Page 37 of Slots & Sticks
“Of course it’s lopsided,” I mutter. “Even the bed ships us.”
I’m careful not to touch the questionable fur throw. The pipes groan to life, and a rush of water fills the silence. I cross and uncross my legs. Camden Beck, NHL power forward, is naked in the next room. Naked. And wet. With maybe a small amount of knee-jerk wood. Fantastic.
I try to focus on literally anything else—the deer head above the bed, the chandelier made of antlers, the sheer number of condom bowls—but every sound from the bathroom freaks me out.
The door opens with a creak. Steam spills out first, followed by Camden, towel slung low on his hips, hair dripping into his eyes. He freezes when he sees me staring. “Forgot my bag,” he mutters, ducking for it near the dresser.
The towel knot slips.
There’s a blur of pale skin, a startled yelp, and the soft thud of cotton hitting carpet. My brain blue-screens. All I can see isclean skin, muscle, a flash of hipbone—proof that the universe has a sense of humor and zero chill. Heat blooms at the back of my neck, tingling all the way to my toes. I squeak, spin around, and clap both hands over my face. “Oh my God!”
Every inch of skin is burned into my brain in high definition. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, one stupid perfect V-line. I clap my hands over my face, but it’s already too late—my brain is printing postcards.
He fumbles behind me, swearing under his breath, rustling fabric. “Jesus, sorry—ADHD moment—should’ve grabbed boxers first—don’t look—”
“Too late!” I shout into my palms. My cheeks burn hotter than the shower he just left.
When I risk a glance, he’s mostly dressed—mostly. His T-shirt is half-tucked, his hair a mess, one sock missing. He looks human and flustered and absurdly good.
He exhales a shaky laugh. “Okay. Crisis over.”
“Debatable,” I mutter.
Cam’s lips form an easy curve, neither of us moving, air buzzing around us. His shirt’s damp against his chest, one sleeve twisted, his pulse visible in his throat. Mine’s everywhere.
He clears his throat, trying for casual. “Give me five minutes to finish adulting. Then I’ll… pick you up?”
“Pick me up?” I echo, dazed.
“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “You said dinner first. Seems rude not to do it right.”
And then he’s gone outside, the room door clicking shut before I can think of anything clever to say. I stare at the deer head like it might offer instructions on how to breathe again.
A knock comes almost immediately—one, then another.
When I open it, Camden’s there, freshly composed but pink around the ears. His hair’s been finger-combed into somethingthat looks accidental and perfect. The damp collar of his T-shirt darkens the gray fabric, and he smells faintly of pine and nerves.
“Miss Shaw,” he says, voice pitched low and teasing. “You free for dinner?”
My laugh comes out shaky. “I could be convinced.”
He grins, that sideways thing he does that feels like a secret. “Then allow me.”
He offers his hand—not a joke this time, but something careful and deliberate. I slip mine into his, and the contact sends a flutter through me that’s half adrenaline, half pure disbelief.
He looks down at our joined hands, thumb brushing once over my knuckles, then meets my eyes. “First official date,” he says softly, testing the words. “Thought it deserved a proper start.”
I can’t find words, only nod.
For a long, quiet second, we stay there in the doorway, fingers laced, the ridiculous heart-shaped bed visible over my shoulder, the hallway light spilling between us. It’s awkward and tender and perfect.
Finally, I manage, “Well. Don’t keep a girl waiting.”
He squeezes my hand. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Then he leads me out, every step feeling like the beginning of something that’s been a long time coming.
It’s a short walk out of the hotel to the diner across the street. It’s a little mom-and-pop-style restaurant, nothing like the upscale restaurants that can be found in Vegas, or the more adventurous fare that Camden typically prefers. Thanks to his mother’s love of travel, he’s always trying new things. This isn’t the kind of restaurant either of us would have chosen for a first date, but Camden grins when he brandishes the laminated menu at me.
