Page 3 of The Labor Date
“Holly,” I answer, raking her from head to toe. “You look—too dangerous for a tame event like this.” I could have given her all kinds of compliments for the body-hugging black gown with a slit up her thigh almost to her hip. But she wanted someone interesting and fun tonight, not a sexual beast on the prowl.
Her laugh rings out low, smooth. “You clean up well yourself, mystery tuxedo man who plays hockey.” She slips her arm through mine, and we face a barrage of photographers as we step inside. We stop, pose, and smile. I may or may not have mentioned to the team’s PR department that I’d be attending the charity event. A perfect chance to look good and improve my reputation.
Inside, Holly moves through the gala like she owns the place, as if she’s attended these things a hundred times before. I keep up with her, always her arm to lean on when she needs it, charming donors, laughing when I should, dropping a few well-timed jokes, listening and hanging on her every word. I surprise myself with how much I enjoy my time as her escort.
We dance—twice. She’s light in my arms, easy, and natural. I can’t take my eyes off her. Her smile tells me she’s impressed. Thank you, dance classes forced upon me in junior hockey to supposedly help with coordination on the ice. Little did that coach know it helped charm the pants off of several women through the years.
When the dinner call comes, we take our seats near the front according to a fancy seating chart. I expect her to relax, eat, maybe gossip about the crowd.
Instead, the announcer calls her name as the keynote speaker.
She rises, calm as anything, straightening her gown. “How do I look?” She whispers.
I lift my chin off the floor. “Gorgeous. Knock ‘em dead.” I’m in utter awe of her and this moment, and of her ass sashaying to the podium.
Everyone in the room hangs on her every word as she talks about overcrowded shelters, about spaying and neutering, about giving strays a chance at real homes. She’s passionate and brilliant. And she owns every heart in the room.
When she returns, cheeks flushed, I lean in close. “Here I thought I was the star, helping you shine tonight. But you did that all by yourself, baby. And I’ll bet you loved every minute of it, all these people eating out of your hands.”
Her sheepish smile takes me by surprise. “Something like that. As long as they donate, that’s all that matters. It’s a cause near to my heart.”
The food arrives, and chatter starts up around our table. One of the ladies asks Holly, “Where’s Winston tonight? We had hoped to see him.”
My ears perk up. She’d mentioned being fresh off a breakup. Is Winston the ex or a new guy? A brother? Someone who I’d have to kick his ass in order to get another night with Holly? Things have gone so well, I may want to see her again. Hell, my hockey schedule takes us to L.A. twice this year, and I could see her again if it all works out.
“He’s having a special spa treatment done. That’s why I have to rush back early in the morning.”
I lean over and ask, “Winston? Boyfriend?”
She giggles. “My cat, silly. Winston. He’s having fur rejuvenation.”
Huh. Not what I expected, but okay. And what the heck is fur rejuvenation? Doesn’t matter. What needs rejuvenation is my sex life. And I figure at this point I’ve been the perfect holidate, giving her what she wanted out of the night.
Time to get what I want.
It’s obvious that Holly comes from money or maybe she makes excellent money doing whatever she does—she only mentioned being in the entertainment industry, in passing, and I didn’t press.
One date, one night, I don’t need her entire life story. But then again, the way sparks fly between us, maybe I should get to know much more about her.
Later, when the night winds down, I definitely don’t want this to end. I walk her to her waiting car. Every nerve inside of me buzzes. I want to kiss her, want to take her home, and to explore her body with my tongue.
Near the car, I bring her in for a hug. “I’d like to spend more time with you, Holly. Come back to my place for the night.”
She shakes her head slowly, a corner of her mouth turning up.
“Come on. Don’t break my heart. We could have more fun before you leave,” I urge.
“You’re sweet,” she says. “But my life is in L.A., yours is here. This evening was perfect, exactly what I’d hoped. And I am still nursing a broken heart, you know.”
I press a lock of her blonde silky strands behind her ear, and run my thumb over her cheek. “I could make this a night to forget him.”
“You already have.” She smiles, crystal blue eyes sparkling and drinking me in. “Thanks for tonight.”
I sigh. “Sure. If you’re ever back in Vancouver, call me directly. You don’t need the app. Or hey, when I’m in L.A. with the team—let me take you out.”
“Another time, another place, we were probably meant to be… something.” Her hand lifts and settles on my jaw, tenderly. Then she kisses my lips, a lingering brush that should be given a chance to bloom into more. But she slips into the car fast, and is gone, leaving my lips tingling.
I stand there, gaping, tux sharp, heart pounding like I just lost the final game in a battle for the cup.
