Chapter 10

Ivan

Last night'sconversation with Chey had turned dark, and I spent all night tossing and turning as I went over it in my head. I didn't know why I'd gone down that road with her, but the words had tumbled out. I rarely talked about my father, and I never talked about his relationship with my mother, so I didn't understand why I'd told her something so personal.

Despite what had happened the night before, there was still something between us and I was getting whiplash trying to figure out if she was into me or not. She had tons of friends, so she didn't need some random hockey player to be her new bestie. For us to have the conversations we'd had, and share the things we'd already shared, there had to be something that went beyond friendship.

But I was damned if I could figure out what she wanted.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but I would have bet everything I owned that I saw a spark of jealousy when she'd walked in and saw me with the brunette at the bar. Then she'd put on her game face, and it was gone.

It had been there, though.

I knew what a jealous woman looked like.

It just didn't make sense.

What the hell did any of it mean?

Was she into me or not?

Well, tonight, I was going to try to find out.

She'd hired a limousine for the evening and was picking up our group at the hotel at eight. I wasn't used to having so many late nights out during hockey season, especially on a road trip. I could party with the best of them, but I tried my best to stay on schedule during the season. Two late nights in one week wasn't the norm for me, and I promised myself this would be the last one for a while. As much as I enjoyed spending time with Chey, my body took a beating on the ice, and I needed my sleep.

Chey texted me when the limo was a few minutes out and we all went out onto the street to wait as the long black vehicle pulled up.

"I could get used to this," Connor said, sliding in first.

"Well, don't," I told him, as I sank down next to Chey. "Not on your salary. By the way, this is Cheyenne. You owe her a big thank you for getting you that tux you're wearing."

"Hey, yeah. Thanks a lot." Connor was staring at Chey like he'd never seen a beautiful woman before. "It's a great suit. I'm bummed I gotta give it back."

"Maybe he'll give you a good deal on it," she said with a wink.

Connor gaped a little.

"Mouth closed, eyes above her chest," I stage whispered.

He turned red but the rest of us laughed.

"Nice to meet you, Connor. Davide said he enjoyed dressing you and he's looking forward to seeing the pictures of you in the tux. We'll make sure to use hashtag Davide Luneste when we post pictures."

"We're going to post pictures?" Connor asked, his eyes widening slightly.

"Yes, of course. When a famous designer lends you clothes, you take pictures, post them on your socials, and tag them. Always. The publicity is worth far more than money for them."

"Oh. I didn't think about that."

"Don't worry, we'll take some selfies and maybe I'll get one full-length one of you, and that'll be it. I can post them on my socials and tag you."

"Uh, thanks. I wasn't sure what to do."

"You'll learn." Gabe grinned. "Eventually."

"His frontal lobe won't be fully formed for, like, eight more years," Jensen said grimly.

"Jesus." Gabe scratched his head. "I don't remember being that young."

"Don't listen to them," Bailey said to Connor. "They're just jealous that they didn't have cool designer friends when they were your age."

Jensen snorted and the rest of us chuckled, but Connor seemed more at ease now.

Meanwhile, the most beautiful woman in the world was sitting on my right, her left hip butting against my thigh. Chey looked stunning in a floor-length red gown with a slit up one leg and tiny fluttery sleeves that fell off her bare shoulders. Her hair was up tonight, in a messy updo thing with tendrils framing her face. As usual, she took my breath away and I tried not to stare even as I whispered, "You look beautiful tonight."

"Thank you. You wear a tux well."

"Thank you." We smiled at each other.

Fuck.

She went hot and cold so often I never knew what was next.

We all made small talk on the short drive to the venue, and I was surprised to see a red carpet set up outside with a slew of photographers.

"You want to get out first?" Bailey looked at Chey. "Or last?"

They smiled at each other, as if they were having a telepathic conversation the rest of us weren't privy to.

"I don't care," Chey said. "I think we should let Connor go first."

Connor blanched. "Hell no. Please no."

"Jensen and I will go first," Bailey said with a sympathetic smile. "The rest of you can follow in whatever order you like."

"Wonderful." Chey nodded.

I didn't know what that dynamic was about, and I leaned in to whisper to her, "Is the order important?"

"Whoever goes first usually takes the pressure off. The paparazzi assume there's no one else interesting left in the limo and start looking for the next one."

"And you don't want to be the center of attention?"

"God, no. I get more attention than I want most of the time. I'm happy to let Bailey take it. She's just getting her acting career back on track and I've been on top of mine for the last four years."

Bailey had been in a terrible car accident several years ago, leaving her with scars and a bad limp that had derailed her career. She'd recently had surgery that helped with the limp, and since getting together with Jensen, she'd started auditioning for parts again.

"So, are we going last?" I asked.

"That's the plan. I'd like to stay low profile tonight if possible. It's fun to go to events like this, but I would've skipped this one if anyone other than you had invited me."

There she went again with the mixed signals.

"I appreciate it," I said. "I hate going to these things alone."

"Believe me, I feel the same way. Any time you need a date for something, feel free to call. If we're somehow in the same city, or if I'm not working and can get to you, I'm happy to do it. I really enjoy your company, Ivan."

"That's good to hear because I really enjoy yours."

Our eyes met and this time there was no mistaking the desire in hers.

Except it was our turn to get out of the damn car.

* * *

The event included dinner,dancing, and an open bar. There was also an auction going on with some great items like trips, upscale dining at restaurants that were impossible to get reservations at, and more. Chey had already bid on multiple items, basically walking up and down the tables and filling out her name and how much she was offering for everything she wanted.

"You're not leaving anything for anyone else," I told her.

She laughed. "There are lots of heavy hitters here tonight. I'll probably get outbid on everything."

"Ah. You have a point."

"I figured I'd just drive up the prices a little, get more money for the hospital."

"That's nice."

"I try." She slid her hand into my elbow. "Do you dance, Mr. Rochenko?"

"If you're talking about club dancing, modern stuff, no. But if you mean slow dancing, absolutely."

"I would love to slow dance with you," she said.

"And I'd love to slow dance with you."

We made our way onto the dance floor, where a soft jazz tune was playing, and she moved into my arms effortlessly. She was light on her feet and her body was warm against mine. Every time our eyes met, hers were filled with a combination of curiosity and desire, and I was dying to ask her what she wanted from me.

I could live with being just friends, but the jealousy in her eyes when she'd seen me with the woman at the bar said something else. Obviously, she was hesitant to express her feelings, and until I could figure out why, I needed to play it cool.

She moved closer, pressing her body against mine, and I wrapped one arm around her waist and held her. When she rested the side of her face against my chest, it felt like she was right where she belonged. I couldn't remember the last time I danced with a woman who fit me so well.

It was time to man up and say what was on my mind, because not knowing where I stood was driving me crazy.

"When will you be back in L.A.?" I asked her when the dance was over and we headed toward the table where the others had settled.

"I'm back on Sunday and then I leave for Australia the following Sunday."

"I'm not back until Tuesday, and we play Wednesday and Friday. Would you want to go to dinner Saturday night?"

"Is this a date of convenience or a date-date?" she asked hesitantly.

"You tell me." I met her gaze directly. "You've been sending a lot of mixed signals, and I don't want to overstep. You made it seem like you just wanted to be friends, and I'll respect that if that's how you feel. I'd be interested in a date-date, but only if that's what you want too."

"I like you," she said. "A lot. But I'm not in a position to start anything serious. The truth is, I don't even know when we'd see each other. I'll be in Australia for a week, then straight to New York for another shoot with Alexa. I probably won't be back in L.A. for a month. I've also got a photo shoot in the Caribbean coming up around Thanksgiving, and back in New York for a bunch of Christmas related stuff in December."

Now her hesitation made more sense.

Her schedule really was insane.

But there were opportunities in the middle of the insanity for us to get together. There had to be. Hell, if things went well, I'd bend over backwards to find time for her.

"We're both busy," I said. "It won't be easy, but I'd still like to get to know you better. Where there's a will there's a way."

"Sometimes that's easier said than done."

"How about we go to dinner next week and see how it goes. No pressure."

She was thoughtful for a moment and then nodded. "Then it's a date."

"A date-date."

She grinned.

"A date-date."