Page 12 of Play the Game

I grit my teeth and manage to squeeze out a half insult. “Will you fire me if I cuss you out in my head the entire walk over there?”

Russ’s lip twitches. “No, but I prefer it to be out loud. That’s like dirty talk to me.”

He reaches forward to help me down, but a little growl escapes. His hands land on my hips regardless, and it takes everything in me not to kick him. I shove his hands off my waist when my heels click on the floor, and I hurriedly make my way to booth four before I have to endure any more moments with Russ’s hands on me.

If Chastity were to see that, she’d smack him.

But Chastity and Russ have a weird boss/employee relationship. She can get away with it.

I cannot.

“There she is,” a familiar voice muses.

I stop mid-climb onto the little platform. My hands almost slip on the pole, but my spine locks and saves me from falling. Over my shoulder, I see two Blue Devils approach the table with their devilish grins.Please no.

My cheeks burn. I turn, letting my palm slide against the metal pole to guide me. When I’m facing the duo, I smile sweetly. “So, this was your doing?”

Their cheeky grins split into full smiles. “Our favorite girl with a wealth of hockey knowledge dancing in front of us?” They get closer, and my heart is in my throat.Please do not let Emory show up.“Who else would we want?”

“Well…” My leg curls against the cool metal, and I have to physically stop myself from banging my face off the pole to knock myself unconscious. “Here I am.”

“Yes, there you are.”

My thick eyelashes wisp together when I hear his voice.

Heat trickles down my body, and my limbs weigh a thousand pounds each.

I turn slightly, pressing against the pole for stability. Our eyes meet, and my lips part. Emory Olson slides into the boothbelow and peers up at me with his steely jaw set like stone. His tongue slips out of his mouth, and he wets his lips, like he's waiting for me to do something.

I’m frozen.

My hands grip the pole for stability, and my ribcage expands with a lungful of air.

He’s angry.

His dark-blue eyes narrow, and the longer I stare at him, the worse I feel. The judgment is crystal clear. If I were to peek into his head for a split second, I’m sure my self-worth would be destroyed.

“Glad you could make it, man.” Malaki wraps his arm around his teammate’s thick neck and pulls Emory’s attention away from me.

I grab onto the distraction like a lifeline and quickly spin around, putting my back to them.

A hesitant smile touches my lips when I meet the flirty looks of the other Blue Devils piling into the booth. If I don’t get a ridiculous amount of tips from this, I swear, I’ll look into selling feet pics instead.

The next several songs go by quickly, and I try to focus on the beat and the way my body needs to move in order to keep pulling the men's attention, but the only thing I can think about is Emory and the silent insults piling in his head every time I face him.

“So, tell us, Cherry…” Kane, who I learned is a total hothead on the ice, leans back into the red leather of the booth. “Is that your real hair?”

Shit.

He knows.

Like a moth to a flame, my eyes shift to Emory’s for a split second. His eyebrow arches, and a hot swallow works down mythroat. Something clicks, and I suddenly feel like I need to prove that him sitting there doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

I turn back to Kane. “So, tellme, Kane… Are you always a hothead on the ice?” I jump up and do a hook spin until landing in front of him. I lean down a little. “You should work on your defense.”

The blue lights reflect off Kane’s white teeth, and his teammates chuckle under their breath. Some of them throw a few twenties beneath my feet, and I laugh playfully.

Kane sits a little taller. “I think I might need someone to take the edge off before games.” My laughter fades. A chill breaks out along my skin when his hand reaches forward. “Do you know anyone that would be up for that?” When his warm fingers wrap around my ankle, my heart stops.

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