Joran doesn’t even notice when I enter the house because he’s focused on Aiden and Mr. Gerhardt. Ten minutes later, he finds me at the bar. I really want to order a shot, but I request another glass of white wine instead.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” His hand lands on the small of my back. He’s older than me and I wonder if that has something to do with the reason why he’s so entrenched in his work all the time, even though he asked me here as his date. Maybe he’s just grown accustomed to it over the years.
“Yes.” It’s a polite answer but if he was my actual boyfriend, I would’ve had a piece of my mind to share with him. But it’s hard to stand on your moral high ground when you’ve been with another man exploring the grounds.
“Good.” He glances up. “It’s almost midnight.”
“A half hour,” I say, because I just checked while I was waiting for my drink. More because I’d like to leave this party and go home, pull the covers over my head and forget it ever happened.
How can I be attracted to Aiden, a professional hockey player? My body should instinctively know he’s trouble. But instead of me pushing him into the back corner of my mind never to be found again, I keep running over our time outside together. The way he looked at me on the beach, how eager he seemed when I said yes to go out with him. It’s only tormenting me more.
“I passed Mr. Gerhardt talking to someone on my way in a second ago.”
Joran sighs, accepting his glass of dark liquid from the bartender. “Aiden Drake. He’s my client and things haven’t been going well for him lately.”
“How so?”
He holds his arm out for me to walk away, dropping a twenty in the tip jar. “The kid is one of those once-in-every-decade kind of players. Like he was born to play the sport. Although, he practices like no other person I’ve ever met, he’s been off the past few games.”
“A few?”
He blows out a breath. “Eight, to be exact.”
“Oh,” I say, trying not to react too much. But I manage enough athlete accounts to know that when your game isn’t going well, the press and your fans usually start attacking you, which can’t make it any easier to get out of the funk.
“Exactly. His contract is up this year and if he doesn’t turn this around, he’s either going to take less money, be called a has-been at twenty-eight, or even worse the other owners will say he never had it to begin with and he won’t get a contract—anywhere.”
We find a corner in the room that most guests are in, but Joran keeps looking toward the back as though he can’t fully concentrate on our conversation. I think the only reason he’s telling me so much is because he’s worried.
“And what does that say about me if the kid ends up not having the career everyone predicted? I took him on as a client. It means my eye isn’t good.”
I sip my wine. Slightly disgusted with how athletes are bought and sold for their talent like cattle. Or maybe I’m holding a soft spot for the guy who must not enjoy the spotlight and wanted a quiet evening in for New Year’s Eve.
“That’s beyond your control,” I say.
“When athletes sign with me, whether good or bad, it says something about them just for the fact that I’m taking them on as clients. You probably don’t know this, but I’m considered the best in the business.”
I don’t say anything to that. I don’t keep tabs on sports agents, but the ones I’ve met in my life, which has been more than most “normal people” in this world, says they’re all the same. It’s their reputation that matters most. They’re not necessarily always in it for the actual athlete’s best interests.
His gaze strays once again toward the back door and I want to tell him to just go. That having half his attention isn’t any better than how we’ve spent most of the night—apart.
“I’m sure he’ll turn his game around.”
“You know athletes and their superstitions.” Boy, do I. But I would never tell Joran how familiar I am with superstitions because he might just walk away from me now. “Something happens, and they have a good game and then they need to recreate the exact scenario again thinking it’s why they won.”
“Maybe he needs to find that again.” I offer advice I shouldn’t.
“Aiden says he’s never needed a superstition or good luck charm. I think he’s the only person. His damn teammate ate Taco Bell for an entire week. I can’t even get Aiden to carry a damn rabbit’s foot around.”
“I’m sure it will all work out.” I sip my wine.
He finishes his drink and sets it on a table nearby. “You good? I’m going to go check on them. If Mr. Gerhardt gets in Aiden’s head, it’ll be game over on his career and a huge dent in mine.”
I nod but before I actually speak, he’s gone. I release all the anxiety with a long-expelled breath from my body. This is all too familiar. I glance at the clock again. Twenty minutes until midnight. Thank God this night is almost over.
“Checking to see who you’re kissing at midnight?” Some guy walks up to me. He’s got blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and broad shoulders. The guy screams athlete, and my guess is he’s probably one of the Florida Fury hockey players. Also, he has a Russian accent so that’s a tip-off as well.
“No, I’m not.”
He leans his shoulder against the wall next to me and I slide a step away. “I saw you talking to Joran. Was he hitting on you?”
“I came here with him.”
“Oh shit. Really?” His hands fly up in the air. “Then I’ll stop hitting on you.”
I sip my wine and look at him over the edge of my wine glass.
“Want to help me pick up a woman?” he asks.
“Excuse me?”
He chuckles. “I really want to kiss her at midnight, but she gives the whole excuse of not dating athletes.” He rolls his eyes.
“There is such a thing.”
His eyebrows scrunch. “Who wouldn’t want to date an athlete?”
I shrug. “Someone who doesn’t want to constantly second guess what you might be doing when you’re out of town. Someone who doesn’t want to go crazy and be possessive because of the puck bunnies. Someone who doesn’t want to be second to a man’s career. Someone who likes their life private and not on public display. Dare I go on?”
His eyebrows move from furrowed to raised. “You talk from experience? Do I look like an athlete?”
I cock one eyebrow.
“How do you know I’m not an accountant?”
“First I pegged you for a PE teacher,” I say.
He points and laughs. “Even without my whistle?”
I laugh and he smiles like he’s glad he can pull that out of me. “Damn, maybe I should tell women that.”
“Sure, lie to them. That’s always a good way to start a relationship.”
“Whoa, lady. Slow down. Who said anything about a relationship?”
I shake my head and tip my wine glass at him. “And there’s another reason a woman doesn’t want to date an athlete, rarely are they looking for a relationship.”
He shrugs. “Well, I have a good reason.”
I stand straighter. “This should be good.”
“I’m Russian.”
“Really?” I bulge my eyes out and he chuckles, shaking his head.
“And eventually I’ll be going back there. Not many women want to relocate to Russia.”
“If she loves you, she probably would.”
He waves his finger in front of my face. “That’s where you’re wrong. She can love me and still want me to stay here.”
“Okay. I’m not going to argue a hypothetical with you. I don’t even know you.”
He looks over my shoulder. “Here comes a guy who needs to get laid tonight.”
I turn to see Aiden approaching. Taking a moment, I watch him. Straight back, confident shoulders, and an air about him that says he’s someone. I deny my urge to drool right here in front of everyone. Maybe hearing his problems with his game is pulling on my heartstrings pretty damn hard. Or maybe there’s just something about him that I’ve never noticed with anyone else.
“I know this guy isn’t your date,” Aiden says, fist-bumping the Russian. “Since he came with me.”
“Oh, so you two are on a date.” I give him a saccharine smile and point between them.
“Yeah, but we have an open relationship,” the Russian guy says.
“This is Maksim Petrov. He plays on the team too.” Aiden points to him. “This is Saige, she’s here on a date and manages social media for people.”
“You do? I need someone to do mine. I love to post, I hate the interaction.”
I laugh because that’s pretty typical, but usually it’s what they post that causes the problems. Digging into my purse, I grab a card and hand it to him. He twirls it with his finger and pockets it with a wink. “Okay, wish me luck, I’m trying one last time for at least a midnight kiss. Who wouldn’t want to kiss this guy on New Year’s Eve?” He circles his face with his finger.
“Can’t imagine who wouldn’t,” I say.
A huge grin consumes his face.
Once he leaves, Aiden turns to me. “Where is this mystery date?”
I look around. “Not sure. You just missed him.”
He glances above my head at the clock. “Fifteen minutes to midnight. If he doesn’t show, I say I’m the one who gets the kiss?”
“Hate to break it to you, but you still have to jump in the ocean.”
“I’ll jump in the ocean if you kiss me at midnight,” he says, a sexy smile on his lips.
“No. You already lost the bet. Remember that juicy orange you found only because I pointed you in the right direction?”
He laughs. “I can’t go in wearing my suit. Rain check?”
“Sure, but I should mention that men who go through with their bets really turn me on.”
He grabs my hand and tugs me toward the back door. “Let’s get this over with.”