one out.”
“And you wonder why you’re single.” I grab his shirt and pull him toward the door. “Come on, Dash. You’re buying me a T-shirt before the game to make up for all the misogynistic, dude-bro shit you just said.”
Gabe laughs as he follows me into the hall, “Can I buy you a lap dance instead? I mean, this is Vegas, after all?”
We leave the hockey game and climb into a cab. I’ve had too many beers, and I’m starting to feel lightheaded when Gabe pulls me against his side. He tells the driver to take us to The Velveteen and I stare up at my best friend with a dubious smile. “That’s not the name of our hotel.”
“Because I’m not taking you to our hotel.”
“What are you up to, Dash?”
“Oh, shit. She’s bringing out the big guns.”
I laugh. “I drank too much.”
“It’s okay, wifey. I got you.”
I cuddle into his chest and sigh.And then I want to shoot myself because really, Lo? Could you make it anymore fucking obvious that you’re in love with him?
Gabe rests his cheek on the top of my head and every nanosecond of that drive is too short.
We pull up outside a club. The Velveteen is written in big pink letters and I eyeball the neon flashing silhouette of a woman in bunny ears shaking her bunny tail suspiciously. Gabe pays the cab driver and I turn and glare at him. “Okay, is this some kind of punishment for drooling over the hockey players?”