Page 6

Hell, I wasn’t even sure I felt it there anymore.

I had the oddest urge to walk over to her and ask what her secret was.

“That’s enough alcohol,” I muttered into the glass, downing the rest of my beer before signaling to the bartender.

“Did you want to close out, Mr. Langley?”

Internally, I cringed at the use of the name but didn’t comment. “No thanks. You can leave it open for the guys. Would it be cool if I stopped by tomorrow to pick it up? And could I get some water, too?”

The guy nodded, running off to get my drink, and like a magnet, my attention returned to the woman.

My mother would whack me upside my head for staring at a woman the way I was, but I couldn’t look away. Dark brown waves covered most of her back, hitting right where her waist tapered in slightly. Tanned skin peeked through the silky curtain whenever she moved her head.

Bet her skin is soft.

I jerked back at the thought. Where the hell did that come from?

That should have been my sign to leave, but I was too engrossed in observing how animated she was as she spoke to the person beside her. Muscled, arms waved out to the sides, and a chuckle slipped out when I noted how her friend rolled her eyes at one particularly animated movement that made it look like the mystery woman was lifting weights.

I was lost in the moment, but the smile I hadn’t realized I had fell the moment I heard a familiar voice coming from the front door.

Emma.

Like a trigger response, my ass was out of the chair and moving before my brain fully processed what was happening. The need to get out of there before she spotted me was visceral. I cringed, realizing that was impossible, considering my whole team was there. And a six-three man darting through a crowd of people like his ass was on fire wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.

A curse slipped out as someone stepped in my way, slowing me down while my pulse did the opposite. God, this was the same feeling as when we were a goal down with ten seconds left on the clock, but the other team had the puck.

Dread slid through me like a toxic sludge, contaminating any happiness I’d felt tonight. Looking over my shoulder toward the door, I checked where she was at.

The knot in my chest loosened a bit.

Emma still stood at the entrance, her lips pursed in a way that made her look irritated, blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Any relief I’d felt at the distance vanished because her head snapped my way, sending my heart slamming into my rib cage. I nearly gave myself whiplash to avoid eye contact.

Shit. She’s for sure going to make her way over to me.

A mantra of “get out, get out” played on repeat in my mind until it was interrupted by the laughter from earlier.

Like a freaking moth to a flame, my body moved toward the woman, toward that laugh. She now sat alone, laughing with the bartender.

I had no clue what came over me, but one moment, I was practically sprinting out of the bar to avoid my ex, and in the next, I did one of the dumber things I’d done in my life—I slid next to the random woman.

I was never drinking again because what was I doing?

I should have been halfway out the door by now, avoiding Emma, not sitting on a barstool that was too small next to a woman with what? A nice laugh and back? I was seconds away from standing and apologizing before making my exit when she turned, stopping in my tracks.

Large brown eyes peered over at me through thick black lashes. My pulse jumped into my throat, a nervous excitement that set my blood on fire.

She was gorgeous.

Soft waves framed her face, giving a clear view of her high cheekbones and glossy lips, which were clearly moving. It took my brain a second to catch up with what she was saying.

“Can I help you?” she asked again with irritation, her dark brow quirking up in an arch.

“Um.” I cleared my throat, trying to jumpstart my vocal cords into working.

Demon possession had to be real, because what I’d meant to say was, “No, so sorry for bothering you,” but instead, what came out was, “Actually, yes. I realize this is extremely weird, and I am not trying to hit on yo⁠—”

“Saying you’re not hitting on me sounds exactly like trying to hit on me.” She cocked her head to the side, eyes daring me to argue with her. But I was too distracted by her glossy lips wrapping around the straw, taking a sip.