Page 44 of In Too Deep

I'm more composed after our nap, and even better after eating a room service lunch. We might have splurged, but at this point,the league owes me for allowing my room to get double booked. Soon enough, it’s time to get ready and head over to the arena for the night’s activities.

Spencer looks incredible in his crisp suit, the gold fleur-de-lis cufflinks catching the light perfectly. His tie is a dark eggplant, an unintentional match to the cocktail dress I’d picked out. The soft and stretchy velvet clings to my curves, the rouching on the front hiding my tummy well and the half sleeves giving me some protection against the chill of the dry January air. Our walk is blessedly short, and once I grab our badges, we’re allowed out onto the floor of the arena. There’s a chill underfoot, the ice merely covered up for the event.

The space is filled with other players from across all thirty-six teams, and members of their support staff. Between one and three players were picked to participate, so it’s quite crowded on the floor, not to mention difficult to navigate without being stopped to talk and catch up. Spencer disappears from my side at one point, though I’m not surprised. I’ve been in this conversation with the event manager for the league for far too long, mostly because he works with my dad on occasion and wants to tell me every little anecdote.

When I’m finally able to slip away, I glance around, trying to spot his head of curly dark hair. It’s normally easy, as he’s taller than the average person. But in a room full of hockey players, I’m lucky if I can see over anyone’s head, let alone find someone in the crowd. We aren’t assigned to sit together for the draft, so I just resign myself to finding him once everyone’s seated and then linking up again on our way back to the hotel.

I manage to find my way to the open bar, grabbing myself a gin martini as I linger around the edges of the room, trying to take everything in. The stands are filling up, though the first dozen or so rows of the lower bowl sections are blocked off, probablyto give the players privacy. The noise level increases with every passing minute, the anticipation building.

“Surprised you’d show your face at something like this,” a voice sneers from beside me, making me jump.

I take a step away as I look up into the acne-scarred face of Tristan King. His hair is a wild tangle of tight curls, the color more blond than I remember, but I wouldn’t put it past the vain bastard to get highlights. Whatever product he’s put on his face for the cameras has creased under his eyes, but I don’t bother telling him. After the shit he pulled the last time we played him, I hope some eagle-eyed fan clocks it and turns it into a meme. Maybe I’d do it for them, and highlight how fucked up his teeth look ever since he had to get implants to replace the ones Oli knocked out. He’d deserve it for all the misogynistic and disgusting things he said about me, and plenty of other women, I’m sure.

“Funny. I was just thinking the same thing about you. Looks like you had to leave your cronies back in San Fran,” I comment, taking another sip of my drink.

He lets out a low growl, but I look away, not intimidated in the slightest. Tristan is a coward at heart and wouldn’t dare try anything if he knew he couldn’t get away with it. With this many witnesses, the worst he could do is trade barbs, and I have plenty of practice deflecting those and turning them back around.

“Did Spencey leave you to chase after someone who will actually put out?” Tristan asks, a little mocking edge to his voice.

I roll my eyes but don’t deign to answer. Wherever Spencer is, I’m sure it’s not with another girl. Not after the way he acted over Christmas and ever since. In my silence, King snickers and raises a hand to point into the crowd.

“Seems like he’s caught a good one. What do you think, Strauss? Think he’s got enough game to reel her in? Or shouldI go over and put her out of her misery and rescue her from his company?”

I follow his line of sight, hardly hearing the words as the crowd parts and I see Spencer for the first time since we got separated. He’s not far from us, standing with a stick-thin brunette with a smile like a spotlight. Her badge says she’s with the press, but my brain doesn’t accept that. They’re standing too close, and he’s laughing too hard at whatever she’s saying. He’s leaning down with a smile, a real smile, not the fake one he plasters across his handsome face when he interacts with the media back home. The longer I watch them, the harder it becomes to look away. My stomach drops as she touches his arm, laughing and showing those bright white teeth.

“Good talking with you, Vic. Have fun this weekend. I’ll try not to kick Black’s ass too hard,” Tristan says as an announcement rings out, calling everyone to their seats.

I’m numb from head to toe as I find a seat in the staff section, my eyes following the young journalist the entire time. Spencer isn’t near us, sitting with some fellow U of M alumni on the opposite side of the floor. The draft is a blur, though I note when Spencer and Tristan get drafted on different teams, which is for the best, all things considered. But I can’t contain my disgusted sniff when the journalist cheers a little too loudly when Spencer gets picked sixth overall.

My patience and composure end once we’re dismissed from the event. As I storm off and leave Spencer to make his own way back, my chest is tight and my eyes burn with the tears I’m holding back. And no matter how hard I try, all I can see whenever I close my eyes is Little Miss Megawatt Smile practically sprinting toward Spencer.

“So, yeah, it’s socool to see you again, Spencey. Do you miss the city? Because I’m sure it misses you,” Trina rambles, giggling at her own joke.

I laugh a little, searching desperately through the thinning crowd for Tori. Trina is still talking, but I’m not even remotely paying attention. Of all the people I expected to see on this trip, the gossip reporter I had a one-night stand with three years ago was not one of them. Our time together was short, and hardly memorable, but she’s acting like we had this deeply romantic connection, and I’ve just about had it. I’ve tried to walk away from her multiple times before the draft, and now she keeps following me as I inch toward the door.

“Hey, BlackJack!”

I turn in relief as I hear Devin, a former teammate in college, shout my name. He comes jogging up, grinning eagerly to invite me to a late-night dinner. He completely ignores Trina, and Isee her pouting with the edge of my vision. It only gets worse when she tries to interject and ask if she can join, and Devin pretends like he can’t hear her. She finally takes the hint when Devin throws his arm across my shoulders and leads me out of the secured exit for players and staff only.

“Thanks, man. She really couldn’t take no for an answer.” I laugh, shrugging his arm off as we enter the dimly lit hallways under the stands.

Devin laughs. “Puck bunnies are a blessing and curse, dude. Though I’m surprised you wouldn’t want to hit that. She seems like your type.” He gives me a curious look.

I roll my eyes, suppressing the impulse to tell him that my type is a sassy omega, with blue heterochromia eyes, who smells like home, and just grin sheepishly. “Yeah, I would have. But I’m fuckin’ exhausted. I had to fly out after last night’s game and only got a few hours of sleep before I had to put on this monkey suit.”

Devin gives me a sympathetic smile, shouldering through the arena side exit closest to Park MGM. “No worries, man. A bunch of the guys are getting together to hit up Top Golf tomorrow. You in?”

I sigh, considering. I want to spend as much of this trip with Tori as I can, but it would be suspicious if I didn’t go. I give him a tentative yes before we part ways, with me heading back to the hotel while he strides off to meet up for that meal. Once he’s out of sight, I kick it up to a jog, heart rate spiking. I’ll check the hotel room first, and if Tori isn’t there, then I’ll start to worry.

My shoulders slump as I push open the door and hear the shower running, relief flooding my system. Shrugging out of my suit jacket, I pull off my tie and undo my cufflinks so I can remove my shirt. As I’m working on my pants, the water stops, and I turn around to find Tori standing there, completely bare and glaring at me.

“Where’d you go? I couldn’t find you,” I start, trying to smile through my hesitation.

“Were you even looking that hard? Because you seemed plenty busy to me,” she fires back with a lift of her chin.

I have to fight to keep my eyes on her face and not allow them to follow the drops of water as they slide down her throat and lower. She’s upset, and I need to fix this. Not that my cock gets the memo, judging by how tight the crotch of my slacks has suddenly become.

“Trina used to work for a paper in San Francisco, but recently got a job with a national publication. We were catching up,” I reply honestly.

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