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I lag behind so she can walk through the rotating doors before me. But at the last second, I step inside, crowding her in the process. Her sweet scent fills the small space. My chest presses against her back.
She glares over her shoulder at me before facing forward again as she moves. She steps into the lobby, and I follow.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I took French in college. I’m rusty, but it was fun, practicing with someone who is fluent.” She pauses to push the button to summon the elevator. Her arms entwine across her chest, bunching her sweater in the process. It’s a dark blue color, and it makes her brown eyes look even more golden under the lobby lights. “And who am I supposed to talk to while I’m here? You?”
The doors slide open, and I enter the elevator behind her. She pushes the button for the fifth floor.
“Abernathy is married,” I scoff.
“He wasn’t hitting on me,” she huffs. “He was just being friendly, which was nice for a change.” Another dagger directed at me. “And I have a boyfriend anyway.”
Wait a second. That wasn’t in her bio.
“Does he live in Chicago?” I pry.
“Yes.”
“Then, why haven’t I seen him at the apartment?”
“I’ve only been there a couple of days. And I’m not super eager to have friends over with as welcoming as you’ve been. Why would I subject him to that? To you.”
I let her walk out of the lift first when we reach the fifth floor. We move together down the hallway in silence. We have adjoining rooms, ironically enough, arranged by the team. But the connecting door has stayed firmly closed and locked.
“Are you staying in for the rest of the night?” she asks, pausing in front of her room.
We’re flying out early tomorrow morning and heading down to California. We play my old team at the end of the week. It’ll be the first time I’m back in that arena since the scandal broke, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
“Yes,” I lie, hiding the smirk that threatens to escape by rubbing my hand across my jaw.
“Good”—she yawns—“because I’m tired.” She opens her door. “See you in the morning.”
I open my own room and head inside to get ready for a night out.
Two hours later, I’m drunk and standing in the middle of a club about twenty minutes from our hotel with Tempe, Abernathy, Cruz, and Beau Beers—all current Hawks players. As soon as the hostess saw us enter the place, she escorted us straight into the VIP section, where we’ve been drinking top-shelf liquor all night and entertaining a dozen or so women. I’ve taken more than one selfie with the girl sitting on my lap, and right now, I’m grinding against the ass of another on the dance floor. With the shots flowing through my veins, I’m feeling no pain, riding high on the recent win and the feeling of freedom.
The bass is vibrating through the floor as another woman presses against me from behind. I snake an arm around her and press her harder against me while swaying to the beat. The air smells of perfume, sweat, and vape smoke as I close my eyes and focus on the way I’m feeling right in this moment. That’s what I like the most about nights like this. The escape. It’s what keeps me coming back for more, even knowing it’s not the best move for my career.
The tempo switches until a slower, sultry beat takes over. There are hands and tits rubbing across my body. Someone passes me a shot. I down it, my body so numb that I no longer taste the bitterness of the amber drink. My lips part as the woman in front kisses me, her tongue battling with mine before she bites my bottom lip. Her hand glides over the front of my pants, and she rubs my hardening length. A vape is pressed into my mouth, but before I can inhale, it’s whipped away.
My eyes fly open.
The first thing I see is a very angry Emerson standing to the side, holding that vape. The doe-eyed look has been replaced with pure venom.
I smirk.
She pounces.
For such a little thing, she’s stronger than she looks. Because in the next instant, she’s dragging me across the floor and out of the club.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EMERSON
Think of the money.
I keep repeating the words to myself like a mantra. I started saying them after I received the phone call from Madison, waking me from sleep in the middle of the night, informing me that several selfies had been posted online of Sam with various women at some club. I think Mads has her phone and computer programmed so she’s alerted anytime one of the players shows up on the web. Sam, the man who is supposed to be sleeping soundly in the room next door to mine. I said it again, reminding myself of why I was here, while I was throwing on a sweatshirt and jeans and tying my hair up into a messy bun to drag my ass across town to fetch him.
When I arrived at the club, the bouncers weren’t going to allow me entrance with the casual way I was dressed, but I threw around false credentials, insisting that I was with the team and there on specific orders to get Sam—all true—and it convinced them to admit me. I spotted him right away in the middle of the dance floor, his height proving to be an asset in a crowd. He was surrounded by women who used him to create a human sandwich. Their hands and body parts were pressed against his chest, back, and sides. I watched him take a shot from someone he didn’t know. I was moving closer when I saw one of the girls press a vape into his mouth. That was when I snapped, snatching it away and dragging him across the floor with my fingers cinched around his wrist. I tossed the vape into the nearest trash can along the way.
