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“I’ve been told. By my best friend, mostly.”

That earned me a full-on smile, and I blinked because it was so fucking glorious. Her hand slid across her face, like she was trying to hide it again, and when she moved it…her smile was gone. “And what makes you think I want to fall in love with you?”

“Call it a hunch.” I rested my chin on my hands. “Or maybe it’s just that you haven’t walked away yet.”

She tilted her head, considering me like she was trying to figure out if I was worth her time. “Maybe I’m just bored.”

“Lucky me, then. I’m an excellent distraction.”

That smile was back, and she wrinkled her nose at me. Fuck, not only was she hot…she was cute.

A lethal combination for my currently aching dick.

“You don’t even know my name.”

“Sloane Calloway,” I responded quickly, and her eyes widened again, an almost panicked look filling their depths before she blinked…and they went perfectly blank.

“And what else do you know about me?” she asked, in a careful, practiced voice, glancing down at her fingertips as she went back to tracing the edge of her wineglass.

“Absolutely nothing. But I’m desperate to change that.”

That had her meeting my eyes again, her lips pursing as she studied me.

“Let me take you out,” I said, all that desperation I’d just mentioned leaching out into my words.

Her brow arched again, this time in surprise. “Take me out?”

“Dinner. Drinks. I could even be persuaded to dance,” I said, ticking off options on my fingers. “Whatever you want.”

“I have aboyfriend,” she said, her voice firm, but there was a flicker of something—disgust?—as she said the word like it tasted rotten on her tongue.

“Do you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I know where he is right now, and you deserve way better than that.” I tapped my chin. “I mean everyone deserves better than that, actually, but the sentiment stands.”

Her mouth opened, then closed again. She looked away, her hand stilling. “You’re probably right on that,” she whispered.

“Good. Then there’s room for an upgrade.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “If you won’t take that excuse, then take this one. I’m swearing off hockey players.”

“Calloway, that’s an awful idea. I happen to know that most hockey players make the best fucking boyfriends on the planet. Just not Tyler Miller, obviously.”

She grinned again, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I thought you were talking about a date. And now you’re talking about boyfriends. You’re moving awful fast there, buddy.”

“Can I add that I’m also fun, charming, and excellent in bed?”

She scoffed, taking a drink of her wine. “All of those things are probably debatable.”

I grinned, the corner of my mouth tugging upward. “You should give me a chance to prove that, then, for research purposes, of course.”

“Of course,” she said, a hint of laughter in her voice.

I winked at her, and she squirmed in her seat, that blush in her cheeks darkening.

Before I could say anything else, a commotion broke out near the entrance. Voices rose, a mix of horrified gasps and muffled groans. We both turned, and I had to stifle a laugh at the sight.

Miller, looking like death warmed over, was stumbling through the lobby, clutching his stomach. His face was pale, sweat dripping down his temples as he staggered forward. And then, as if the universe had finally decided to do something right, he doubled over and vomited directly onto a woman’s head.

The woman shrieked, her hands flying to her hair as Miller stumbled back, his hands raised in weak apology. The entire lobby froze, everyone watching in stunned silence except for Sloane, who sat there looking disgusted but entirely unmoved to help him.