Page 46 of Breaking the Ice

She said no last time I asked her to hang with us after a game but hope springs eternal, I guess.

Isabella bites her cherry-red lip, and my belly swoops to my toes. “Okay. Sounds fun.”

Hell yeah. Is this progress? I try to keep my face impassive and not grin like a maniac.

“Are you and your mom staying in the Park MGM across the street from the arena?” I point to the ice at my feet, and she nods. “Us, too. We’ve got to shower and stuff. Meet me in the lobby in an hour?”

“I can do that. Thanks for inviting me.” Her smile spreads across her face, and it feels like my insides are melting into goo.

She’s off-limits. We’re just friends. If her dad gets wind of it, we’ll be hanging out in a big group doing family-friendly, squeaky-clean fun things that Grandma would endorse. In Las Vegas. I have self-control, and she has no problem setting boundaries. What could go wrong?

Hadley sighs and lays her head on Jonas’s shoulder as the jets of water shoot into the air and the music soars. I can’t help it. I sling my arm around Isabella. But like, not pushy. As friends. We’re chill.

Well, I’m trying to be chill. She looks amazing. While Hadley wears a minuscule black dress and crazy patterned cowgirl boots, Isabella is in white. Her dress is angelic, innocent, and also devilishly sexy because I really want to get distracted by the cleavage spilling out above the fabric stretched across her chest. The gauzy material flows out from her waist and hits mid-thigh, and I can’t stop looking at her.

So I pull her close, inhale the strawberry scent of her hair, but keep things light. “It’s fun to be here with you. I didn’t know you were coming.”

She smiles up at me, her face illuminated by the light from the Strip. “I was kind of a pouty baby about it. If I didn’t mention it, it was like I could ignore it was happening. Real mature of me, I know. But this is better than I expected.”

The Bellagio fountains die down, and everyone takes a collective breath.

Hadley squirms. “Okay, that was not overrated. But guys, I have to pee. Do you think they will let us in to use the bathroom?” She points to the Planet Hollywood casino across the street and behind us.

I shrug. “It’s Vegas. They will let you in anywhere in the hopes you will spend your money.”

In a throng of foot traffic, we make our way across the street and up the stairs into the casino. The girls get directions from a bouncer to the restroom.

I jerk my head towards the bar. “We’ll meet you girls over here when you’re done.”

Jonas nods, and we wind our way through the brightly lit slot machines and the smell of cigarette smoke to get to the massive circular bar in the center of the building. The light glints off the chandelier overhead and the rows of liquor bottles.

It’s not the first time I’ve been to a casino—there are a few outside of Grand Rapids—but it’s the first time I’ve seen one with this level of opulence. My experiences are more country-club fancy, and I have to fight to keep my jaw from dropping at the marble, gold furnishings, and high-end design. It’s probably all fake, but it still looks impressive.

As we gape like small-town yokels, a server taps me on the shoulder and brandishes a tray holding drinks. There are two pint glasses and two shot glasses, both full.

“Congratulations have been sent your way, gentlemen.”

He turns to leave, but I grab his sleeve. “Wait, what? Who sent these?”

I glance at Jonas. I’m not drinking anything if I don’t know where it came from.

The waiter points to a familiar figure reclining in one of the circular booths that ring the bar, who gives us a salute. “Compliments of that man over there.”

The man scoots forward, and I recognize Drew Ward from Quinnipiac. Grabbing the tray, I thank the server and head to the booth.

Standing, Drew holds out his hand to shake. “Great win tonight, guys. You’re one hell of a team.”

Jonas raises a brow. “We could be saying the same thing to you. Thanks for the drinks.”

“How did you know Boilermakers are my favorite?” I ask him. “They’re pretty random.”

“I follow you on socials, dude.” He runs a hand over his dark hair, laughing. “I watched one of your videos and then tried them myself. Got hooked, too.”

He has an empty shot glass, pint glass, and then a full one of each ready to go on his table.

I glance at Jonas and shrug. “One drink won’t hurt.”

He nods. “We don’t want to be rude.”