Page 5 of Overtime Goal
She laughed like I’d said something brilliant and offered to buy me a drink. I nodded, but part of me was still thinking about Logan, wondering if we’d ever get rid of the tension between us.
Two tequila shots later, I was holding court with several women and trying to escape the attention of a guy in a beanie who’d barged his way into the group. He kept calling me “Buffalo Daddy” and asking me to dance. I’d never thought of myself as the daddy type, but I had a feeling he wanted me to live up to it.
It was one of those nights when all the women looked good. I hadn’t hooked up with anyone since before the California trip, and a night with someone soft and hot sounded like the reset I needed. I didn’t want feelings. I wanted release, and the sooner the better. Honestly, I needed validation, and all the attention I was getting was a good start.
After making my excuses to the group, I went back to working the room and deflected some potential dates. One was too drunk, one too clingy, and one too giggly. A blonde asked if I could get her cousin a tryout with the team. Just as I was about to start another circuit around the place, there she was. Tall, confident, big tits, and legs for days. Her dress was the color of emeralds, and her raven hair accentuated it perfectly. She looked like a woman who could cut you with a shady compliment and make you thank her for the chance to bleed.
It wasn’t long before she caught me watching and raised an eyebrow. I started walking. Her name turned out to be Liz, and her wineglass was empty. After I ordered more Chablis for herand a Heineken for myself, we locked eyes until the bartender delivered.
“I like hockey players,” she said, flipping her hair over one shoulder.
I laughed. “Don’t tell me. You watch the Warriors on TV.”
“Never miss a game.” She brushed some imaginary lint off the front of my shirt.
“I don’t either,” I deadpanned, leaning on the bar beside her. “Tell me something interesting since I already know about hockey.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “I once punched a guy for cutting in front of me at a bakery.”
“That’s different. What kind of bakery?”
“Italian.” She tilted her glass toward me. “They had fresh ciabatta, and it was worth the chaos.”
I clinked her glass. “Let’s not talk about bread. But for the record, I’m more of a focaccia guy.”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about bread.”
“Right, but part of my charm is being a little inconsistent.”
She tilted her head back and laughed, a full, chesty sound I felt low in my gut.
“You visiting?” I asked.
“Conference. Boring financial stuff. But I was hoping a handsome man might come along and relieve the boredom.”
“Well…” I let my smile go crooked. “I’ll help you keep an eye out for the right guy.”
She leaned in. “Maybe I already found him.”
That was the cue, the moment I used to live for, but I said nothing.
She touched my wrist. “I’m staying at the Westin. Two blocks, no pressure.”
My body should’ve reacted. A few weeks ago, I’d have taken her hand, and we’d have already been out the door. Tonight, I hesitated. “Tempting, but I’m not quite there yet.”
She traced circles on my arm. “Your loss, but I respect your choices.”
That made me laugh, and when I said I should probably head out, she dropped another sly invitation.
“I’m going back to Watertown in two days,” she said. “Are yousureyou don’t want to come back to my room for a nightcap?”
She was persistent, and this kind of thing had always been easy for me. But tonight, despite needing a distraction, I wasn’t feeling it. I forced another smile. “Thanks, but I need to head home soon.”
She took a sip of wine, then studied me over the rim of her glass. “Let me guess. Girlfriend trouble?”
“No. Why would you think that?”
She shrugged. “Something about you. Like you need a night out but don’t want to cheat.”
