Chapter 2

Two

Kyleigh

When I approach, I ignore Rowan, but I feel his gaze follow me as I step up to the bar—just far enough away from Rowan that he doesn't think I'm a sure thing. "Pinot, please."

The bartender grabs a new glass and swipes a bottle from the table behind him. I open my purse while I wait for my drink.

"I've got it." Rowan steps up beside me, pulling out his money clip and dropping a twenty in the tip jar.

"Oh, no. You don't have to do that." I take out my own twenty.

The bartender smirks between us, likely hoping for a double tip.

"If I can't buy you a drink, it's the least I can do." Rowan tips back the clear liquid in his glass, and I watch the way his throat bobs when he swallows. There's something sexy about it. The ice clinks against the glass when he sets it on the bar.

I tuck the twenty back into my purse. "Unnecessary, but thank you."

The bartender slides my wineglass across the bar, and I grab hold of the stem.

"Are you on the bride or groom's side?" Rowan asks.

A man steps between us at the bar and looks out the corner of his eye at Rowan but doesn't say anything about recognizing him. Then he glances my way, noticing that we're turned toward one another. "Oh, sorry, did I step in the middle of something?"

"Yes," Rowan says at the same time I say, "No."

"Oh." The guy's cheeks grow pink. "Then I'll just…" He steps back, looks right and left, and walks to the other side of me. "Stand here, I guess." His gaze moves to Rowan as if asking his permission.

The new guy is so close to me on the other side, it forces me to breach the distance I kept between Rowan and me on purpose.

"Come with me." Rowan nods toward one of the high-top tables scattered near the back wall.

"Excuse me?" I sip my wine, staying put.

The bartender snickers quietly, Rowan's narrowed gaze darting to him.

Stepping closer to me, Rowan lowers his head, his lips millimeters from my ear. "Please."

Tendrils of my hair move from his breath, and damn, treacherous goose bumps trail up my spine, but I somehow manage to abstain from a full-body shiver. He draws back, moving away from me, raising his eyebrows, asking me again what move I'm going to make.

Rowan turns his body, giving me a pathway to the table, and I see that the bartender has filled Rowan's drink without him asking. I guess when you're tipping like he is, and you're who he is, you don't have to do a lot of asking.

Is that why he didn't think he had to ask me to step over to a table with him? A man like him is probably used to getting what he wants.

It's as if I can feel the bartender and the man behind me waiting to see what I'll decide. But let's be serious. Would I really turn down Rowan Landry's invitation to talk privately?

I stand there, pretending to weigh my options for a moment, before I take my wine and walk past Rowan. Once I'm at the table, I pivot to face him, and he's already placed his drink on the table. I stare at the vibrant green lime at the bottom of the glass so I don't have to look into his eyes.

"So, bride or groom?" he asks again.

"Guest."

He chuckles. A low, soft rumble in his throat that pulls a smile from me and makes me wonder if that's what he might sound like in bed.

Being the sole object of his attention is unnerving, so I sip my wine to do anything but concentrate on him. "I was invited by the bride. You?" I swallow another gulp of wine, and I catch him staring at the glass, which is now almost empty.

"Guest."

I reward him with a half grin. "Not the groom?"

He chuckles again as if the idea is absurd. A girl could get addicted to earning that warm laugh. "No."

His affirmation is typical of guys like him. As if he'd burn the altar down before stepping up to it.

We stand silently assessing each other for a few moments. Surely cocktail hour will end soon.

"I've known him since high school," he says.

"My mom designed her dress."

"I just reconnected with him when I moved to Chicago."

He can't believe I don't know who he is. Moved here? More like traded here. But I'll play his game—for a while.

"So, we're both kind of outliers?"

He nods slowly. "I guess so."

"What table number are you at?"

Rowan pulls his table card from the pocket of his expensive suit and twirls it around in his hand. "Twelve."

I give him a fake pout. "I'm at fourteen."

"I guess that tells us where we stand in their lives." He drops the card on the tablecloth and picks up his drink. "I wasn't going to come."

"I'm probably not staying."

He shifts his stance so that he's facing me, his left forearm and elbow on the table. I down the rest of my wine, gaze steady on the guests mingling around us.

"Am I that unbearable?"

I glance in his direction, setting my wineglass on the table. "I don't even know you."

His blue eyes glitter with amusement as he twirls his glass with his fingers. Long, thick fingers I can't help but notice. "What do you want to know?"

I shrug. "Nothing in particular."

His eyes become intense and a little predatory, but I try to act unfazed. Am I really trying to play hard to get with Rowan Landry? He probably already thinks he has me. I don't need to know his favorite color or what superstitions he has before a big game. I want him to rock my world for one night. That's all.

"I'm room 1498," he says.

"And?" I arch a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"Figured the way you were eye-fucking me earlier, you'd value that piece of information."

I abandon my empty wineglass and turn to face him so we're chest to chest, only a few inches apart. "You're Rowan Landry, so no, I wasn't eye-fucking you. My friend pointed you out, that's all."

"So, you know who I am?" A smug look washes over his face.

"Really? You're surprised? You're in a Chicago hotel. Your trade to the Falcons was broadcast everywhere. But if it'd make you feel better, I can pretend."

The tips of his lips turn up, and his tongue slides along his bottom lip. Shit, is that something he did as a distraction to take my thoughts off course and only think about having that tongue between my legs? If so, job well done. It totally worked.

He shakes his head. "So, you know me. Now I need to know you. What's your name?"

That question snaps me back to attention. Shit. There's no possible way he'd remember me from when he and Conor played together. I was a nerdy high school girl, and he never gave me the time of day. I met him maybe twice. But I've heard his name occasionally from Conor, so maybe it's the same on his end. Then again, Conor can be self-absorbed and probably never talks about me.

"Leigh," I say, using a shortened version of my name to be safe.

His eyes lock on mine for longer than I'm comfortable with, as if he's assessing whether I'm telling the truth. This is a one-night thing. Who the hell cares? I'll never see the guy again. I'll be one of many in a long line of women who bed Rowan Landry, which is exactly how I want it.

"Nice to meet you, Leigh."

"So formal after just telling me I was eye-fucking you. Do you want to shake hands like business partners now?"

He shakes his head and studies me for another second. "I like you."

"Thanks?"

"Do you like me?"

The look on his face is so genuine, as if he wants to know if he has a shot with me. "What's not to like? You're Rowan Landry."

The smile drops from his face, and he picks up his glass. "Want a refill?"

He takes my wineglass and steps away from the table without waiting for me to answer. I watch as he goes to the bar and sets the two glasses on the bar top while the bartender grabs new ones.

Rowan almost looked upset by what I said, which doesn't make sense. Every hockey player I've ever known has gotten off on the accolades and compliments of who they are in the hockey realm. I thought it would boost his ego a little and seal the deal that I'd end up in room 1498 in the next fifteen minutes. Maybe I should've just gone home instead of detouring over to the bar.

He returns and slides my wineglass over to me. His fingernails are clipped and clean and well-manicured. I blink to stop the image of them plunging inside me or twisting my nipples. Why I am so damn horny right now?

"Thank you, I could have gotten?—"

"It's no problem." He sips his drink. "Do you think you can forget who I am for a half hour?"

I'm still in the game. "Only a half hour?"

He turns away from me, staring at the crowd of people as the DJ announces that it's time to eat. "I guess you're saved by the beef wellington. It was nice to meet you, Leigh."

He steps behind me, oddly close, and I close my eyes when his arm brushes along my back.

Let him go, Kyleigh. Just leave. Go home and masturbate to him if you need to.

"Wait," I say, unable to stop myself.

He turns around to face me.

I'm probably going to regret this. "I had a guest."

He slides his hands into his pockets, and I realize he left his drink behind. "Yeah?"

"She had to leave, so I mean, if you want, you could sit at fourteen with me. I get that twelve is higher on the list." I roll my eyes playfully, but his gaze remains on me, as intense as ever. I should've kept quiet. "Don't feel obligated…"

"I don't."

"Okay." I pick up my wineglass. "Table fourteen, then?"

His fingers cover mine as he takes my wineglass from my grip. Then he holds out his arm for me. "Table fourteen, then."

I slide my arm through his. What is going on? This was supposed to be a wham bam, see you never. Not share a meal and clink glasses while we watch the happy couple make out at the head table.

He pauses at the table's edge at the exact place I was sitting when our eyes locked, except he takes the spot where my wine spilled and holds out the chair for Alara's seat.

How did my predicted one-night stand turn into my wedding guest?