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“What? No. Shit.” I try to gauge her reaction. “I mean, maybe? If you’re going to say yes, then definitely. Absolutely.”
Mystery girl throws her head back and laughs, the soft, sweet sound floating around the empty courtyard around us. “That might be the best or… maybe the worst way I’ve ever been hit on in my life. Not sure just yet.”
I shrug. “Guess I need to make it the best, then, huh? Why are you out here anyway and not inside enjoying the party?”
“Mmm… not really my kind of party,” she says simply, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Needed some fresh air.”
“Hockey not your thing?”
“Not really. More of a baseball kind of girl, and it’s my first time here, so I’ve kind of just been people-watching.”
Hm. So not a puck bunny and never been to the practice arena?
“How about a grand tour, then?” I ask. I know the last thing I should be doing is picking up a stranger at the Stanley Cup party, yet there’s something about her, something that I can’t put my finger on, that has me desperate for even a few more minutes to get to know her. “Once-in-a-lifetime kinda tour. Maybe by the end, you’ll be a hockey fan.”
For a second, I think she might say no as she shuffles from one foot to the other and hoists the purse higher on her shoulder, but then a wide smile spreads on her face, and she gestures toward the entrance. “Lead the way, then, Mr.…”
She trails off, and that’s when I realize through the entire conversation neither of us offered up our names.
Maybe she really doesn’t know a thing about hockey, and if that’s true, then she has no clue who I am.
And that sounds more appealing than it should.
Anonymity.
Being whoever I want to be. Not Hudson Rome the hockey player or the Playboy Playmaker, who gets plastered all over the tabloids. No pressure to be anyone but…me.
Maybe it’s wrong, but I offer up the first thing that comes to my mind.
“You can call me… Romeo.”
I see the understanding in her eyes, but she just shakes her head and laughs lightly. “Okay… then you can just call meJuliet.”
* * *
“Champagne tastes so much fucking betterwhen it’s the good shit,” I say, taking another sip from the bottle we’ve been sharing for the last hour. I swiped it from a server’s tray before we started the behind-the-scenes tour of the arena.
I pass the bottle to her, and she takes a hefty sip, draining the rest of the bottle. I didn’t realize how quickly we’d gone through it until the last drop hit her tongue. I lost track of time as we walked, exchanging random things about ourselves and her laughing at my lame jokes, or at least pretending to.
It’s the first time in a long time I’ve felt no pressure, where I can just be exactly who I am, without worrying about what that really means.
“Not that I have atonof experience in expensive champagne, but this does taste incredible. So smooth. Like velvet.”
Her eyes are a little glossy, her words a little slow, and her movements match my own. The good shit always does that to you. It sneaks up when you’re least expecting it and hits you right where it should.
She sets the bottle down and reaches into her purse, pulling out a small pack of gum, and pops the piece into her mouth. Her cheeks heat when she catches me staring. “What?”
I shrug. “Nothing. Didn’t strike me as a Hubba Bubba kinda girl.”
Her eyebrows raise. “I’ll have you know that I am supporting a very long addiction to this gum. The strawberry watermelon flavor is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Do you want to try?”
“I take your word for it,Bubblegum.” My tone is laced with amusement.
Tossing her head back, she laughs, her small shoulders shaking. “I think I like that nickname. Definitely more than Juliet.”
This girl is interesting, and fuck, she’sfun.
“Good. And this…” I say, gesturing to the door at the end of the hallway, the last stop on my tour, “is… the broom closet?”
