So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(70)

Her smile was slow, all flirtation. “I bet I could get you to wear one by the time the season is over.”

“How much is this foolish bet worth to you?” His Scottish brogue sounded like he’d just dropped in from a Sean Connery sound-alike convention.

“Hundred bucks,” Violet said.

Bren spoke low, husky. “I don’t need the money, but I’ll think of something in kind.”

That made Violet blush. The tension prickling between the two could have charged every iPhone present. Playing with fire, this girl.

Oblivious to the mating ritual, Erik said, “Let’s go in. I bet they have good canapés.” Their goalie was obsessed with finding his next meal.

Cade held an elbow out for Violet and his other for Isobel. “Yes, I can handle you both, ladies.”

Giggling like schoolgirls, they took the offered arms and walked into the ballroom, which was already jam-packed. No immediate sign of Vadim, however. While Isobel had mentioned it to him a couple of weeks ago, she hadn’t brought it up since. But she wanted to see him, especially as she felt foolish for inserting her Clifford issues into her heart-to-heart with him about his father.

Everyone drifted toward the bar, but Isobel broke away, needing to check her phone. Coach Lindhoff was due to call any day now with news of whether she’d made the team. The restrooms were as good a place as any for privacy, but her phone screen remained frustratingly blank.

On her way out, she stopped short at a surprising sight at the end of the corridor: Cade and Dante, engaged in what looked like a heated conversation.

Well, engaged wasn’t quite right. Cade’s usually easygoing expression was a mask of intensity as he leaned intimately close to Dante. The Rebels’ GM was listening closely, not saying a word. Until something Cade uttered had him responding with a palm flat on Cade’s chest.

The Texan jerked back clumsily, his back crashing against the wall. It shocked her. Isobel would never have thought him homophobic, but it was as if Dante’s touch repulsed him.

Dante stood back, giving Cade space to leave, which he took like a bat out of hell. Alone, Dante did the oddest thing—he touched the wall where Cade’s back had leaned, then curled his hand into a fist. On a deep breath, he raised his gaze and locked it with Isobel’s. The flash of pain on his face faded, but not quickly enough. Didn’t she feel quite the voyeur.

“Isobel.”

“Oh, hey there.” Let’s just pretend I didn’t witness whatever the hell that was. “Surprised to see you here,” she said, moving forward.

“I’m up for anything that makes the organization look good,” he said with a smile. He really had the most gorgeous smile, even when forced. “And I hear you’re being honored with an award.”

The foundation wanted to give her a token for her efforts. All nonsense, really. “Oh, that.”

“No need to underplay it. I know you work hard with those kids, just as I know you did a great job with Petrov. And I understand your skills are already in demand. I’ll have to talk to Coach Calhoun and the rest of the staff, but I think it’s safe to say you’ll have a full-time position next season.”

Isobel nodded, her throat tightening. Two of the Rebels’ defensemen—Cade and Kazinksy—had asked her if she would work with them on their skating skills now that her methods had proven successful. A full-time coaching position; plan B achieved.

But plan A was still a possibility.

“Not worried we’re bucking the status quo too much, Dante?”

“I think the Rebels are just living up to their name. Nothing succeeds like success. In the end, that’s all anyone cares about.” He frowned. “I thought you’d be happier.”

“Still adjusting to the new world order.”

Evidently distracted, he merely nodded. His phone went off in his hand. “Excuse me.” He moved farther down the corridor to answer it.

She left him there, pondering how we always want what we cannot have. Dante appeared to have a crush—or something—on Cade, who as far as Isobel knew was about as het as they came. Nothing but heartbreak down that road.

Back in the ballroom, she did the rounds like a politician. Harper, wearing a strapless black and silver sheath, was doing the same on the other side, and they met in the middle.

“Ever get sick of pretending Dad was awesome?” Harper asked with a fake grin.

“Hey, if the name gets us butts in seats and extra green for the kids.”

“Yeah, I know.” Harper smiled, for real this time, and grasped Isobel’s arms. “You look gorgeous, Iz. Absolutely stunning.”

Isobel tamped down on the part of her psyche that had always craved her sister’s approval. “Just doing my part for the Chase name.”

“What do you think the old coot would say if he could see us now?”

Isobel had no idea. He had been a great player, a good coach, a bad husband, and a demanding father, but she would never claim to have understood him.

She hazarded a guess. “He’d say he knew we could do it all along.”

Harper laughed. “He would! God, he was such a know-it-all asshole.”

“Minou, you talkin’ about me behind my back again?” Remy’s lips grazed Harper’s shoulder. Apparently he had a thing for her shoulders; odes had been composed, according to Harper.