Pipe Dreams(22)

"Tampa's offensive line is going to make you work," she said, shifting closer to him. "Especially that punk Martell."

"Yeah?" He chuckled, because it was fun to talk hockey with a fan who  actually watched the game. Maybe he'd underestimated Carrie. Connie.  Whatever her name was. "What tricks do you think he has in his bag?"

"His trick is that he's unpredictable. He'll spend a whole game trying  to get you with a toe drag, and then the following game he'll try  something else."

Mike touched his beer bottle to Connie's wineglass. "You should see if  our defensive coordinator is hiring any assistant coaches. I think you'd  be a shoo-in."

She threw her head back and laughed, giving him a different view of her  elegant throat. She had pink, kissable lips and clear blue eyes.

And he didn't give a damn. His eyes wandered off Connie and scanned the  crowd. He thought he'd spied Lauren earlier. She must be here somewhere.

He really shouldn't torture himself, but the sight of Lauren in an  evening gown was not to be missed. And then he spotted the shine of her  hair, and the graceful line of her neck. He drank in these little  details one at a time, because glimpses were all he could have.

There had once been a time when he could look across the room at her and  think she's really mine. There was no better feeling than knowing  they'd go home together at the end of the night, climbing into bed for  sex or conversation. Or both. He missed the whole package.

"Then there's Skews," Connie went on to say. "He's going to give your man O'Doul some trouble."

"Is that so?" O'Doul asked, entering the conversation.

Mike let his gaze wander again. Across the crowded area, a basketball  player shifted to the side, giving him a better view. And-holy hell-he  couldn't believe what he saw-Lauren wearing a blue dress. The blue  dress. The one he'd bought for her when they were dating.

The conversation around him seemed to fade away while he watched her  silk-clad body maneuver between two men in tuxes. His eyes weren't  fooling him, either. She was wearing the dress he'd bought her on the  weekend he'd spent all day trying not to remember. But there it was-a  column of silk the color of flower blossoms, clinging gently to the  feminine shape of her body. It draped teasingly across the line of her  bosom.                       
       
           



       

She'd worn it. Here, of all places. His throat constricted, and his chest got tight.

"Beak, your tongue is hanging out. Hey." Patrick O'Doul snapped his fingers in front of Mike's face. "You okay?"

He looked up to see that Connie had wandered off, and O'Doul was staring at him. "Not really."

"What's the matter?"

He shook his head like a waterlogged dog. "Seeing Lauren every day. It's  killing me. I feel like I'm watching a highlight reel of my own life."

O'Doul put a big hand on his shoulder. "Dude, I'm sorry you miss her."

He spent a moment being surprised that the captain wasn't giving him  shit for that kind of sentimental talk. But Doulie was a lucky man these  days-in love with Ariana, and still in the honeymoon stage of the  relationship where nothing is ever wrong. Lucky bastard.

Once you'd tasted the sweetness of it, you were never the same.

"You never hook up," O'Doul pointed out. "Maybe there's someone else  here who will catch your eye?" He looked pointedly toward Connie who was  now chatting up Silas. Maybe she really did have a thing for goalies.

Slowly, he shook his head. This roped-off section of the beach was  crammed full of attractive, moneyed people who could pay five hundred  bucks to chat with athletes and their billionaire team owners. The women  were all tanned and dressed to kill.

"You're right. I don't hook up," he told O'Doul. "I have a  thirteen-year-old daughter who's gotten very good at noticing everything  I do. God forbid I spend the night with some chick who snaps a photo of  me, or brags about it on Twitter. Try explaining that to my nosy  teenager. If I take somebody to bed it has to be somebody I trust. It  has to be worth it." Unbidden, his eyes cycled back through the scene to  find Lauren again.

"Well." O'Doul chuckled. "I hear you. And I never really had much  interest in the hookup scene, either. But then you need another hobby to  burn off some of your energy. Shuffleboard, maybe. Or wakeboarding."

"Let me ask you something." He tore his gaze off his ex. "Let's say you  bought Ari a beautiful dress. The first time she wore it, the two of you  had frantic sex in a hammock on a Florida beach."

"There are hammocks on the beach?"

Mike cuffed Doulie's shoulder. "There are. But focus, okay? So, three  years later, Ari wears the dress again, at a party on a Florida beach.  What do you think that means?"

O'Doul stroked his chin. "I think it means-let's have sex again in a hammock on the beach."

"Who's having sex in a hammock?" Leo Trevi asked, stepping between them.  "You and Beak? Does Ari know? And how big is this hammock?"

"You are such a comedian," O'Doul grumbled while Leo laughed at his own joke.

"Are there really hammocks nearby?"

Mike sighed. "Yes, and you're welcome." He scanned the crowd again for  Lauren. "It's not over between us," he said suddenly. If it was over, he  wouldn't still feel like this-as if just standing in the same zip code  with Lauren had his body humming with newfound possibility.

"What's not over?" Leo Trevi asked, sipping a fresh beer.

"Beak wants his girl back," O'Doul explained. "But he's facing some pretty steep odds."

"I waited six years to get mine back," Leo said.

Shit. "I don't have six years. I don't even have six weeks. Once the  play-offs are over, she'll be gone. You assholes better put some goals  on the scoreboard in Tampa. I need to take this thing all the way to the  Cup."

"That's the weirdest motivation I've heard for wanting to reach the finals," Leo said. "But whatever works for you, man."

Laughing, O'Doul high-fived him. "Some people play for glory. Some want the money."

"But Beak plays for the puss . . . Hi, sweetheart!" Leo changed his tone in a hurry as Georgia sidled up to him.

"What inglorious conversation have I stumbled into?" Georgia asked,  relieving Leo of his beer and taking a gulp. "With twice as many  athletes present as usual, I'm sure the smack talk is flying. It better  not be about me."

"Never," he said, kissing her jaw. "Dance with me?"

"Only if you share your drink. The line at the bar got long all of a sudden." She took another sip.

"Of course." Leo cupped her elbow in his hand, guiding her toward the  dance floor. "Want to take a walk on the beach, later? I heard there  were hammocks . . ."                       
       
           



       

Mike watched the two of them slip away through the crowd. The rookie's  eyes were locked on his fiancée's. Leo put up with a fair amount of  friendly ribbing over how smitten he was with Georgia, and the kid took  it like a champ. He knew he was lucky, and he didn't care what people  said.

Mike and Lauren used to have what they had-that effortless connection.

He wanted it back.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Mike began weaving through the  crowd toward Lauren. She was sipping a drink which could have been  either a gin and tonic or a club soda with lime. And she was standing a  discreet few feet from her boss, probably ready to step in and rescue  him from anyone who tried to dominate his time.

Whenever Mike was tempted to think that being a sports star was a drag,  one look at Nathan and he knew he had it easy. People liked meeting  hockey players, but they wanted things from Nate.

He zeroed in on Lauren, where she leaned against the end of the bar. He  must have worn his intensity right on his face because when she saw him  approaching her eyes got big.

"You summoned me?" he said, stopping a foot away and folding his arms across his chest.

Slowly she shook her head. "If you were summoned it was by someone else. That redhead, maybe."

He smiled because she'd noticed the redhead. That meant she'd been  watching him, too. He let his eyes drift down her body slowly. He'd  bought the dress on a whim. She'd been trying on shoes in a store, and  he'd been eating an ice cream cone outside. The color caught his eye in a  shop window. Somehow he just knew it would fit her. There wasn't any  doubt in his mind. He'd asked the startled women working there to wrap  it up.

His gaze dropped all the way down, then took a lingering path back up,  past Lauren's hips, where his hands had once enjoyed skimming the  fabric. Up to her breasts, just visible above the soft folds of the blue  silk. He leaned forward and spoke into her ear. "You summoned me by  wearing this." He let his lips just brush the shell of her ear as he  spoke.