31. Mira

31

MIRA

The Phoenix Angels sure know how to throw a party.

There are one hundred and fifty people here, at least, not including the waitstaff. I've been introduced to dozens who work on the management side of things and their spouses, plus half the team. Their names are swimming around in the sea of champagne I've consumed, and I'm overwhelmed in the best kind of way.

It's actually kind of… fun ?

I'm shoving some kind of cucumber cracker sandwich concoction in my mouth to soak up a little of the alcohol when an arm hooks around my shoulders.

"Now, why would your date leave you here all alone, Miss McNeil?"

Under my breath so only I can hear, I mumble, " Nathan Moore has more hair than anyone else."

I thank past me for coming up with these stupid little mnemonic devices. Though, Nathan and the man-bun he himself described as "stately" less than thirty seconds after we met would be hard to forget.

"Zane went to get us both drinks." I stretch onto my toes to find him over the crowd. And I do find him…

Talking to his assistant, Hanna, at the bar.

Hanna tosses her red hair over her shoulder, laughing at something absolutely hilarious Zane must have said. It's the first time she's spoken to him all night; I can tell by the way I keep finding her throwing eye daggers at me from across the room that she's keeping her distance from me. And this is the first time Zane has left my side all night.

She didn't waste time pouncing on the first opportunity, I guess.

Nathan shifts around me, bowing low and offering his hand. "While your date is away, would you care to play?"

Before I can say anything, Daniel walks by and kicks Nathan in the shin with his left leg.

"Fuck!" Nathan hisses. "That thing should count as a weapon. They should have frisked you at the door."

"Ask Mira here to dance again and you'll get a lot worse from Zane. I just saved your dick," he says. "You're welcome."

Nathan scowls at him, and I reach out and squeeze his shoulder. "My feet are killing me, anyway. Maybe later?"

Nathan gives me a mischievous smile. "As soon as you get bored of Whitaker, you give me a call."

He melds into the crowd and is bowing low in front of a very pretty blonde within ten seconds.

"Nathan is a flirt," I decide with a laugh.

Daniel nods. "True, but he's a good guy. He and his ex split custody of their kid, so he doesn't get out as much as he used to. Let's just say he makes the most of it when he can."

"Oh, how old is his kid?" I ask.

But Daniel's mouth goes slack instead of answering. His eyes widen and I swear there are cartoon hearts throbbing in his pupils.

I don't need to look over my shoulder to know Taylor is making her way towards us.

My bestie definitely got the awe-inspiring grand entrance she was hoping for when she showed up in her plunging silver princess gown. She keeps getting the same reaction from Daniel every time she's away from him for five minutes.

Which might be why she keeps finding so many reasons to excuse herself.

"Keep your tongue in your mouth, Patterson." Jemma Austin— must go to the gym-a-lot because she's the fittest woman I've ever seen in my life, I intone in my head—joins our group, tugging her husband, Reeves, along with her. "At least try to play hard to get. Her dad owns the team you work for; you don't want to look pathetic."

He lifts his chin stubbornly. "I'm admiring the most beautiful woman in the room. I can't hear what any of you less important people are saying."

With that, Daniel cuts through the group and offers a hand to Taylor. She plays it off casually enough and accepts it like she's indifferent, but I think I'm the only person here who knows she is swooning mega hard .

Daniel Patterson cleans up nice in a suit and he's giving Taylor the attention she craves. If they don't go home together, then I don't know my best friend.

Right on cue, Davis Ray whispers to Reeves, "Danny Boy is getting lucky tonight."

It's been hours of this—dancing, drinking, talking—but none of these people seem to get tired of each other. And no one is fighting. I didn't go to many big functions outside of family reunions when I was a kid, and even those always ended with someone bloodied in the front yard and police lights flashing. But all of Zane's friends seem to like each other.

And me, by extension.

I'm not sure what to make of that.

Zane is still at the bar talking to Hanna, and I'm super duper not jealous. The swirling feeling in my stomach is just because Zane has kept my glass filled all night, and I haven't eaten enough to keep up with it.

That's it. That's all.

I shove an entire cucumber sandwich into my mouth, which I immediately regret when Jace Cannon slides into the circle next to me. "You having a good time?"

"Mmfyep," I garble, cupping a hand over my mouth so I don't spray crumbs all over the Angels' team captain. "It's great."

"Is this your first time?"

I swallow prematurely and it hurts on the way down. "My first time eating? No, it just looks that way." I turn away, trying and failing to discreetly wipe my mouth. "God, sorry about that. Embarrassing."

He laughs. "I meant, is it your first time to the opening day party?"

My face flames. "Oh, right. Yes. I just went to my first hockey game ever last week, so this is all new for me."

Jace smiles through a wince. "I remember. You had Zane's head a mess. Don't judge him based off that game. He's usually better."

I'm not sure what to say. Mostly because I know Zane was actually a mess because he was worried about Aiden. But Aiden's existence isn't common knowledge. It's why Zane had to ask Evan to babysit at the house tonight while we went out. I'm not sure if Jace knows about Zane's son or not, but I'm not going to be the one to spill the beans.

Suddenly, a tall, goddess of a woman with honey blonde waves loops an arm around Jace's waist from behind, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. His wife, I'm guessing, though we haven't met yet. "Don't blame Zane's date for him playing like shit last week, sweetheart. It's not her fault he's in love."

The kind of demented laugh you don't hear outside of a hyena exhibit at the zoo or a haunted house bursts out of me before I can stop it. I clap a hand over my mouth for the second time in as many minutes. "Sorry. I just—It's not—We just started?—"

"It doesn't matter how new it is," she interrupts. "Zane has never brought a woman to this party. Not once. He's left with them, but that's different. Even then, he didn't look at those women the way he's looking at you tonight."

She doesn't know what she's talking about. If she knew the truth, she wouldn't be saying this.

Then I look over and see Zane moving through the crowd towards me. When our eyes meet, his face softens. His mouth tips into a smile and it feels like there's carbonation in my chest.

Maybe Zane missed his calling as an actor. Maybe he's putting on the show of his life tonight, pretending to be my dedicated boyfriend in front of his teammates.

Or, God help us all…

Maybe not.

Jace turns and kisses the woman's temple, whispering against her hair. "Rachelle, you're breaking the bro code. No talking about Zane's past to his present."

Rachelle rolls her eyes. "Being the wife of an NHL player comes with pros and cons. One of the cons is every single one of your spouse's past sexual partners are one internet search away. No one gets into a thing with Zane Whitaker without knowing exactly who he is and what he's done."

"I think you mean, what he is and who he's done!" Davis Ray dances around the circle, collecting high fives and guffawing.

I feel Zane behind me before I see him. A drink appears in front of me, the delicate stem pinched between his fingers. His breath warms my neck. "Do I even want to know what kind of filth they're filling your head with?"

It takes everything in me not to say, It has nothing on the filth filling my head now.

"Nothing we wouldn't say to your face." Jace tugs Rachelle into his side, looking down at her like she's the only woman in the world. "Do you want to tell him what you said, baby?"

Before Rachelle can say anything, Zane plucks my drink from my hand and twines his fingers around mine. "And that's our cue."

Zane spins me to face him, and it's the closest we've been all night.

Despite having made our way onto the dance floor with his teammates enough times for me to count this evening as a Zumba class, Zane has avoided any slow dances. I wouldn't be surprised if he bribed the DJ to give him some sort of warning so he could make sure he was busy talking to Taylor's dad or the other higher-ups of the Angels franchise during every emotionally-wrought makeout jam.

But right now, couples are finding each other all across the room as the music shifts and slows and stretches out dreamily…

Yet Zane is tugging me towards the dance floor.

The easy, relaxed smile on his face makes my breath catch in my throat. And it stays there. Through one dance, and then another, our arms tangled, breath mingling between us, tinged sweet with champagne. The lump sits in the middle of my chest when Zane wraps his arm around my waist while we talk with his friends. It doesn't fade even when he escorts me out of the venue late at night and drives through downtown Phoenix in the dark.

Back at the condo, Evan is bleary-eyed and ready for bed. He heads for the door the moment we're inside, stopping only when Zane slips him what I'm guessing is a huge tip for the inconvenience.

Then the door closes, and Zane and I are alone.

After hours of music and laughter, the silence is jarring. It feels like there isn't enough oxygen in the room. It definitely doesn't help that Zane ditched his jacket in the car and is now loosening his tie like we're in some sexed-up cologne commercial.

When he undoes the first few buttons of his shirt to reveal a triangle of golden skin, I have to lean against the edge of the counter to stay upright.

"What do you think?" he asks.

What I think is that he's raking his eyes over every inch of me like he's trying to decide which part to eat first. If he doesn't decide soon, I'll start making suggestions.

"About what?" I choke out, instead of being irredeemably horny out loud.

"My friends. The party. All of it."

"Your friends were nice. Very welcoming."

"They loved you," he remarks almost wistfully.

"I think they were curious. They all acted like they'd never seen you with a date before."

I'm shamelessly fishing, but I don't care. My shame burned up when Zane dipped me on the dance floor, his mouth hovering juuust out of reach.

"That's because they haven't."

"You're lying," I blurt out. "I'm sorry, but there's no way a man like you would go to an event like that year after year without a date. There were a dozen women in that room who would've killed to be there with you."

Your assistant being one of them.

Zane strolls towards me, rolling his sleeves up a few times to reveal brawny forearms, as if the sight of his chest hair isn't torture enough. "I never said there weren't women who wanted to go with me; I said I never took one. Until you."

I nervously toss my hair over my shoulder so maybe Zane won't be able to see how hard I'm breathing, but my hair catches in the clasp of my necklace. I yelp and Zane is in front of me in a second.

I'm left staring at the sharp edge of his jaw as he works his fingers over my bare skin, unclasps my necklace, and coaxes it free.

Gently, he peels my hand from the countertop, twists my wrist until my palm is facing up, and pools the diamond choker there.

"It's yours," I breathe. "I couldn't afford anything like that. You should keep it."

"I think it will look better on you than me."

I huff out a laugh. "You know what I mean. Sell it. Or… give it to the next woman."

Because there will be a next woman and I shouldn't get used to this. He isn't mine to keep.

"I gave it to you . It's yours ." He closes my fingers around the necklace. My skin tingles everywhere he touches me. "Seeing it around any other woman's neck would be a downgrade."

There are no cameras here. No witnesses.

No one is watching… yet Zane is putting on the performance of his fucking life.

"Don't you worry what your friends will think about all of this when it's…?" When it's over. When we end things. When you carry on with your life and I never see you again.

"I already know what they're thinking." Zane brushes his knuckle over my exposed collarbone. "They're all thinking that I took you home early because feeling your body pressed against mine while we danced was fucking torture."

I let out a harsh breath. There's no point trying to hide it. Zane's hand is curved over my heart—I know he can feel it racing.

"They're thinking that, right about now, I'm peeling you out of this sinful dress—" He drags a finger down the zipper at my side and grips my hip with crushing force. "—and leaving it in a puddle on my bedroom floor. They're thinking that I'm kneeling between your legs to find out if you taste as good as you smell."

I don't fit inside my skin anymore. Every word out of his mouth pushes me closer to some invisible breaking point, and I don't care. I want to be broken.

Smash me to fucking pieces, Mr. Whitaker.

"Your friends have dirty minds," I pant.

"The dirtiest."

His blue eyes are black and I love knowing that he's like this because of me. If nothing else, I know that he feels this, too.

"Well, are they right?" I run my tongue over my lips. "Is that what you're going to do to me?"

He shoves his fingers through my hair and tilts my head back. When our bodies melt together, I feel the hard press of him against my stomach.

Neither of us are strong enough to stop this. We're going to end up naked and panting and I don't have the energy to care if it's a bad idea.

I want him.

And literally not one millisecond after that thought surges across my mind like a freaking shooting star, Zane flies in the exact opposite direction.

In the blink of an eye, he's halfway across the room.

I don't understand what's happening—until a sleepy four-year-old wrapped in a fleece blanket appears in the mouth of the hallway. Aiden is rubbing his eyes and blinking around.

I didn't even hear him coming. I was so lost in Zane that nothing else mattered.

But that's not true. So many other things matter. Zane is carrying one of them.

He scoops Aiden up and conveys him back to his room. I stand stupidly in place, skin still simmering, wondering how the hell I'm supposed to manage this latest twist on the ol' emotional roller coaster.

I could wait here and see where the rest of the night takes us. Maybe Zane will come back and pick up where we left off. Maybe I even want him to.

But is one night with him enough reason to blow up everything else?

Because that's what it would be—that's what I can guarantee: one night . I have no idea what tomorrow morning would look like. Or the day after. Next week.

Zane will go on being a famous hockey player in a nine-figure contract with a son who deserves everything—but this job is all I have. Without the money Zane is paying me, I can't even afford to run.

And if I can't afford to do that, can I afford to get too close?

I know the answer before I even finish thinking the question.

Before Zane comes back out of Aiden's room, I slip into mine and lock the door.