“Stop or you’re gonna make me cry.”
“Pansy-ass girl.” Rob chuckled and shook his head. “You always were an emotional wreck around your period.”
“Rob?”
Both men looked at Kate. Her brows were lowered as if she didn’t recognize her husband.
Rob blinked several times and his cheeks turned red. “Sorry, Kate.”
Mark laughed. “Have you seen Luc?”
Rob looked around. “Martineau? Not yet. Ran into Fishy though.”
Mark hadn’t seen Bruce Fish since he’d retired a few years ago. Together, he and the Sutters moved across the foyer to the ballroom where a decent band was playing. Inside, round tables set with tea lights dotted the perimeter of the dance floor while two bars served the thirsty crowd. His gaze skimmed the dimly lit room and landed on a familiar little beige dress. She stood in a small group of people, laughing at Sam as if he was the king of comedy.
He turned to Kate. “It was great to meet you.” Then he shook Rob’s hand. “Good to see you again.”
“Take care of yourself.”
As Mark made his way across the room toward her, he ran into Hugh Miner and his wife, Mae. Hugh was a legend in Seattle hockey. A wild man who’d played between the pipes for the Chinooks until he got traded to Dallas a year after Mark signed with Seattle.
When he glanced in Chelsea’s direction, she was gone. His gaze skimmed the room, and he spotted her on the dance floor grinding with Walker Brooks. He leaned closer to Hugh’s wife to hear what she was saying, but he kept his eyes on Chelsea. So, maybe she wasn’t grinding. Exactly. But she was dancing with her arms in the air and undulating her hips like she was a damn belly dancer or something. She wasn’t all that coordinated, but she looked so good in that dress that it didn’t matter that she really couldn’t dance.
After Mark talked to Hugh and Mae, he got stopped by general manager Darby Hogue, who told him that the assistant coach position was still available. He wanted Mark to come and talk to him about it Monday. Mark said he would, but at the moment his mind was somewhere else. Somewhere approximately twenty feet away. While he listened to Darby, he watched Chelsea dance with Frankie, then Sam.
“Forget it,” he muttered, and headed to the closest bar. He wasn’t going to chase her down. Especially since he didn’t have anything to say and didn’t want to dance.
For the most part, hockey players were fairly decent on the dance floor. They had natural timing and rhythm in their bodies. Even though it wasn’t his favorite way to pass time, Mark wasn’t bad himself, but that didn’t mean he was about to drag his {t tass out onto the dance floor. He felt good tonight. Good enough to leave his cane at home. He hadn’t taken any medication, and on a scale from one to ten, his pain was only a three. Almost nonexistent, but even if he did feel an overwhelming urge to grab her up and drag her out onto the floor, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t fall on his behind. Like the day in his kitchen when he’d had her close to naked and his hand inches from her crotch. He’d been about five minutes from having sex with her, but instead he’d ended up on the floor gasping in pain and choking on humiliation.
He took a long drink from a bottle of Beck’s and watched Jules lead her out on the dance floor. Jules was young and healthy and wouldn’t fall on his ass. Jules pulled her close, and the acid in Mark’s stomach rose up his chest and ate at a spot just below his sternum.
He lowered the bottle and watched her smile. Somehow, in a...
Jules spun her, then brought her back against his chest. Suddenly Mark felt tired and old. He set the beer on an empty tray and moved toward the door. It was ironic as hell that the one person on the planet who filled him up, reminded him that he was empty.
Chelsea glanced over Jules’s shoulder as the band sang a decent version of “Harder to Breathe.” She felt the weight of his hand on her waist and the warmth of his palm against hers. She liked Jules. He was a good-looking guy with an impressive body, but it was another good-looking guy with an impressive body she looked for in the dark ballroom. A few moments ago, she’d spotted Mark at the bar. He wasn’t there now.
“John Kowalsky was inducted into the Hall of Fame a few years back,” Jules told her. “He was one of those guys, like Bressler and Savage, who dominated with size but whose slap shot was clocked at over a hundred miles an hour.”
“Where’s he?”
“I just told you. We’re you listening?”
No. “Sorry. The music’s loud.”
“He’s the big guy dancing with the tall brunette to your left. This room is filled with hockey legends.”
Jules sounded really excited, like he was about ready to bust an important vessel. Like he just might start spouting statistics. “So, are you ever going to ask my sister out on a real date?” she asked before he made her endure that particular snorefest.
Jules paused in mid-step. “We argue too much.”
“That’s because you guys are sexually frustrated.” Chelsea stopped and looked up into his green eyes. “You’re like cats yowling and scratching at each other. For God’s sake, go find my sister and just do it already.” Jules opene ~d his mouth to say something and closed it. The music stopped, and Chelsea moved to one of the round tables and grabbed her purse. She headed out into the foyer and glanced around for the restroom sign. She spotted Mark standing in a group of men and several women a few feet away. His head was bent to one side while he listened intently to Faith Duffy. He’d brushed back one side of his charcoal suit jacket and shoved a hand into the front pocket of his wool pants. As if sensing her presence across the foyer, he lifted his gaze and looked at Chelsea over the woman’s shoulder. His brown eyes stared into hers, then lowered to her mouth. He smiled and said something to the owner of the team, but his gaze slid down Chelsea’s throat to her chest. A hot shiver ran down her spine, and her footsteps slowed. She forced herself to keep walking. One foot in front of the other, moving farther and farther away. Down the long foyer until she was inside the cool bathroom stall. Of all the available men on the planet, why did she have to feel something for the one man off limits to her?
She used the bathroom, then set her purse on the counter next to the sink while she washed her hands. Of all the men on the planet, why did her body have to respond to him? She didn’t fool herself that what she felt was love. She didn’t love him any more than he loved her. What they had between them was nothing more than lust. The intense kind that burned hot and furious but ultimately burned out quickly.
She dried her hands and opened her purse. A tube of pink lipstick lay in the silky bottom and she bushed it across her mouth. She didn’t need that kind of complication in her life. She knew what she wanted. She had a plan, and he was the one person who could ruin it all. Best to take a page from his book and avoid him. Which of course wasn’t going to be possible. Especially when he stood in the hall across from the bathroom, leaning his back against the fire escape door. The door to the bathroom swung shut behind her, and his intense gaze reached across the distance and pinned her feet to the floor.
“Are you looking for the men’s restroom?”