Page 38 of A Little Crush (The Little Things #6)

JAXON

S cratching my temple, I try to keep my attention on what David Hoffman is rambling on about, but he isn’t making it easy.

He’s on the Lions’ board with a few other men and insists that if I considered trading one of the players on the roster for his grandson, we’d be in much better shape this season.

It doesn’t help that I have nothing to do with trades, or that his grandson’s stats are about as extraordinary as an average, middle-aged man who plays recreationally on the weekends.

Not that I’d ever point it out to Mr. Hoffman, though.

It’s not his fault I’m distracted. I haven’t been able to form a coherent thought since kissing Rory. Hell, if I’m being honest, my mind’s been fucked since long before then. Ever since Rory showed up for Mav’s wedding.

Looking for an excuse to get the hell out of this conversation, or at the very least a solid distraction, I take in the crowded room.

A long banquet table is set up on one side.

It’s covered in a black tablecloth and littered with different foods.

There’s also a dance floor, a live band, and waiters in tuxes balancing trays of champagne.

Members of the Lions’ organization mingle with players and their families while cameras flash here and there, documenting the event.

Iris has Poppy, which means it’s Rory’s night off. You’d think it would be a good thing. The space and time apart. But it’s been driving me even more insane. I haven’t seen her since our kiss in the rain. Is she pissed? Scared? Offended? Does it matter?

“As I was saying,” Hoffman continues.

I nod as he prattles on about how biased the NHL can be when Crowther’s loud laugh echoes across the large hall. Glancing over Hoffman’s shoulder, I fight the urge to double over as the oxygen catches in my chest. Rory Buchanan in an emerald green dress.

She’s here.

She said yes.

She’s Crowther’s plus-one for the night despite her mouth on mine.

What the fuck?

“Coach Thorne?”

I tear my gaze from Rory and turn back to Mr. Hoffman, my blood boiling.

“I apologize. There’s someone I’ve been meaning to chat with.

Make sure to bring up your grandson at the next board meeting.

I’m sure they’d love to see what they can do.

” With a friendly hand on his shoulder, I move around Hoffman before any logic has a chance to grab hold.

She’s here. And she’s here with Crowther.

Fucking Crowther. Of course, she is. I stride toward the shit show in front of me, ready to demand answers when the man of the hour leads Rory onto the dance floor, effectively preventing me from approaching without looking like a moron.

I jolt to a halt on the edge of the dance area, my hands fisted at my sides.

Snap the hell out of it!

I take a deep breath through flared nostrils in an attempt to get my head out of my ass.

I don’t know what I was thinking. Approaching them like this.

When it doesn’t matter. When I can barely think straight, let alone form a coherent sentence, after witnessing them together.

But you can’t blame a guy for wanting an answer or two.

What the hell is she doing here? Was it always the plan?

Or did she reach out to Crowther after our kiss?

“Hey, Jax,” Henry greets me. I jerk at the sound, and he grins. “Did I scare you?”

“Sorry, uh, no, you didn’t scare me, and hey,” I add. “The place looks great.”

“Thanks,” he returns. “My assistant’s thrown a few of these together over the years. Seems she hasn’t lost her touch.”

“Not at all. Erika did an incredible job.”

“I’ll be sure to mention it at her next one-on-one,” he says.

I steal another glance of Rory and Crowther, just in time to catch him dipping her on the dance floor.

She laughs as he spins her around before flicking his wrist and pulling her back into him.

Since when does every asshole know how to dance?

First, Dodger, now this guy? What, they’re all required to take lessons or something?

“So, where’s Pops?” Henry questions.

Unable to tear my attention from the train wreck in front of me, I answer, “She’s with Iris.”

He nods slowly, then realizes what I’m staring at. “Wanna tell me about the rookie?”

Tugging at the front of my tux, I lift a shoulder, unsure what to say as I attempt to focus on the conversation instead of the mess unfolding on the dance floor. “Who? Crowther?”

“Yeah,” Henry says. “The guy dancing with my daughter. Is he a good guy?”

Does it matter? I want to shout. He’s touching her.

“Don’t know much about him,” I reply, trying to keep my expression indifferent no matter how impossible it feels. “Unless you mean when he’s on the ice.”

Henry smiles around the rim of his scotch. “Your little brother says he’s all right.”

“That’s ‘cause Griff was the mastermind behind…” I tilt my head toward the couple in question. “Whatever this is.”

“It was probably his wife’s idea,” Henry mutters dryly.

The corner of my mouth curves up, surprising the hell out of me, all things considered. Yeah, this has Finley written all over it. “Probably.”

“It’s strange,” Henry continues. “Seeing your daughter grow up. Not sure it’s something I’ll ever get used to.

” He sighs and looks at me instead of Rory across the room.

“You’ll get it when Pops grows up. The way you have to fight the urge to be overprotective and let them…

be who they want to be. Live how they wanna live. Love who they wanna love.”

Love.

My gut twists as I steal another glance at Rory on the dance floor with Crowther.

Could she love him? Not yet, obviously. It’s way too soon.

But, one day? Could she fall for him? It’s like a fucked up game of deja vu.

Not only the dance, but the added love interest. First Dodger, now this?

And am I so wrong for not liking it? For questioning my own damn sanity after knowing what she tastes like?

Talk about moving too fucking fast. Is she trying to get back at me?

Is that what this is about? Or am I so self-absorbed that I can’t even consider the possibility that she made plans with Crowther before the kiss?

Does the timeline matter? Did the kiss matter?

My hand thrums at my side as I spiral more and more, the same thoughts echoing in a carousel of jealousy and unease.

Dodger. The wedding. The break up. Crowther. The date. The loss. Our kiss. Another fucking kiss. Then she walks in with him?

“I thought she was with Dodger, though,” I say. It’s a lie. I know the truth. But does Henry?

With a subtle shake of his head, Henry brings the scotch to his mouth. “Nah. He might’ve been Rory’s plus-one, but I know Dodge.”

His sagely tone makes me pause. “What does that mean?”

“You’d understand if you knew him,” he explains. “Let me know if you hear anything unsavory about Crowther, though. Just ‘cause I want my daughter to be able to make her own decisions and feel free to do what she wants to do doesn’t mean we should feed her to the wolves.”

Maintaining the facade of indifference, I nod. “Will do.”

The song ends seconds later, and Crowther snakes his arm around Rory’s waist, guiding her off the dance floor when Rory’s eyes light up.

“Hey, Dad!” she rushes toward him and gives him a hug.

“Hey, Squeaks,” Henry returns before letting her go and tilting his head toward the man beside her. “You gonna give me an official introduction?”

“Dad, this is Eric Crowther, as I’m sure you know. Eric, this is my dad, Henry Buchanan.”

Crowther’s eyes bulge as they dart from Rory, to the owner of the NHL Lions, then back again. “I thought you were my boss’s nanny, not my boss’s boss’s daughter.”

“Rory Buchanan,” she says, proudly, and offers her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

With a low laugh, he takes her hand, kissing the back of it like they’ve been transported to some 1500’s bullshit ball or something. “Should I call you princess, or…?”

She stifles a sweet giggle that makes my throat knot and pulls her fingers from his grasp. “Lady Rory’s fine.”

He laughs even harder. “I’ll keep that in mind. ”

“You know, I think I like where this is going. Every man wants his daughter treated like a princess,” Henry notes. It makes my mind reel even more. He likes where this is going? He likes the idea of Crowther and Rory together? The man’s a womanizer. Henry has to see?—

“So, Coach,” Crowther says, addressing me. “Tell me something. How did you win over Rory’s dog?”

Rory laughs. “Eric?—”

“The thing almost bit me in the ass when I picked up our Rory here,” Crowther continues, speaking over her. “And she mentioned the only guy Hades has ever approved of is you.”

The world feels like it’s spinning as I process Crowther’s words.

First of all, since when is Rory our Rory?

Yeah, that pisses me off. But the idea of Hades nearly biting Crowther in the ass is almost enough to stifle the emotion.

And the reminder that I’m the only man Hades approves of?

Call me a sucker, but it’s like music to my fuckin’ ears.

I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, but Rory chimes in, cutting me off.

“I never said he’s the only guy Hades approves of,” she defends. “He likes my brother and dad, too.”

Henry’s giant hand lands on Rory’s shoulder. “Hate to break it to you, but yesterday, your dog growled at me for kissing your mom goodbye.”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s only because I hadn’t let him outside yet.”

“Sure it is.” With a smirk, Henry gives his attention to Crowther.

“I’ve tried peanut butter and beef jerky as bribery, and neither of them got me anywhere.

If you figure out something that works, let me know.

And you.” He turns to me. “Should’ve known you’d be the one to crack the code with Hades.

Did the same with Rore from day one.” He kisses his daughter’s cheek. “I’ll see you at home, Rore.”

“Bye, Dad. ”

As he leaves, an awkward blanket settles over our little threesome, and I tuck my hands into my pockets, rocking back on my heels. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

“You bring a date tonight?” Crowther asks me.

The asshole probably means well, and it only pisses me off more. The way he’s trying to be inclusive.

I shake my head. “Nah, I’m not seeing anyone.”

Rory’s gaze drops to the ground as she gives a single dip of her chin before giving Crowther her full focus. “Hey, we should get a drink. Or three.”

“Anything for you, princess.” He touches her back again, then leads her to the bar. With every step she takes, my frustration grows. It clouds my judgment, threatening to blind me completely until all I’m left with is jealousy.

She’s not mine. I know it. Fuck, do I know it. But now that I know what she tastes like, I can’t help but wonder if I should do something about it.

Yeah, I need a drink.