All the Way (Hot Jocks #2)(20)

Carefully, I bring my hand to her spine and gaze down at her.

The chemistry I was stressing over? Yeah, let’s just say I had nothing to worry about.

The twitch behind my zipper and my hammering heart are both due to this gorgeous woman standing beside me. She’s a smoke show and she doesn’t even know it, which somehow makes her even more attractive. She’s not here as my date, but you better believe I’m going to use tonight as an excuse to get close to her.

“You look beautiful,” I murmur, my eyes taking in every inch of her again.

Becca makes a low sound of disapproval but does a little spin, showing off her dress. “I’m tired of being objectified, Owen,” she says in a bored yet amused tone.

I grin at her and see the hint of a smile on her lips. “I’m tired of not being objectified.”

Becca laughs, so I continue.

“I mean, when I spend forty minutes manscaping, I want a girl to fucking notice. Is that too much to ask?”

She meets my eyes, hers bright with mischief. “I should think not.”

We grin at each other for half a second longer, and man, she’s gorgeous. I can’t take my eyes off of her.

Still fighting off a smile, Becca asks, “Do you want to get a drink, or . . .”

Remembering that she’s been abstaining from alcohol, I shake my head. “I’m good. Do you want something?”

“I just had a Shirley Temple. I’d better not have another or I’ll be up all night from the sugar.”

Usually, I’d take that kind of opening to suggest a way to burn off the sugar, but I decide against it. Becca’s not a random hookup I’m trying to get into bed, and I don’t want my remarks to come across as insensitive or make her feel uncomfortable.

“Shall we make the rounds?” I offer her my arm, and Becca accepts.

“Let’s do it.”

With Becca on my arm, we spend the next hour mingling and working our way through the crowd. I make sure to greet the team owner and his wife, and talk to some of the league’s biggest donors and all the people Coach Dodd has asked that we say hello to.

Becca is as gracious and lovely as ever. I’ve never thought about it before, but it’s pretty cool that she knows the team almost as well as I do. If it were anyone else on my arm, her eyes would be glazed over in boredom by now.

Instead, Becca’s standing across the room, laughing at something O’Malley’s wife has said, and I have no doubt she can hold her own in this crowd. There’s something undeniably appealing about that. I’ve brought dates to these types of events before. They hang on my arm like they’re afraid of being lost at sea, and then beg me to leave long before I really should.

I finish up a conversation with the team captain, Grant, and then head over toward Becca.

She looks up, smiling when she sees me. Mrs. O’Malley says something to Becca and excuses herself.

“Are you having fun?” I ask in a low voice once it’s just her and me.

She smiles, wide. “I am. How about you?”

I nod. “Yeah. But I wouldn’t mind taking off either. I wanted to see what you—”

“Let’s go,” she says, taking my hand in her much smaller, softer one, and my heart gives a kick.

Fuck yeah.





8




* * *





What Owen Wants





Becca



“Ready?” Owen offers me his arm again, a warm smile twitching on his lips.

Charisma and charm roll off him in lazy waves, and he’s never had to worry about how or where he fit in. He’s social, but not needy. He attracts friends wherever he goes, and he’s never met a stranger.

Me? I’m more of a lifelong loner who was somehow lucky enough to be befriended by Elise and subsequently adopted by their whole crew—the musclebound hockey studs included. But none of this comes naturally to me, which is why I’m extremely thankful for Owen right now. For all those little reassuring smiles he kept directing my way all night, and the soft looks he gave me from across the room. It felt so good being near him, being treated like an equal. Someone smart who he respected. Someone to laugh with. Somehow two hours slipped by and I forgot to be tense.

“Let’s do it,” I say, taking his arm.

I may have survived our evening out together, but something tells me everything is about to get a hell of a lot more complicated.

Together, we make our way down the wide steps of the museum. With all the photographers and journalists gone, it’s quiet enough to hear my high heels tapping against the stone, and the sound of our soft breaths.

There’s a limo waiting for us outside.

A freaking limo. For us.

When Owen asked me if I wanted to ditch the gala a bit early, I was expecting to leave the same way I got here—in the back seat of an Uber. Instead, I’m being helped into the back of a limousine by my best friend, who happens to look like a damn male model in that tux.

Talk about an upgrade.

The second he closes the door, Owen gives the driver my address, then rolls up the partition to give us some privacy. I’m not sure if it’s because he wants privacy, or because we can’t trust the limo driver not to report to the tabloids about the Hawks goalie getting cozy with the team owner’s assistant. Such is life when you run with a crowd of professional athletes. I try not to overthink it.