I can’t help but smile right back at him. It’s all good. Tonight is going to be fun.
“Should we go then?”
“Eventually,” Zanders says. “But first, we’re going to hang here for a bit.”
Shifting behind me, his large hands splay over my hips, urging me to walk forward. But he stays close, his chest at my back.
“Where is here?” I ask over my shoulder as Zanders leads us to the private bar in the corner of the VIP section.
“Here is one of my favorite stops on the NHL schedule. A pair of brothers I went to college with own this lounge. One does the business side of things, and the other’s band headlines every weekend. He’s crazy talented. I think you’ll like his music.”
“This music?” I furrow my brows in question, referring to the atrociously loud bass vibrating the entire room.
“No. This music is shit.” Zanders releases me from his hold when we reach the bar. He casually leans one arm on the counter, effortlessly looking hot as hell. “But when Nicky’s band comes on, you’ll get it.”
“What can I get you, Mr. Zanders?” the bartender asks.
“She’ll take a beer.” He motions towards me, and I have no idea how the hell he knew that. “IPA, yeah?”
“Yeah…”
“And I’ll take the same.”
Instead of interrogating him on how he knew my drink order, I question, “What are your other favorite stops on the NHL schedule?”
“Fort Lauderdale is always a good stop because, after about twenty cities of bitter cold, South Florida is a perfect seventy degrees in the middle of winter. You’ve been there before with other teams you worked for, I’m sure.”
I shake my head to tell him no. “Miami, yes. But I’ve never worked for a hockey team before.”
“Well, we all stay right on the beach when we’re there, so it feels like a mini-vacation during those trips. And New York City is a good stop, too. But I’d have to say that Columbus is my favorite on the schedule.”
“Columbus?” I ask in surprise. “Like Ohio?”
“Ohio State is in Columbus. I went to school there, so my old college teammates usually come out for the game. It’s the closest thing to home besides Chicago.”
“So, you grew up in Ohio? You have family there?”
“Indiana, actually. My dad is still there, and my sister is in Atlanta, but Maddison’s family is more so my family at his point, so I guess Chicago is home because that’s where they are.”
The bartender interrupts, putting our beers on the counter in front of us. But I’m thankful for the pause because this conversation is starting to get a little too personal to have with someone who is supposed to be just a one-night stand.
“Where are you looking forward to stopping this season?” Zanders asks before pulling his beer up to his lips.
Before I can keep the conversation going, the obnoxious house music cuts out, and a group of guys takes the stage, setting up their instruments.
“Let’s go.” Zanders laces his fingers with mine. When I look down at our intertwined hands, I almost can’t even see my own because of the size difference. But I do notice his veiny forearms that are corded with muscles, though the grip he has on me is vastly contradictory to that. He’s gentle as he guides me out of the VIP section and in front of the stage.
“Big EZ.” The lead singer bends down, connecting his fist to Zanders’。
The space around us quickly fills, bodies pushing into one another and crowding the stage.
Zanders pulls me in front of him, my back to his chest as he puts both hands on the edge of the platform just in front of us, creating a safe barrier where no one can touch me, regardless of how many people are thrashing around, trying to get a good spot for the show.
As the first tune fills the lounge, I completely understand why this is one of Zanders’ favorite places to stop. This band’s sound is a unique blend of R&B and soul, and the lead singer’s voice is deep but soft, blending perfectly with the instruments behind him.
Two songs in, and the crowd has relaxed, the melodic harmonies flowing through the room and chilling everyone out. So much so that Zanders no longer has to use his giant arms to block me in, protecting me from the mass of people.
He picks up his beer from the edge of the stage, leisurely bringing it to his lips as my body involuntarily sways to the beat of the music. Zanders’ other hand releases the platform in front of us before ever so slightly finding my hip bone and holding me to him. His large hand splays over the top of my jeans, his palm grazes the lowest part of my stomach, and his fingers rest dangerously close to the spot between my legs.