Page 13

Marty

I get to Club Dynamite around half past midnight and there are cars, lines of people, and paparazzi everywhere. The guy at the door gives me a bored look but when I tell him I’m on the list, he checks my ID and obligingly lets me in.

Other than crazy strobe lights on the dance floor, it’s dark inside, but my eyes quickly adjust and I spot Stevie right away.

She’s sitting in a booth, surrounded by cameras and crew—making out with the guy I assume is L’il Barracuda.

For a second I feel a white-hot shot of jealousy.

Then, as I watch a little more closely, it peters out.

Honestly, it’s more like G-rated porn because despite the fact that they have their tongues in each other’s mouths, it’s pretty tame. His hands are on her back, and her arms are loosely around his neck. There’s an illusion of passion but if you pay attention, it’s not even close. The camera may not be shooting the angle, but from where I’m standing, I can see her knees are pressed closely together and he’s not trying to grope her.

The director is yelling out commands, a few of the extras accidentally move into the shot, and then they have to start over.

It goes on about fifteen minutes before Stevie and L’'l Barracuda pull apart. She says something to him that makes him laugh and then she gets to her feet.

I lift my hand to get her attention and a smile breaks out on her face.

“Hi!” She hurries over to me and some inner Neanderthal in me wraps an arm around her, pulling her close.

Like she’s mine.

And I’m letting everyone know it.

“Hey.” I smile down at her and press a light kiss on the tip of her nose.

“I can’t believe you came.” Her face is a mixture of pleasure and disbelief.

I’m still a little surprised I came too.

It’s nearly one in the morning, and my kids start moving around six thirty. Seven thirty if I’m lucky. Mom and I usually tackle the morning routine together but I left her a note telling her I might be out all night. She can handle it, and enjoys being with them, but I feel a little guilty.

Only a little, though.

She’ll be gone soon, and then it’ll be just me again, so it’s good to get a break from twenty-four-seven parenting.

“I wanted to see you…work,” I say after a moment.

“Watching me make out with another guy is kind of fun, right?” She’s teasing and I chuckle.

“I don’t know if fun is the word, but I’m not mad.”

A tiny bit jealous maybe, but not mad.

“He’s actually very nice,” she says. “And really funny. There was one part where he was supposed to be whispering in my ear and he started rapping the ABC’s. We had to do the take four times because I couldn’t stop laughing.”

Good to know there are celebrities out there who don’t take themselves too seriously.

“How much longer do you think this will go on?”

“Oh, we haven’t even done the fight scene yet. Then there will be the me-taking-care-of-him after the fight scene. Then we’ll be done.”

“You weren’t kidding that we might be here all night.”

“Nope.”

“Well, I’m in. This is kind of fascinating for me so I’ll try not to be in the way.”

“Nah. You’re fine. They might even ask you to be an extra. They want the club to be full of people.”

“Whatever you need.”

Our eyes lock, and I can’t quite decipher the level of indecision in hers.

What is it that makes her pull back whenever we have a moment like this?

I don’t believe it’s something I’ve done, and I’m positive she likes me—why else am I here—which means there’s something in her past giving her pause. Whether it’s about me specifically or all men in general, I don’t know, but I’m not going anywhere until I find out.

My mom made me realize that I’m kidding myself if I don’t admit that I want to see what we might be as a couple, but now I somehow have to convince Stevie of that too.

“You okay?” I ask after a moment when we stare at each other without moving.

“Just trying to figure out why you’re here,” she says finally.

“Don’t you want me here?”

“I do, but…” She turns her head as someone calls her name. “I’ve got to get my makeup touched up—I’ll be back.”

“Not going anywhere.” I watch her hurry off to a room in the back where I lose sight of her so I head to the bar, which appears to be open. I get a draft beer and then turn, taking in my surroundings.

I’ve never been to this club before, it’s not really my scene, but it’s nice. The floors are faux marble, with glass, mirrors and crystal chandeliers everywhere. The seating area is full of plush velour seating in shades of red and black, and the bars are black and chrome. The VIP area upstairs looks like it’s even more high-end, and I see a good selection of liquor behind the bar.

It had to cost a pretty penny to rent the place out for the night, and it’s interesting to see some of the people milling about. I recognize a couple of local professional basketball players, a few actors, and a retired football player. Those are just the faces I recognize—there are probably more celebrities, but I don’t know them.

This is Stevie’s world, though. At least a small part of it. She may not know the guests and extras invited to fill the club, but this is part of her life.

I’m a pro athlete, but hockey doesn’t usually have the high profile faces that other sports have, and I personally tend to keep to myself outside the rink. I’ve always been focused on my family, close friends, and making sure my kids have all the love and attention they need. There’s never been room for clubbing beyond the occasional bachelor party or red carpets or any of it.

But if I want to date Stevie, those things might be inevitable.

And I can’t help but wonder if a guy like me would fit in.

* * *

Stevie works all night.

Literally.

Not constantly, but on and off until nearly six in the morning.

The cool thing is, she never loses focus, never loses her cool, and never loses the edge that makes her one of the top models in the world. When the shot isn’t right, she easily adjusts to a new position, new angle, new whatever it takes to get it. While the other girls start looking a little tired and ragged, Stevie is as elegant and beautiful as she was at the beginning.

I’m completely fascinated, not just by her work ethic, but by the public face she puts on, because it’s nothing like the soft, slightly guarded woman I’ve been getting to know. Obviously, we all behave a bit differently at work. I’m not a hard-hitting tough guy off the ice either, so I get it. But I’ve never been so close to something like this as a spectator.

L’il Barracuda, the director, and a few other people thank Stevie repeatedly when they’re finished, and finally, she’s ready to leave.

“I’m beat,” Stevie says to me as we walk toward the exit.

“Do you want me to take you home?” I ask, since I know she always has a driver for things like this.

“Isn’t it out of your way?” she asks quietly.

I shrug. “It’s all right. It means I get to spend a little more time with you.”

She’s quiet for what feels like a long time but then she nods. “All right. Let me tell my driver he can go.”

“Sure.” We make our way out to where I parked on the street what feels like days ago, and she slides against the leather seats.

“Oh, I’m more tired than I thought. I’m going to have a lovely nap.”

“Just a nap?” I ask.

“I don’t want to sleep all day and then be up all night again. I’ll sleep four hours or so, and then get up, muddle through the day and crash tonight at a reasonable time.”

“That makes sense.”

“What about you? I’m guessing there won’t be any rest for you.”

“No. The kids will be all over me the minute I walk in the door. I don’t think I’ll even manage a nap.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry—it was cool hanging out with you, watching you do what you do.”

“Was it?” She sounds surprised.

“Stevie, look… despite the fact that we’ve kept things casual, I like you. You’re beautiful, sweet, interesting—and watching you work is fascinating to me. It’s nothing like hockey, so yeah, it was pretty cool.”

“I’m glad you had fun.”

“I always have fun with you.”

She sighs. It’s a soft, barely imperceptible sound, but I hear it.

“What?” I ask. “What was that little sigh?”

“I’m in no condition to date anyone,” she says slowly. “And frankly, neither are you. Technically, you’re still married and?—”

“I’m all but divorced,” I interrupt. “The only thing holding us up is the custody battle. Everything else is done. And I’m legally separated.”

“I don’t mean to say that you’re doing anything wrong,” she says quickly. “Just that you’re still in the middle of that and I’m… well, I’m a mess. What you see on the outside is nothing like that chaos that goes on inside. You saw what happened at the haunted house.”

“Is that supposed to scare me off?” I ask. “Because we all have our demons. My knee-jerk reaction when I walked into the club tonight and saw you making out with Barracuda was jealousy . Not because I have any right, not because I didn’t know that was supposed to happen, but because I’m still suffering too. Because my wife was fucking one of my teammates. My friend . And even though you and I are just friends, that was my reaction… so you don’t have the monopoly on trauma.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” She reaches for my hand. “I just don’t know that I’m ready. Or that I’m the woman you need.”

“I can’t speak to whether or not you’re ready, only you can make that decision, but as far as being the woman I need—I have no idea what kind of woman that is. Because I thought I already had her. I thought I married her and started a family with her. Turns out, I was completely wrong.”

She has no response to that, so neither of us says anything for a long time.

It’s not until I pull into her driveway that she finally speaks up.

“Do you want to come in and take a nap?”

“What?” I’m caught off-guard.

“That’s not some euphemism for sex. It’s literally an invitation to rest for a few hours before you go home to your busy and active children. Ivan and Chey are still out of the country, so the house is quiet. You can sleep next to me or in the guest room, I don’t mind either way. I trust you to be a gentleman.”

“I’m not sure how to answer,” I reply honestly. “We kind of stopped talking mid-conversation.”

“Because I don’t know where we go from here,” she says. “All I know is that I like you too. I want to keep being friends, see if maybe there’s a chance it can be something… else . Short-term, sex is off the table. That doesn’t mean it will always be. Just that I need more time. If you can live with that, then come inside and sleep next to me for a few hours.”

Well, fuck.

Is that even a thing? Sleeping next to one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met? One who’s sweet and kind and incredibly patient and loving to my children? One that I want to sleep with so badly I can hardly stand it sometimes? The same one who asked me to kiss her so her first post-relationship kiss wouldn’t be with some random rapper she didn’t know?

Fate is kind of cruel.

Interesting, but also cruel.

“I could use a nap,” I say carefully. “And yes, there’s no universe where I’m not a gentleman. So, if you really don’t mind, I’d love to lie down for a while. With you.”