Page 72 of Offside Attraction

Her heart stopped. He had a cut across his left eye, a thin line of dried blood. His hair was damp, just like the first time she’d seen him behind that hotel room door. Rhonda's fingers twitched, and she fought the urge to rush to the stairs and check if he was okay.

That ache inside her grew until it choked off her air. And then the Snowballs appeared. Aelin and the girls ran to Ryan, and the fans erupted in celebration.

Jordan walked past, his eyes flicking up for the briefest moment.

Her hands twitched, but she stood frozen to the concrete floor. And then he was gone, absorbed into the crowd with the other players.

And Rhonda added a new attribute to her wildly expanding sense of self.

Cowardice.

Chapter

Twenty-Two

Rhonda

Monday night,Rhonda stepped out of the rideshare and into a puddle of slush. She was glad she hadn't taken her own car. The roads were slick with the remnants of snow that was now solidifying since the sun had gone down. She pulled her coat around her shoulders, wishing she’d worn wool pants. She smoothed down her sleek black dress, the hemline brushing just above her knees. Professional, yet sexy, as usual.

She walked through the doors of the event centre and followed signs for the Founder’s Event. When she arrived outside the ballroom, Rhonda's breath caught in her throat. Even glimpsing it through the arched doors, it was a sea of opulence. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, glinting off crystal glassware and pristine white plates. The hum of conversation blended with the delicate strains of a string quartet.

Guests milled about in the entry hall in designer gowns and sharp suits, sipping champagne from fluted glasses. Towering floral arrangements punctuated the space, their blooms so perfect their existence seemed impossible for Calgary in November. Rhonda's eyes scanned the space, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and cologne. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror behind one of the pop-up bars.One of these things is not like the others.

As she turned to find the Will-Call or check-in desk, she spotted Jordan across the crowd. Her breath hitched. He was wearing a tailored dark suit that hugged his broad shoulders and lean frame. He was clean-shaven. His hair, wavy and sleek. It was like seeing a favourite piece of art only to realize that the versions she’d admired before were knock-offs.

Rhonda's stomach did an involuntary flip. She was back in her entryway, tearing off her top and posing for him in his coat. Her cheeks flamed.

Jordan was gone when she woke up Saturday morning. She’d known he would be. That look he’d given her on her front step wasn’t one of excitement or desire. It was pain. Self-loathing. And still, she’d let him walk through the door.

For a moment, she wondered if she should turn around and walk right back out the door. Then she remembered her texts with Derek that morning. How thrilled he’d been that she’d secured an audience with Dr. Mallory for the first time in years.

As much as she wanted to pretend that praise didn’t matter, that it was all about what was best for patients, it absolutely did. She’d worked her ass off for years to prove she was worthy of a promotion. How many misogynistic comments or dismissals had she bounced back from? How many times had she been looked over or rejected? Even by her own people at Cantra?

No. She had to go through with this meeting, even if it meant sitting next to glow-up Jordan and facing the terrifying reality that she was a little bit dead inside.

Rhonda inhaled a steadying breath and strode across the hall. Jordan waited next to the official entrance to the ballroom, and she couldn't help but notice the eyes of a few women lingering on him. He had that whole rugged-with-a-touch-of-sophistication thing going for him. Plus, he was at least twenty years younger than any other man in the immediate vicinity.

Jordan turned, and his eyes locked with hers. Was that a flush creeping up his neck, or was it just the warm lighting?

"Hey, sorry I'm a bit late." Rhonda gave him a smile, hoping it came off as casual.

Jordan cleared his throat. "No problem. I just got here myself." He lifted a hand, then thought better of it. “The coat check is there.”

Rhonda nodded, her stomach souring. “Right. Thanks.” She walked over and handed the woman behind the table her coat in exchange for a ticket, grateful there wasn’t any line. When she reappeared at Jordan’s side, he held up two tickets.

“Hope it’s okay. I got these already.”

Rhonda nodded, her brow pinching. “Of course.” He hadn’t smiled at her. More than that, apart from the moment she’d greeted him, he wasn’t making eye contact. It made her feel woozy. Off-centred.

She tried not to stare at the way his suit jacket clung to his shoulders or how he had one hand casually slipped into his pocket. He looked confident. Strong. Without realizing it, she’d planned on him being her ally, but right now, he felt like a paid escort.

How had Jordan gotten these tickets? She knew how much a table at one of these events cost, and she hadn’t even thought to ask.

They wove through groups of people, Jordan nodding and exchanging pleasantries with a few familiar faces. Rhonda’s heels snagged in the industrial carpet as she tried to keep up. The tables were set with precision, each one a tableau of intricate centrepieces, gleaming silverware, and name cards written in elegant script.

Finally, Jordan stopped at their table. It was tucked toward the edge of the room. Not quite in the thick of things but not banished to the outskirts, either. Perfect.

As they approached, Rhonda scanned the table's other occupants. She recognized a few of them from her visits to various hospitals around Calgary. One of the women, Doctor Smithson, was a stern-looking woman with her hair pulled into a tight bun and a pair of glasses balanced on the bridge of her nose. She didn’t realize she’d moved to Rocky Ridge and felt like an idiot for not keeping better tabs.

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