Page 77 of Offside Devil

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.

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