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“You need to be more self-aware,” he growls gruffly.
My eyebrows lift. “Self-aware … I just went to the bathroom. So, this was my fault?”
“Did I say that?” he spits angrily.
“You might as well have.” I don’t back down. He might have helped me out tonight, but that doesn’t give him license to aim his temper at me. “How many women have you groped when you were drunk?”
He stops and glares at me in barely restrained anger. “Exactly zero. I don’t have to grope women, and I don’t think I’ve ever come across one who’s unwilling.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s right; I forgot who I was talking to for a moment. The king of the fuckboys.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he challenges me arrogantly.
“It should be,” I counter. “But to someone like you, it’s a compliment.”
“Someone like me …” he repeats, nodding once or twice. “Right.”
He turns and starts moving again. I follow. We walk in silence back to the hotel, but somehow, everything feels better with him here. Sam doesn’t speak again until we’re alone in the elevator.
“Are you okay?” he asks. His voice is steadier now, more controlled.
“I’m okay,” I sigh.
“I guess we’re even now.”
I narrow my eyes. “Even?”
“You saved me from the club last night. Now, I’ve saved you.”
I smirk, picturing him with all the scantily clad women hanging off him on the dark dance floor. “Saved your reputation maybe,” I scoff. “The rest of you didn’t look like you wanted to be rescued last night.”
He shakes his head with a chuckle and looks away, but doesn’t deny it.
We stop in front of my room.
I open the door and turn toward the hockey stud. “Seriously, Sam, thank you.”
He nods.
The door shuts behind me, and I settle into my room. But exactly twenty minutes later, I hear the room beside mine open and close. Footsteps walk by. I automatically assume that it’s Sam going out for the night, so I don’t sleep much, tossing and turning and worrying instead. I’m too busy waiting for a call from Madison, saying that Sam is out somewhere, ruining his reputation again, and that I need to go get him.
But the call never comes.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EMERSON
I’d like to say that I trusted Sam not to get into trouble when I heard him leaving his room, but I scoured social media for hours that night that bled into the next day, looking for fires to put out. There was nothing. He was either a good boy or better at hiding his tracks this time.
The team wins easily in San José. And next, it’s off to Los Angeles. The flight is short, but the drive to the hotel is long with the gridlocked traffic. I manage to avoid sitting next to Abernathy on the trip, though I think he’s lost interest in me already. I get the impression he likes easy prey. But I stick close to Addison anyway.
When we finally make it to the hotel, Addison and I grab lunch at a sandwich shop within walking distance. I invite her to hang out for the afternoon, but she’s expected at the arena for practice. So, I take advantage of another few hours of freedom, changing into the only bikini and cover-up I brought before carrying my sketch pad up to the rooftop deck and pool. LA is having a rare fall day in the upper eighties—perfect pool weather. It’s such a change from the cold and wet conditions in Seattle and chilly Northern California. I drop into a lounger, stretching a towel along the back first, and enjoy the sunshine on my face and body as it warms me. It doesn’t take long for me to pull off my cover-up.
A waiter approaches me, and I order a fruity cocktail. The first sip of the icy coconut drink makes me feel like I’m on vacation, and I can feel myself relaxing on the cushions. It feels good to let go of some of the tension I’ve accumulated from the time I agreed to this companion job. And the view is spectacular from behind my shades. I can see the Hollywood Hills in the distance, and if it isn’t blocked by the smog, I’m betting the sunset is beautiful from here. These are the spoils of travel that Mads spoke about. I’m glad to finally enjoy them.
I spend the afternoon dozing, cooling off in the water, and tanning on the lounger. I have two cocktails and am on my third when Sam, Cruz, and Coop come walking into the space. All three are wearing low-slung board shorts and T-shirts, but the clothes do nothing to hide their sculpted physiques. Heads are turning as they walk. Sam spots me immediately, and I’m surprised when he walks closer to claim the lounger next to mine. It’s a far cry from the beginning of the trip when he would automatically select the seat furthest from mine.
“Hey,” he says, throwing his towel down on the chair like we’re old friends.
