Page 127 of Penalty Shot
Sergei has his arm around her waist, the Russian grinning down at her instead of looking at the camera. It’s that predatory grin that launches me off my couch to get dressed and run out the door.
I don’t text Cassie until I’m in the dance club. No need to talk to anyone else. I’m here because these guys are going to assume she’s a puck bunny, dressed as she is. Hockey players like Sergei go home with a different girl nearly every night we’re on the road. She might not thank me for looking out for her, but her brothers will. I’m simply doing what they would do if they were here.
Where are you?I text her. The place is packed and it’s getting harder to walk through the crowd as more people recognize me.
Little Cassie:Why?
Me:I’m at the club.
I see the dots come and go. Straining my tall frame, I attempt to single out any of my teammates. I check my phone and Cassie still hasn’t answered.What the hell?!
Making my way deeper into the club, I see a crowd gathering by a corner. Gordon’s laugh booms over the music and I plow onward. When I reach their group, cheers erupt. I’m not fool enough to think they’re particularly happy to see me. They’re merely surprised because I never go out.
“I can’t believe that worked!” Gordon says, clapping my back.
“I told you.” It’s Cassie’s neighbor, Sadie, who I recognize because whose hair is that long?
“Where’s Cassie?” I ask impatiently.
“She was here a second ago,” Sean says, a girl splayed over his lap.
“On the dance floor,” Sadie says with a sly grin. “I’ll take you to Cassie if you promise to dance with her, Lance Jefferson.”
“Sure, yeah, whatever,” I say absentmindedly. The sooner I convince Little Cassie to leave, the better.
Sadie grabs my hand to lead me to a mosh pit. I see Sergei first because he’s tall and burly. His hands are firmly clutching Cassie’s waist, fingers spread so he’s brushing the top of her full,round ass. I look away from her swirling hips encased in another man’s grip. Releasing Sadie’s hand, I storm over.
“Hey, man, watch it,” I hiss.
Sergei looks dazed for a second before he registers who I am. “Hey, Lance. Shit, I can’t believe you’re out to party!” He gives me a pat on the back. I shrug off the contact. I’ll deal with him later.
I turn to Cassie, set to explain exactly why dancing with a playboy Russian goon is a bad idea. Instead, I stall because…
“Cassie?” I croak. The woman looking at me has none of the amiable smile or glowing innocence of the girl I watched grow up. Her top is, indeed, ridiculously low, showing way more of her bouncing breasts than any man should be allowed to see. Me included.
That’s not where my eyes stray, however. It’s her face that captivates me. It’s framed by tousled brown hair, her brows and lashes starkly black, her perky nose lifted, that red mouth shaped like the sexiest damn pout that ever pouted.
“Let’s go,” I say, cupping her elbow.
She pulls her head back like she’s avoiding a hit. “Excuse me?”
I’m not ready for it. I’m utterly unprepared for the way she pushes her chest out and lifts her chin when she says those words with derision. I meant to rescue sweet Little Cassie and am instead faced with fury. She’s no longer pretty. No, she’s much worse.
Cassandra Atwood’s green eyes are practically glowing with rage, and it is sexy as fuck.
“This isn’t you, Cassie,” I lean over to say.
My lips are by her ear in order to be heard over the music. I get a whiff of her subtle perfume and watch as she shivers slightly. It’s that shiver that bolsters my need to protect. I take a step closer and place a hand on her hip. The soft curve against my palm feels too good.
Instead of allowing herself to be led away from this busy dance floor and a groping hockey player—I mean Sergei, obviously—Cassie pushes against my chest. I stumble back, not because it was a hard shove, but because I’m puzzled by her reaction.
“Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?” she strains over the music. “Thisisme,” she huffs before turning around and storming away.
“Fuck man, what’s your problem?” Sergei gripes, taking a step in her direction.
I don’t have much sway over Little Cassie, yet I’m still the team’s second-in-command as the alternate captain. I grab Sergei’s arm and muscle him to face me. People are staring and I see the split second he decides not to make a scene.
“I need to talk to you,” I state.
