Page 6 of Tangled Vows

“I’m all alone tonight,” I replied with faux sadness.

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” She shot me a flirtatious grin.

“No, ma’am,” I answered before taking another swig of my beer.

I bought her another drink, making small talk while I sipped from my bottle. Our conversations were shallow, never dipping too far below the surface. Just how I liked it. I didn’t need to get to know her to have a good time, and I could tell she was after the same thing I was. A brief reprieve from the noise in our heads, something to make us feel alive and satisfied, if only for a moment.

“I’m ready to get out of here,” she said, running one manicured finger down my arm. "What do you say we go back to my place for a little bit?”That didn’t take long.

“I’d say that sounds like a great idea.”

She slipped off of her stool, tugging the dangerously short hem of her skirt down as she shimmied her hips. It was a good thing because if I had to guess, she wasn’t wearing any panties. Guess I’d soon find out.

Pulling out my phone, I tapped on the car service app and saw there was a driver a few blocks away. I requested a pick-up as the bartender settled my tab, then we made our way to the door. I looked up the moment we stepped outside and halted in my tracks.

Shayla strode toward me, flanked by a group of four other women with three broad shouldered men trailing behind them. She was laughing with the pint-sized blonde whose arm was hooked through hers at the elbow. She drew up short when she saw me, stopping only five feet away.

“Easton,” she practically shrieked, surprise flitting in her eyes as they glanced to my companion then settled back on me.

“Shayla.” I nodded my acknowledgment, but otherwise gave nothing away. I couldn’t let her know that the mere sight of her had my heart rate picking up steam and my blood pumping inmy veins, particularly to a very vascular part of my anatomy. The woman on my arm was beautiful, but Shayla was breathtaking.

“You two know each other?” The blonde whose name I couldn’t recall asked as she clung to my arm.

“We, uh, work together,” Shayla replied, giving her a tight smile. “How are you, Mariah?”

Mariah. That was it.

I frowned. Apparently, these two knew each other.

“I’m doing great!” She beamed up at me with a knowing smile.

“Wait a minute,” one of the guys said from the back of the group, “you’re Easton Walker, the new forward for the Richmond Wraiths.” Shit, now my cover was blown. The tiny blonde released Shayla’s arm to elbow him in the gut.

“Macon,” she hissed, turning her widened gaze to him before tipping her head toward me as if to say, “can’t you see he’s trying to keep a low profile?”

Mariah turned her confused gaze to me, recognition flitting in her eyes. “Richmond Wraiths? The hockey team?”

My jaw tightened, but I managed to keep the annoyance out of my voice when I answered, “That’s the one.”

She let out a nervous giggle.

“I guess I didn’t recognize you with the hat on,” she intoned, trying to play off the fact that she had no idea who I was. She leaned further into me, pressing her hand to my chest possessively as she turned up the charm.

Great, this was what I was trying to avoid. I didn’t want to be recognized. I didn’t want a woman taking me into her bed because she was eager to fuck a famous athlete. She didn’t even know who I was and clearly wasn’t a fan judging by her confusion.

“Let’s get out of here so you can show me your stick skills,” she suggested in a faux whisper, pretending like she didn’t wantanyone else to hear. They had, though. The entire group in front of us averted their gazes, awkwardly looking anywhere but at us. All except one person.

Steely gray bore into me, that fire burning in Shayla’s eyes heating my skin. If she were a witch, I’d have burst into flames by now, but luckily, the only power she had to use against me was her hate.

5

SHAYLA

This was going to be awkward. I was meeting with Easton this morning for the workshop, but he was the last person I wanted to see right now. After running into him Friday night with Mariah Stevenson on his arm, it had soured my mood, though it confirmed my suspicions.

I wasn’t his type.

Part of me suspected that he was already in a relationship considering how cagey he’d acted after getting the phone call that interrupted our make-out session. But a quick internet search confirmed he wasn’t married and apparently didn’t do serious relationships. He’d been photographed with a different woman on his arm every time he was spotted out on the town. Not that I had cyber stalked him or anything.

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