Page 5

CHAPTER FIVE

corbin

When we touch, a tornado full of butterflies circles through my stomach. Oakley is unlike any woman I’ve ever met. We stake out a small spot on the dance floor full of my friends, but I can’t see them because I’m too busy looking at the woman wearing a borrowed dress and tennis shoes and rocking it like it’s a fashion statement.

“When’s the last time you danced?” She asks.

“I went to a club last week and moved around a little,” I say, not knowing if she reads the gossip sites.

We dance in the traditional pose, holding one hand with my other hand around her back and she folds her fingers over my shoulder.

“Do you like to dance?”

“I do. It’s one fun way to burn calories.” She wiggles one eyebrow and giggles. “By the way, are you staying for the 5K run? Brooke asked me earlier.”

“I was planning on it but if you need to get home, I can skip it.” Subconsciously, I find myself rubbing her back with my thumb. It feels intimate as our eyes collide.

The song changes twice while we stare at each other, and I pull her closer. Her hand slides from my shoulder to my chest. As I inch closer and closer to her lips, my heart pounds. I wonder if she can feel it because to me, it sounds like a drummer in a heavy metal band.

She whispers, “I’d love to stay. It’s for a good cause.”

“Good,” is all I say. It’s raspy and full of desire. This is a completely new feeling for me. Not the desire but what’s behind the desire. Is this what my grandmother was trying to tell me?

I let go of her hands and let my fingers graze her naked shoulder, then cup her jaw with my fingers cradling her head. It seems like hours have passed since we started dancing like we’re in our own little bubble. My mouth ghosts hers until we connect with a featherlight touch. Our lips overlap until they find their home. As I swipe my tongue through the seam of her lips, and she grants me entry with the taste of champagne bubbles coating her mouth. And when Oakley moans into my mouth, my dick takes notice. We part a few seconds later, at least I hope it was only a few seconds because I’m not one for overt public displays of affection. In this case, I had to taste her lips, and I didn’t care where we were or who saw the unbelievable kiss.

Bryce and Emmaline dance over next to us, and Bryce says, “He’s a pretty good guy for a kidnapper.”

“You thought she was a serial killer, not me,” I scoff at Bryce and shake my head.

“Not a serial killer, at least not yet,” Oakley teases. “Thanks for letting me crash your wedding. It was breathtaking. And your children are adorable.”

“Thank you,” Emmaline says as Bryce whisks her away.

The music changes to a song from the 80s or 90s. I only know because my mom had an oldies playlist, and I recognize it. The DJ requests, “The bride has requested for everyone to get in two lines and anyone who can do an unusual dance move or a couple who can two step or whatever go down the middle.”

“Yes! Let’s go,” Emmaline yells.

Bryce glances at her. “Rusti, you’re not going to do your Jujitsu moves in your wedding dress, are you?”

Oakley’s eyes pinch together in confusion, so I explain, “When Bryce met Emmaline the first time, she gave him a fake name, Rusti. When they met again eight years later, she became his nanny and obviously told him her real name. Her brother plays for the Jets too.” I point at Roman standing with his girlfriend.

The guests form two lines on the dance floor as Celebrate by Kool and the Gang plays. Bryce and Emmaline start it by twirling her nonstop. When they get to the end, she’s dizzy and laughing. One girl does a ballet leap. Flynn spins on his back and propels himself back up. I turn to tell Oakley that Flynn used to do that in college, but she’s gone. I look around and suddenly, I see her in the bronze metallic dress, lying on the floor. The wedding guests clap and dance, while my college teammates and their wives yell, “Go, Oakley.”

She brings her arms close to her chest with her elbows bent. Arching her back slightly, she lifts her chest and head off the ground while her pelvis and legs are flat on the floor. Then in a fluid motion, she pushes her upper body forward while straightening her arms.

“Oh my God. She’s so freaking fun,” Emmaline screams. “She knows how to do the worm. Watch her go.”

Oakley pushes off her feet, pushing and pulling her body along the dance floor, creating smooth, wormlike movements. She’s laughing as she goes and obviously loves the attention. My opposite.

When she’s finished, I pull her to her feet with a smile that stretches wide. “I knew those tennis shoes would come in handy.”

Her eyes sparkle as she flings her arms around my neck.

“This is the most fun I’ve ever had.” She presses her lips to mine, and I wonder if I’m dreaming. Is it possible that I just met Oakley today? It already feels different—special.

I grab a glass of water for her, and she downs it as my friends come up and praise her. Fortunately, after that is over, the DJ cools everyone off with a slow song. But for me, it heats me up.

We dance for an hour or more, mainly slow, but every time I spin her out and fold her back into me, her face glows, so I keep doing it.

“Oakley?”

“Hmm?” She stares into my eyes.

“This is so unlike me to say, but I’m glad your car broke down.”

I peck the corner of her mouth, which turns into pecking her lips. She breaks the kiss and admits, “Me too.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my teammates in the corner, waving me over. “I’ll be right back. We’re doing a college thing for Emmaline.”

“No worries, I’ll be watching.”

Our fingers linger before I walk away and join my friends in the corner. Emmaline’s brother Roman introduces himself to me and stays by my side as the Stallions plan their gig. They sit Emmaline in the center of the dance floor and make a circle around her as they try to rap.

"Listen up, folks, a new bride is in town. She’s joining the Stallions, and we won't let her down. From slap shots to cake cutting, we'll show her the way. She's now part of our team, like it or not, eh! So, let's raise our glasses and welcome her with cheers, another member of the Stallion family, we'll have no fears!"

We each give her a blue carnation until she has a full bouquet, then we finish it out by chanting, “We Are UK.”

I find Oakley talking to Roman and his date. “Hockey players are a rowdy crowd. I’m going to check on Dixie. I’ll be right back.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, stay and have fun. I’ll just take her out for a potty break. It will only take a few minutes.”

Leaning down into her ear, I say, “Don’t make me wait too long.”

Her lashes flutter, and her blue eyes shimmer in the pulsating light.

“I won’t. I promise.”

As she leaves, I see my old coach, Brooke’s dad. He just got a head coaching gig in the NHL.

It feels like Oakley has had time to take Dixie out and return but since I don’t want to come off as overbearing, I hang out with Flynn, Dawes, and John Basilio. It’s the first time I’ve seen John in ages. His father was a hockey star back in the day, and we called him The Godfather in college. Why? Because he wore his father’s three Frozen Four championship rings, and he demanded we kiss the ring before each game for luck.

He plays for the Dallas Rattlers. We’re not in the same conference, and neither of our teams have made the playoffs in the last few years. He missed our last Stallions reunion because his now ex-girlfriend was having surgery.

Feeling anxious, I wander through the three hundred or so guests searching for Oakley, but I’m interrupted by the DJ announcing it’s time for the bride and groom to throw the bouquet and garter. My friends push toward the dance floor. Bryce performs the tradition first. He lifts Emmaline’s wedding gown up to her thigh, skimming his teeth along the skin. He bites the lavender garter and drags it slowly down her leg. The crowd whoops and hollers like we’re at a hockey game. He lays a passionate kiss on her until she fans herself.

Bryce stands up and in his captain voice, he orders us into place, “All right, guys, stand behind me, and we’ll see who’s getting married next.”

I stand in the back with no intention of catching the thing.

Bryce rotates with his back to us and flings the garter from his finger backwards. The single men jump over each other to catch it, but the garter lands on my head. I remove it from my thick brown hair and twist it in my hands as the guys yell, “Shearer’s next. Shearer’s next.”

“Not likely, fellas, but thanks.”

Did Bryce manifest this?

Still no sign of Oakley. The girls form a semi-circle behind Emmaline; she turns and heaves her bouquet. Coach Sweet’s date catches the bouquet, and her face is colored pink.

I wonder if something is wrong with Dixie. I don’t have Oakley’s phone number to call so I’ll just head to the room and check on them, but I’m stopped by a partial owner of my team who I hadn’t seen until just now.

“Corbin Shearer. Good to see you.”

“You too, sir. Didn’t know you would be here,” I say as I shove one hand into my pocket.

He takes a long swallow of his cocktail. “I was in town, and I’m good friends with the groom’s attorney. His wife couldn’t come, so I’m the beneficiary. You Stallions stick together, huh?”

“Yes, sir. Anytime we’re lucky enough to get together, it’s always a good time. I’m sure Emmaline knows that any of us would do anything for her. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my date.”

His eyes and weight shift, but as I turn to leave, his fingers wrap around my elbow. “I know the management team will be happy to see you photographed with a woman.”

“Why?”

“Because being a loner isn’t good for business. Enjoy your night.”

Asshole.

“Yes, sir.”

After circling the reception one more time, without hesitation, I head up to the hotel room. When I unlock the door, I flip on the light. “Oakley?”

Silence. She’s not in the bedroom or the bathroom. That’s when I realize Dixie’s kennel is gone. Oakley’s luggage and makeup bag are gone. I lean against the desk and rub the stubble popping up on my jaw, staring at the bronze-colored dress Oakley wore earlier.

Where is she?

Why would she leave without informing me?

Slinging the door open, a little voice in my head says, “Better take your keys.” But when I pull the drawer handle, my keys and the valet card are missing.

Fuck.

Maybe I can catch her if I take the stairs and don't wait for the elevator. I feel like a traveler in a rental car commercial running through the lobby as I push through the rotating entrance. The valet asks if he can help me.

“Has a woman with blond hair and dog picked up a Ford F-150?”

“About thirty minutes ago.”

“Did she ask for directions?”

The way his eyes dart away from mine, I know one of two things. He either thinks I’m a total ass, and she’s running from me, or she convinced him not to tell me.

“No, sir.”

For a moment, I stand in shock, wondering what to do.

Call the police?

Plot my revenge?

My friends are never going to let me live this down. But just as we will be there for Emmaline when things are upside down, I know my teammates will help me—after they laugh their asses off.

I find Bryce, Dane, Reed, and Joe standing near the bar, and I approach them feeling rejected. It must be written all over my face because Dane asks, “What’s wrong?”

Inhaling a breath, the size of the Goodyear Blimp, I close my eyes for a moment. “She stole my truck and left without a trace.”

My fun-loving friends heckle, but it dies down when they realize I’m serious.

“Why? You looked like you were enjoying each other. I saw that kiss,” Bryce says.

We were. Or at least I thought we were.

“What are you going to do?” Reed asks.

“Call the police, I guess. This is why I don’t date.”

Bryce scoffs. “Dating isn’t the problem. This is why you don’t pick up women at truck stops.”

“Touché.”