Page 31 of The Rebel (Looking to Score 1)
I’m proud to report that these sightings have no bearing on my emotional state. After our breakup, I cried all the ugly tears, ate all the ice cream, binged on so many vodka sodas, I didn’t think I could ever enjoy one again. And now, it’s as though Alex Braun has been purged from my system. I grieved the loss of our relationship, and my heart is in a good place—which is to say it’s closed for business. The only thing I want to focus on at the moment is my career.
By the time I look back to where he stood, Holt has disappeared, replaced with a lankier blond guard who I don’t recognize. I’m more than a little disappointed by the swap, but I didn’t come here to stare at security. I’ve got a team to keep an eye on. And now we’re down by two in the first period—which is not good.
“So, where’s that steamy security guy?” Gretchen, who must be a mind reader, nudges me in the ribs.
She’s no help in keeping my focus off of Holt and on my team, but I know my attention needs to stay on the ice right now. Only seven minutes into the first period, and the Denver Avalanche have already sunk two slap shots past Bisset. Not the start to the season I was hoping for, but we still have plenty of game left to turn it around.
“Hellooo?” Gretchen elbows me again. “Did you hear me? I asked where’s that hot bodyguard of yours?”
“He’s not my bodyguard,” I say, correcting her as my eyes still chase the puck. “He’s security for the whole team.”
“But you’re not denying I’m hot, huh?”
My stomach bottoms out to my kneecaps. That deep, husky voice definitely doesn’t belong to my best friend.
I whirl around, and sure enough, there he is, his gray eyes burning into mine and sending a wave of heat pulsing through me. I don’t know if I’m smitten or embarrassed, probably some combination of both, if I’m being fully honest with myself.
“H—hi, Holt,” I stutter, nervously adjusting the tuck on my green cashmere sweater. Paired with the shade of beet red I’m sure I’m quickly turning, I’ll bet I look like a freaking Christmas ornament right now.
Shit. Mental note to practice my poker face in whatever very limited free time I can scrounge up.
Finding my voice, I gesture to my best friend, desperate to direct his attention toward anything but me. “You remember Gretchen from Sutton, right?”
Gretchen wiggles her fingers in a wave, her lips lifting in a wicked smile as she assesses his broad frame from head to toe. “Eden was right. You are even taller than you were back in college. More muscular too.”
Forget turning red, my face feels like it’s moments away from lighting on fire. I knew I couldn’t trust this girl around Holt, and right now, I could push her over the glass railing for that comment.
But Holt just chuckles, pushing his fingers through his cropped chestnut-brown hair as his gray eyes meet mine again. His voice is low, gritty, and suggestive as he says, “So, you’ve been talking about me, huh?”
Yup, it’s official. I need to disappear right this second.
“Well, I’m going to go grab some food.” I trip over my words, frantically searching for an escape route out of this conversation.
Gretchen lifts one dark brow. “I thought you said you were too nervous to eat.”
If ever there was a time I needed her to close that big mouth of hers, it’s right now.
I grit my teeth, forcing a smile and rattling off some excuse about feeling better now that the game has begun. I don’t even fully process the words I’m saying. I’m too busy slipping hopelessly into Holt’s stormy eyes. If I don’t get away soon, I might drown in them.
Flustered, I excuse myself, hurrying across the suite to grab the first bacon-wrapped snack I see and popping it between my lips. Yes, my stomach is still in knots, but I’ll do anything to look occupied right now. Especially if it means my mouth is too full to say anything stupid.
The taste of maple rushes over my tongue, then gives way to something not so familiar. Rubbery, almost? I tilt my head, trying to place the flavor as I slowly chew the buttery substance, letting it melt on my tongue. Which, the more I think about it, is starting to tingle a bit.
Since when is bacon spicy?
I look up to see one of the caterers smiling at me. “Enjoying the bacon-wrapped scallops?”
Scallops? Oh dear God. No.
Frantic, I snatch up a cocktail napkin, spitting the partially chewed food into it. But it’s too late. My tongue has already begun to swell, filling my mouth with a fiery, itchy sensation.
The caterer’s brow furrows. “Are you all right, Ms. Wynn?”
