Page 31 of Arresting the Hockey Player

But you can't stop everyone with a cell phone camera.

Charlotte's eyes widen, and she sucks in a nervous breath. "I have to—" She untangles from around me and hightails it through the crowd toward the back of the bar. She grabs her purse from the booth.

"You two looked awfully cozy," Amber says, grinning as she sees us return to the table. Her brow pinches, glancing from me to Charlotte, sensing something amuck. "What's going on?"

"I have to go," Charlotte says, snatching her purse. She heads for the back exit.

I don't know what happened. Is she worried about being seen with me? Her reputation?

I let her go. I'm not one to chase a girl. I'm usually the one being pursued, and for the moment, if she can't handle being in the spotlight, then she isn't the right girl for me.

FIVE

Charlotte

Holy hell, that was close! I escape Blue Line through the back exit and hope my face isn't plastered on the news or the tabloids. The last thing I need is for Noah to discover who I am, because right now, he thinks I'm just a girl who goes to NYU.

And he's right.

That's part of who I am. But that's not the only part. I'm also the daughter of the owner of the Island Bruisers.

And my father has made it quite clear that he doesn't appreciate it when I steal the spotlight.

I'm sure he'll be even less delighted when he discovers my interest in Noah Reece. I hurry for the subway, my feet aching as I walk as fast as possible, alone in the dark.

There's an ache in the pit of my stomach, like an anvil sits there, and I exhale a shaky breath. I'm sure that no one noticed me. The photographer was probably taking a shot of Noah. After all, the bar was packed with hockey players.

I should be a nobody to them.

A fancy black sports car slows beside the sidewalk, and the passenger window rolls down.

"Charlotte?"

I stop walking and glance at the open window, trudging toward the vehicle. "Shouldn't you be celebrating your win?" I ask.

"I'd rather celebrate with you," Noah says.

My breath catches in my throat, and I reach for the door handle, sliding into the passenger seat. "Nice car," I say, glancing anywhere but at him. The tension is thick, but maybe it's only from my side, because I can feel his piercing gaze right through me.

His fingers tap against the steering wheel, drumming with anxious energy.

Okay, I'm not the only one feeling the tension.

"Do you mind dropping me off at home?" I ask, not like there's anywhere else I was expecting that he'd take me.

I haven't seen his place.

I'm not sure if I will. I mean, what the hell are we? Friends? Dating? There's a grey line, and then there's whatever we've settled ourselves into.

He's famous.

Noah Reece doesn’t date. At least from what I've seen and read. Plus, he told me he puts his career first, which sounds like solid confirmation. He sleeps around. He's the team's hotshot playboy, and for good reason. I try not to glance at him because once I do, it's hard to tear my gaze away.

"Sure," Noah says and gives me that smile that goes right from my heart straight into giving me butterfly tingles, and not in my stomach.

I'm silent, and he rolls up the window before he pulls out into traffic.

It's New York. The city is still bursting with life even at this hour. The bars and clubs are open. That's about it. Nightlife is booming, and we inch through the city until he makes his way toward NYU.