Dirty Score, A Rough Riders Hockey Novel(57)

He reached for the strap of her dress that had fallen off her shoulder and put it back into place, searching for the words to open that subject, while knowing there was no point.

She lifted herself off him just as the car slowed. Rafe glanced out the window for the first time, where a row of upscale shops and restaurants lined the street. Her gaze strayed the same direction as she grabbed some napkins from the bar and tossed him a few.

“Someone lined up a very haute couture sort of evening,” she said with a sassy little smile. But Rafe wasn’t feeling sassy or happy. “And with Tate and Joe on the other side of the table, I’d better put myself back into that pretty little box they expect.”

As they cleaned up, disappointment knotted in the pit of Rafe’s stomach. Once he had himself put back together, he said, “Mia…”

She pulled skimpy red lace panties from her purse and slipped them over her heels and under her skirt. That did make him smile. It also made him forget what he was going to say. Probably something they’d already talked about. Probably something their situation rendered moot.

She grinned in return and lifted her hands to her hair, shaking her the dark strands. Rafe unknotted his tie, rolled it around his hand, then slid it into his pocket while Mia collect her shiny clip again and expertly refasten her hair into a pretty bun. After a quick look in a small mirror and a dab of lip gloss, she leaned in to straighten Rafe’s collar and tame his hair.

The driver rounded the back of the car and stood at the rear door.

Rafe cupped her face. “Hey, don’t be nervous. Silver’s a really nice guy.”

Mia grinned with a flash of white teeth and a sparkle in her eyes. “I’m not nervous.” She patted his chest pocket, his side pockets, then opened her purse and dug around. “I’ve been to hundreds of these meetings over the last few years.” She clipped her purse closed and slid a pen into his front breast pocket. “I can’t believe you and Tate still leave the house without a pen when you know at least a dozen people will want autographs.” With one more look over him, she exhaled and smiled. “Okay, you’re set.”

Then she pushed the door open, and the driver took her hand, helping her to the curb.

Rafe hesitated a moment, trying to figure out the uncomfortable buzz in his gut. He felt vaguely…serviced.

Screwed. Straightened. Handed a pen for signatures.

Just as he grabbed the doorframe to step out, someone bent to look inside. Rafe leaned back and focused on the face and found Tate. Grinning.

“What the hell are you doing in here, dude?”

Rafe lifted a brow at him. “Dude?”

“We’re in California.”

Rafe laughed, planted a hand on top of Tate’s head, and pushed. “Get out.”

Damn, he wished he didn’t love this idiot so much. Or wished he loved Tate’s sister less.

When Rafe stood, he found Mia near the door to the restaurant, talking with Joe. She still took his breath away. And he wasn’t the only guy who noticed how gorgeous she looked. A group of three businessmen waiting for a cab were all staring at her. Mia either didn’t know or didn’t care. She had her arm linked with Joe’s, her smiling face turned up to his as he talked about something.

Rafe pulled his wallet from his pocket and drew out cash for the driver’s tip. He tuned in to Mia’s sweet laugh and Joe telling her some funny story about his Metro ride.

“I just talked to Tierney,” Tate said as Rafe handed the money to the driver and thanked him.

“Yeah?” he asked absently, stuffing his wallet away. He took a step toward Mia and Joe, but Tate put a hand on Rafe’s arm.

“The Hardys are in town for the playoffs.”

Rafe quickly associated the name with the liquor company, a large Rough Riders sponsor. “And?”

“And they’re hosting a concierge floor at the Marquis.” Tate’s voice rang with excitement. The Marquis was Anaheim’s version of the Four Seasons. “A floor, dude, not a suite.”

“Cool. Have fun. I’m not bailing on Mia after setting up this meeting.”

Tate stopped Rafe’s forward momentum again, and Mia glanced toward them.

“It’s not optional. Everyone is somewhere tonight.” Tate rattled off a dozen other names of team members doing their part to schmooze sponsors. “We just happened to luck out and scored the best gig. Hendrix and Tierney are already there, and the sponsors are expecting you and me to show up sometime tonight. Tierney’s been texting me pictures. The chicks are smokin’ hot.”

Rafe raised his brows at Tate. His friend had—as far as Rafe knew—been celibate since his shitty wife had bailed. “You talk as if you’re actually going to do something with one of them.”