Page 19 of Hockey Player Seeking Fan (Billionaires Seeking Wives Club #2)

Chapter Twelve

T yler

Sabrina and Wes are whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears, and I'm starting to wonder if it was a mistake coming over here. Miles walks out of the kitchen, a beer in his hand, and jokes, "Guys, you do realize you have guests, right?"

Sabrina pulls away guiltily. "I'm sorry. Am I interrupting your bro night?"

"You can never interrupt," Wes says, and I groan.

"So, where's Erica tonight?" I ask innocently, as if I don't already know that she's gone on a date with someone else—dancing, she said.

"Oh, she's out," Sabrina says, smiling. "In fact, I should check and make sure I have the information. I always tell her to let me know where she's going to be, just in case." She pulls out her phone. "We track each other’s location." She giggles. "Just so we can be safe.

"Oh, she's at The Forge tonight."

"Fun. The Forge." I'm surprised. The Forge is a large nightclub known for having many a drug dealer lurking in the corners, trying to sell coke and E. Should she really be at The Forge?

I look over at Wes. "Do you?—"

He holds his hands up. "I try not to get in my sister's business." He looks over at Miles. "But if Miles wants to?—"

"Hey, Erica's a smart girl," Miles says. "If she needs us, she'll call. Plus, Sabrina here would let us know if anything was going on."

"Yeah, that's true," I say. "So, she's at The Forge, dancing."

"Yeah." Sabrina smiles. "She got this absolutely amazing dress, and I think that she—" She giggles. "Sorry. I guess you guys don't want to hear about that."

"No, it's fine, it's fine," Miles says, rolling his eyes. "I always want to hear about my sister and how glammed up she gets for her dates."

"Don't be jealous," Wes teases him, "just because no girl's getting glammed up for you."

"I don't need any woman getting glammed up for me right now, thank you very much. I'm concentrating on work."

I laugh, finish my beer, and put the bottle down. "I should get going. I've got to go over some plays for the game next week."

"Oh, yeah, that should be fun," Miles says. "I think Wes and I are going to try and head out."

"I'd like to go," Sabrina says. "I've never been to a hockey match."

"Game," I say. "It's soccer matches. Hockey games."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Can I come?"

"Of course. I'll make sure you all get VIP tickets."

I stand up and stretch. "Well, I guess I should head out. But you guys have a good evening."

"You, too."

They stare at me as I walk to the door, and I wonder if they can tell I'm lying. I wonder if they can read my mind. Do they know I'm going to The Forge? Do they know I'm going to check up on Erica? Am I a crazy stalker?

No. I think to myself, I just want to make sure she's okay because it's not like she handled her alcohol well yesterday. Any other guy would've taken full advantage of her, and I don’t want her to be taken advantage of. She’s too sweet, too innocent.

“Oh my gosh, Tyler, get a grip,” I mutter to myself as I go down the elevator.

I leave the lobby, look at my phone, and realize that it's a twenty-minute walk to The Forge—or I can take a taxi.

I'm about to jump in a taxi so I can get there earlier when I decide to walk.

I need to cool off and get my head together.

I need to think about what I actually want to happen tonight and why I'm headed out to this club.

To spy on a woman who, quite frankly, makes me crazy.

I like her in a way that I haven't liked a woman in a long time.

Maybe not since elementary school, when I had my first crush on Sally Jessie.

Sally Jessie had given me a kiss on the cheek, and I'd felt like a million bucks.

That had been innocent, pure; that had just been. .. fun.

And Erica is someone who is fun. She isn't after me like so many other women.

She doesn't see me as Tyler Kane, millionaire hockey player.

She doesn't see me as a way to get in the news or the magazines.

She is just herself with me, and maybe I've missed that.

Maybe I've missed meeting people who took me at face value, who don't treat me like a king because I’m not a king. I’m just a guy who is good at skating and hitting a puck and scoring.

And that isn't my life. That isn't who I want to be.

I think about the fact that I ordered some painting supplies this morning—because of Erica.

Because of the conversation I had with her.

She is making me think and feel things that I haven't in a really long time.

And I don't want to examine why that is too much.

I don't want to upset the equilibrium of my life, because my life is pretty damn good.

I enjoy hockey. I love making money. My sisters and my mom appreciate it even more.

I have a nice home and investments. I could retire tomorrow if I wanted to and not have to worry.

Though knowing me, I would always worry.

That is something that comes with the territory when you grew up in poverty.

That worry is something that never leaves when you are nervous you won't have anything to eat the next day or that you'd be on the streets.

Or when you hear your mom crying night after night after night, not knowing how she is going to get by and take care of herself and the kids.

I know in the back of my head that, even though I would never be in a position like that again, and even though my mom and my sisters would never be in a position like that again, I couldn't take it for granted.

Shaking my head of the deep thoughts, I realize I'm only a couple of blocks away from The Forge.

I stop by a lamppost and just stand there, contemplating whether or not to go in.

I could go in, look for her, make sure she is okay, and leave.

That wouldn't be so bad. That wouldn't make me akin to someone you'd see on the news—on a show like 20/20 or Dateline .

Or I could just go home right now. I could forget everything. I could call her, make sure she is okay, tell her to let me know when she gets home safely—or I could text her.

But I want to see her. I need to see her.

I want it to be another bad date. I don't know why, because it isn't like I care that much about the bet. I guess I’m just not ready for her to meet the love of her life without exploring something with me. Even though there is really nothing to explore with me, because I’m not looking for anything.

And I can't just fuck my best friend's little sister and leave. That wouldn't end well for any of us.

Before I know what I'm doing, I'm outside the door, handing my ID to the bouncer.

"Oh my God, are you fucking Tyler Kane? The Tyler Kane?"

"Yeah."

"Man, you are dope. I don't even watch hockey, but I've gone to a couple of those games and—fuck—the Lightning are killing it this year."

"Thanks."

"You don't have to pay. You can go in free."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Enjoy."

"Thanks."

I take my ID back from him and head inside. The music is loud. The bass is deep. People around me are dancing and kissing and snorting coke. I can see a couple of hand jobs going on in the corner, and I just shake my head.

Forge is the club that you come to when you want to let loose, when you want to be wild and crazy. Forge is not the place I thought Erica would be.

She is not the sort of woman that?—

I pause as my heart races. I see a woman who looks exactly like her, standing against the wall, kissing some big dude. I take a step towards them, about to say something, but I realize it's not Erica.

Thank God for that.

I don't care if she kisses another guy, but I think it's kind of weird that she was kissing me last night and then would be doing that with some weirdo tonight.

I walk around the periphery of the club, not wanting to be noticed, and just wanting to see if I can find her without her noticing me.

I don't see her on the dance floor, so I head towards the bar.

There are women staring at me—women that, on a different night, I would've said hello to. Maybe even fucked. A redhead comes over to me and presses her hand on my bicep.

"Are you?—"

"Not tonight," I say, pushing past her. I'm here for one reason and one reason only.

And that's when I see her. Standing next to a table.

There are three guys and four women, all laughing.

I can't tell if she's with them. She's just standing there.

And then one of the guys—a tall dude with jet black hair and piercing green eyes—walks over to her, touches the side of her face, grabs her wrists, and pulls her into him.

I feel myself seething.

She says something to him, and he rolls his eyes and steps back.

She shakes her head and taps her foot, but doesn’t do anything else.

One of the girls in the group goes over to him.

She’s got a shot in her hand. He grabs it from her and downs it quickly.

They both laugh. One of the other guys calls for one of the servers, who brings over ten more shots.

They're all laughing at something—but Erica's not. She seems miserable, and I wonder exactly what the dynamic is here.

I stand there, just watching her, hoping that she doesn't turn to the right, because then she will surely see me.

But she doesn't.

The date looks over at Erica, walks over to her again, and whispers something in her ear.

He hands her a shot, which she takes. I frown.

I don't know why she's stupid enough to take a shot with this guy when she knows she can't handle her liquor that well.

He grabs another shot and then points toward her top.

He motions something, and she shakes her head vehemently again.

He rolls his eyes. He calls over one of the blonde girls he's with, and she nods.

He picks her up and lays her down on the table.

What's going on here?