The only other people in the vicinity are an old couple sitting on a wooden bench, and they look so unconditionally in love with each other that jealousy torpedoes toward my heart.
I know I shouldn’t be jealous of the elderly, okay? They’re sweet, and they always have Werther’s Original candies on them. But at one point in my life, I had imagined me and Wilder growing old together, sitting on our matching wicker chairs and bickering over which child of ours would get married first. Ha. I was delusional back then.
The promise of tears touches the backs of my eyes, and I have to silently pray that they go away before Hayes notices the glossiness.
“Dance with me.” It’s not a request.
My voice is clotted with surprise. “What?”
Hayes extends his arm out to me, giving me a not-so-graceful bow. It looks wonky considering his towering height, but it manages to make me chuckle all the same.
Panic fleets across my reddening face. “I…don’t know how to dance.”
It’s true. It’s not an excuse. The first time I danced with someone was my freshman winter formal, and my date had a bruised toenail that ended up falling off because I’d stepped on his feet so many times.
Hayes makes a psh sound. “Everyone can dance.”
I have a feeling he’s not going to let me get out of this, so I relent with a pump of my shoulders. “Your funeral.”
The instrumental bridge of the song permeates my ears, accompanied by the harmonious pluck of guitar strings, seeming to send me to my own slice of heaven. The whole world fades away into a chasm of darkness, nothing but the docile glow of the lights to cast Hayes’ head in a golden halo.
My feet are off the ground in a second. I feel like I’m flying through the air, all my worries freefalling past me with each somehow elegant twist of my body. It’s as if time’s frozen around us—the past, present, and future ceasing to exist. With an outstretched arm, Hayes twirls me around him, and I follow suit, flares bursting in my veins. I welcome the lightheaded dizziness, letting it lift me higher into the clouds. My hair has fallen from its diamond-shaped pins, tumbling down my back in waves.
Hayes draws me closer to him, leading me through the sweet-sounding notes of the love song. He’s a surprisingly good dancer. I match my stride to his, the fluid motions becoming second nature. We move together in a choregraphed dance, each of us knowing exactly where to plant our feet, our bodies melding together. His arms are an extension of himself, just like on the ice, and he holds himself with confident sophistication as he sways me to the rhythm. His hand lays delicately on my waist, the other furled in my fingers.
Without warning, he spins me around and tilts me, his hand supporting the small of my back. My breath breaks, and I stare at him incredulously, having some kind of existential crisis and out-of-body experience at the same time. I’m dancing with the handsomest, sweetest guy I’ve ever met. This kind of shit only happens in fairytales.
Hayes slowly brings me back up, his eyes roving hungrily over my lips. I waste no time in pressing my mouth to his, our tongues tangling together as I swallow the moan that tumbles from his throat. His hands slide over my hip dips, brushing the bottom of my ass, and a black hole of desire opens inside of me, making my core constrict.
I really wish we weren’t in public right now.
Hey, sex-crazed Aeris. Level-headed Aeris here. DO NOT FALL FOR HIM. I know you get attached easily, and that probably has something to do with your daddy issues, but this will only end badly for you, okay? Remember Wilder. Remember the hell he put you through. Remember how he weaponized your vulnerability. Remember that empty feeling that plagued you when he walked away. Don’t make the same mistake.
I pull away abruptly, for once acknowledging that flashing red panic button on my mental dashboard.
Hayes is an NHL player. I’m a girl from Oregon who sits behind a screen all day for work. We’re from two different worlds. Not only that, but his career is demanding. He’s always on the move, always uprooting, and who’s to say he won’t abandon me when he’s had his fun?
He has a reputation for a reason—a reputation that’s screaming at me to run, to forget all about him before I’m tossed aside like another one of his conquests. He doesn’t do serious, and I shouldn’t either. If I get attached to him, I won’t be able to protect myself from all the pain that comes with caring about someone. All my heart has ever done is land me in hot water. And I don’t need any more burns to add to my collection.
Hayes’ wide-eyed stare perforates me, my lip gloss smudged all over his lips, a slight flush infusing in his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Aeris. I—”
I cut him off. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just—it’s getting late.”
He nods in agreement, but disappointment clouds him like a second skin.
What am I doing?
12
THE FUCKUP OF THE HOUR
HAYES
It’s been a week, and I haven’t heard a peep from Aeris. I even triple texted her. I keep replaying everything I did during the date. I remembered to hold the door for her, I remembered the sidewalk rule. It’s an unspoken rule that if you don’t hear back from your date the next day, there usually won’t be a second one.
“You’ve barely touched your drink,” Bristol says, his voice reeling me back to the present.
I look down at the full beer in front of me, but the thought of downing it makes my stomach churn. “Sorry. I’ve been kinda out of it recently,” I mumble, scratching my thumbnail against the wood grain of the table.
The guys wanted to go to Beer Comes Trouble for trivia night since pitchers are only twelve dollars. The place is packed with people, the booming chatter drowning out the sound of a basketball game on TV.
Casen takes a swig from his beer. “This wouldn’t be about that smokin’ hot display you put on for the paparazzi a few days ago, would it?”
My cheeks steam as panic swarms inside of me. “What are you talking about?”
Gage passes his phone over to me, where a bold headline frames a picture of me and Aeris entering Pasta La Vista. I click through the attached photos of us—a few of me walking her into the restaurant, us sitting at our table, her lips edged into a full-fledged grin at something amusing I must’ve said but don’t remember. They even have pictures of her with my suit jacket around her shoulders. We look damn good together, even if it is all fake.
HAYES HOLLINGS: IS THE NOTORIOUS REAPERS’ STALLION BACK TO HIS PLAYBOY WAYS, OR COULD THIS BE THE GIRL TO FINALLY TAME HIM?
Did I mention how much I fucking hate the paparazzi?
Fulton’s eyes are alight with intrigue. “You seriously didn’t see any of the photos? You guys were trending on Twitter. The fans are obsessed with this mystery girl of yours.”
A flash flood of guilt wrecks me from the inside out. “I had no idea.”
“Don’t worry, it’s mostly good things,” Casen reassures.
“Did you go public with the relationship yet?” Kit asks as the puck bunny on his lap slobbers all over his neck.
My teeth worry at my bottom lip. “No…we’ve only been on one date.”
Kit’s expression is all hard lines, his tone point-blank. “Then pick up the pace, bro. Do you want to get traded?”