Page 50 of Crush
Shea didn't say a word. His expression grew stony and serious.
“Then, she said—” I covered my mouth and giggled. “She said she's never seen two people who needed to'bone'more in her entire life.”
“Chloe!” he muttered under his breath.
“I'm sorry. I didn't tell you earlier because I wanted you to enjoy your night and not worry. I guess that's why you noticed I was acting strange.”
“It's okay,” he said softly. “Thanks for telling me.”
“Yeah. Sure. Figured I had to. I'd hate for Chloe to think something so outrageous could be true.”
There was a lull. I glanced out at the audience—all those people, smiling and watching us, totally oblivious to what we were talking about. If only they had any idea!
“Brynn …” Shea trailed off, his eyes heavy.
Before he could say what he wanted to say, the song faded out, and the audience stood and clapped for us. A man in a suit ran up and thrust a microphone into Shea's hand.
Shea cleared his throat and spoke into the mic.
“Wow, you really voted formeagain, huh? And all this time I thought you guys were voting for my daughter, Chloe.” He paused to let the laughter die down. “Thanks to everyone for coming out tonight.” Shea turned to me. “Thanks to Brynn—who did doubly-duty as my kids' nanny by day, and my lovely date by night—for agreeing to come with me.”
At Shea's mention of my name, a rowdy, male segment of the crowd—with deep and booming voices—went wild. “Wooooooo!” “Brynn!” “Awww, yeah!”
Ah. Shea's teammates, of course.
Shea continued on the mic. “And thanks to Brawlers owner, Jim James, for throwing tonight's gala and giving such a generous gift to charity. Tonight, I'm asking Mr. James to donate that money toHockey Fights Cancer,and I'll be matching his donation.”
The audience wentooohand applauded.
“Thanks again, everybody. Enjoy the rest of your night—now get up here and dance, so I can stop making a fool out of myself.” Shea almost passed off the mic before he remembered one last thing to say. “This is for my teammates out there. Remember, boys, don't drink too much; we've got an early flight to Tampa in the morning.”
The Brawlers in the audience laughed and booed, and then the music started again. The women pulled their reluctant men onto the dance floor, and soon Shea and I were surrounded.
Without the pressure of all those eyes watching us and us alone, Shea and I moved closer together. My arms went around his neck. His colossal hands went to my sides. His irises smoldered with a cocky glint, and his eyes occasionally darted down to steal a glance at my cleavage.
“During our dance, you were about to say something,” I shouted at him, over the music.
He smiled coyly. “Was I?”
“Yeah, what was it?”
“I don't remember,” he said.
He was lying, but what could I do about it? I just liked being close to him.
I let it go and we danced. And as we moved, we pulled each other closer into the blistering heat that lingered between our bodies. Shea's thumbs and fingers dug and clenched at my waist. His touch was subtle, but I liked it—I wondered if he thought I wouldn't notice? It was a comforting pressure. I wanted his king-sized hands running over every inch of my body … even if I knew there were a thousand good reasons why it should never happen.
We danced the night away, until it was way too late, and we were way too drunk to think about getting in his car and driving home.
After we said our goodbyes to Shea's teammates, and my new girl friends, Shea called a cab.
***
We slid into the leather back seat of our car, the two of us giggling and laughing like two drunken buffoons. Shea gave the cabbie his address, and the driver stepped on the gas. The lights of Boston in the early morning streaked past in long trails of red and amber.
“Thanks again for coming, Brynn,” Shea said. “I hope you had a good time.”
He set his palm at my knee. His touch was electric. My legs opened the smallest amount, an inaudible sigh escaping my lungs.
