Page 88 of Playmaker

“Have you danced?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been very carefully avoiding anyone who looks like they want to ask me.”

I’d never asked if Callie danced. “Not a dancer?”

“I don’t think what we did back in high school would be called dancing here.”

I held back a grin. “So, no cotillions?”

Her eyes widened. “That’s a real thing?”

I let my smile escape. “Real enough. Come on, dance with me before I have to take a turn with my mother’s friends.”

“What kind of dance?”

I held out my hand. “This is a slow one. I’ll take care of you.”

For once, that idea didn’t chase her away. She hesitated but put her hand in mine.

I knew her hand. It had touched every part of my body, and those memories sent goose bumps over my skin. I hid the effect she had on me by pulling her in close and moving to the music, leading her gently and covering any missteps.

There weren’t many. Whatever kind of dancing she’d done in the past, she was able to follow my lead. We didn’t speak. I noticed eyes watching us but I didn’t care. I spent less and less time with this family I’d been born into. I had a full, happy life in Toronto. Over the years, it had become obvious that no amount of success I had would be enough for my father and brother to admit they’d been wrong. This visit with Callie had made the contrast clear. She was the only one here worth a damn. And these people, with their focus on appearances, were not worth the bother.

The song wrapped up and something more up-tempo started. I wanted to end the dance with a kiss, but instead I pulled back. “I have about another hour of social obligations, then we can go back to the hotel.”

Her cheeks flushed. From the warmth of the room? The dancing? The promise of what we would do when we got away? Whatever—there was something about her tonight. But I didn’t want her to face any more of my family’s ire, so I stepped back and let her go.

My mother found me, asked me to dance with the groom’s grandmother. I put on the polite smile required and did my duty. After the grandmother, the wife of one of Pierce’s friends asked me to dance. I held out a hand, counting down the dances in my head till I could say my duty was done.

“So, you’re the hockey player.” She moved a little closer. “I’ve noticed your billboards.”

I saw where this was going. I made a little more room between us. “My sponsor will be happy to hear that.”

She wiggled closer again. “You know, I read that people get very horny at weddings.” She giggled.

“Family drama and an open bar—makes perfect sense.”

She giggled again. “This might be a little forward, but…” Some more squirming, and suddenly a hotel room card was in her hand. She felt her way down my chest and slid it into my jacket pocket. “Room 2241.”

“You’re wearing a wedding ring.”

She shrugged. “We understand each other.”

“That’s nice, but I don’t do wives.” Her cheeks flushed. Whether at the blunt response or the rejection, I wasn’t sure. “And I may model underwear, but I’m not actually a prostitute.”

Her body stiffened. “You don’t have to be crude.”

“And you don’t need to treat me like an idiot because I’m a professional athlete. I know Pierce and his friends have plans tonight, but they won’t understand their wives slumming.”

Her cheeks were bright red now. “Like anyone would take you seriously. We all know you couldn’t handle it so you left to do this hockey thing.”

“Intelligence isn’t measured by the university someone attends.”

Her nose moved up. “I think I’m done with this dance.”

I released my arms, relieved to do so. “Then please, let’s move off the floor.” I reached my hand into my front pocket and pulled out the key card. “You should take this back.”

I didn’t think her face could get redder, but she snatched the card, looking around the room in case someone was watching. Several people were. She turned and walked off, doing her best to look offended, as if I’d made a pass at her.

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