Page 81 of Goalie Secrets

Being with Vanya is a secret gift every time we’re alone. But in public, when she’s determined to shut me out, it’s hard to remember how good we can be together.

And now I’ve upset her.

Without another word, she turns and walks toward the edge of the ballroom, the emerald-green hem of her dress swishing gracefully with her retreat.

“Vanya, wait—” I start, but she doesn’t slow down.

I follow her, weaving through clusters of guests who dart confused glances my way. Vanya slips past the double doors of the ballroom into the dimly lit lobby, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor. The grand chandeliers overhead cast fractured light across the space, shadows pooling around the heavy columns and overstuffed furniture.

She heads toward a hallway marked by a discreet brass sign readingConference Center. Her pace quickens despite being on high heels. The murmur of the gala fades behind us. The hallway is quieter, lined with thick carpet that muffles our footsteps. She stops in front of two frosted glass doors and enters the door with aSummit Onesign. I slip behind her and close the door gently.

The room is small. It’s meant for intimate meetings, with a sleek table surrounded by leather chairs and neutral artwork on all but one. That wall is flimsy and probably retractable to open up to the room next door.

“Vanya, talk to me. Are you mad?”

“I’m not mad, Jeremy.” She folds her arms like she’s cold. “I just needed to get out of there.”

“Why?”

She looks frustrated. I can relate, but for different reasons. She’s pissed because I refuse to see our relationship as a fling. Three months ago, she agreed to be mine. Temporarily, but still. That’s not a casual decision. Being together has been incredible in ways I couldn’t expect. The team just returned from road games and the whole time I was away, Vanya was in my head, inspiring me. Making me want to be better for her. And when we’re together, everything feels right.

I’m about to speak when I hear the sound of a door creaking. A voice catches both of our attention.

“You’re sure no one saw you?” The voice is urgent and low.

Vanya and I exchange a glance, her earlier frustration momentarily replaced by concern. We both instinctively step closer to the door, careful not to make a sound. The hair on the back of my neck stands. I glance at Vanya, her expression now tense, her lips parted like she’s holding her breath.

Indistinct tones—a man’s and a woman’s—trickle through the flimsy wall. A dark chuckle and a muffled giggle follow. Whispers waft through the separator.

The voices are weirdly familiar.

Realizing there are people in the room beside ours, my instinct is to leave. My hand vaguely hovers over the knob when Jeremy stops it. His grip tightens around my wrist. Not painfully, but enough to telegraph that he doesn’t want me to move. His mouth moves to indicate the word “noise.” I pull my hand from the knob as if it was on fire.

And then I hear it. Moans. Whispers. Whatever is happening out there is not meant for us to see or hear. Jeremy’s perfectly shaped brow quirks with intrigue.

We should let the people know we’re here before they go further.

But how?

I can’t tell them to stop their rendezvous without exposing us. How would I explain our presence in this room? If Jeremy wasn’t so famously recognizable, we would hardly be noted. But no one could mistake him as anything other than the Mavericks star. It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out who I am, either.

The volume of lovemaking increases. Whimpers and grunts and the shuffling of bodies sound frantic. A man’s voice hisses a curse.

“Oh my god, what are we doing?” It’s a familiar voice but too soft to identify.

“Baby, this dress hugs your ass perfectly.”

“Dexter, oh my god, you’re crazy. Oh, there. Yes, yes,” she pants.

Jeremy and I realize, at the exact same moment, that thechoppy and hushed voice belongs to Sabrina. The visceral embarrassment of hearing something so private, so indiscreet, crunches me forward with my hands around my waist and my eyes shut.

Movement indicates the couple beyond the door is repositioning. There’s a decidedly manly growl and a horny whine. The scuffle of chairs pushed aside and then a plop on something hard. If that room is like this one, they’re using the table.

This cannot be happening. I’m so embarrassed I want to bury myself where I can’t hear, where I can’tknow, what my office manager and her husband are doing right now.

Where do I decide to bury my face? In Jeremy freaking Lopez’s shoulder. Of their own accord, my arms circle his waist and glide up his muscular back. My face finds shelter in Jeremy’s chest which I feel shaking with something like laughter. It makes me laugh, too, because how is this my life right now?

Then, a new awareness descends. His aroma. His jaw that’s at my eye level. His strong arms. The diamond hardness of my nipples is impossible to hide, so I shift my upper body to the side. The movement leads my hip to graze the stiffness in Jeremy’s groin area.