Dirty Score, A Rough Riders Hockey Novel(58)

Tate smacked Rafe in the chest. “Shut the hell up. We’re going. And maybe I will.”

“Fine.” He took another couple of steps. “When this meeting is over, I’ll catch up—”

“No, man.” Tate stopped him again. “The party’s been going for an hour. You wait until the meeting with Silver’s over and everyone who matters is going to be so hammered, they aren’t going to even remember you were there.”

“Then it’s not worth going at all, is it?”

“I told you, this isn’t optional—”

“It’s okay.” Mia’s voice pulled Rafe’s attention. She wore a cardboard smile and fluttered a hand toward them. “Go do your thing. Have fun. I’ll make your excuses.”

His stomach dropped to his feet. “Mia—”

“Silver knows all about sponsors,” she said. “He’ll understand, but you should go before he comes. Otherwise, he’ll trap you in conversation and all the hottest girls will be snapped up. I’m going to turn in early, so kick ass tomorrow, guys.”

That phrase hammered Rafe in the gut. The same phrase she’d left on the dresser when she’d bailed on him in the hotel their first night.

“And Rafe?” This time her smile was authentic. She tipped her head in that sweet way that made his stomach ache, and gestured toward the restaurant. “Thanks for this.”

Then she disappeared inside with Joe.

And all Rafe could do was clench his teeth, stuff his fisted hands into the pockets of his blazer, and rail silently.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.





13





Now that the meeting with Silver was behind her, Mia could focus on her future.

She watched the taxi ease toward her at the hotel’s entrance, trying to keep her mind off Rafe by worrying about her attire. She smoothed the fabric of her long, wrap-around skirt, muttering, “God I hoped I’m not underdressed.”

Aaron had said California casual. But for someone who’d never even been to the state, California casual meant nothing. Now, standing at the curb, she was worried the halter top with lace from the A-line to her navel was too revealing. And the clingy fabric of her skirt with sandals might be pushing it, even for a California beachside bar. She was going to be meeting her future coworkers, and first impressions were important.

But the cab was here, so she exhaled and tried to release the stress lying heavily in the pit of her stomach. Her mind veered back to Rafe. She was disappointed that he wasn’t coming, but after watching him leave the night before with Tate for an impromptu-but-mandatory night surrounded by quality booze and puck bunnies, she knew it was best. She gave the “love him while you can” method a go. But she hadn’t slept when she’d returned to the hotel. And she knew Rafe and Tate hadn’t returned until the early morning hours because she’d talked to Joe at two a.m. when he’d texted with Have you heard from the boys?

She was doing the right thing, easing Rafe back where he belonged—out of her life and into his own. He’d played another great game, the perfect kick-start to the final playoffs. He should be out celebrating with his team, not acting like her security blanket.

But as the taxi slid into place at the curb, Mia had to accept that the nerves strung tight across her shoulders wouldn’t be loosening up until she suffered through introductions at the party on her own and got a few drinks in her. Or maybe not until she’d moved into Danielle’s apartment. Or until she’d found her local grocery store, gym, gas station, and Starbucks.

A young valet leaned in and smiled as he opened the door. “Here you go, miss. Do you need directions or recommendations tonight?”

Yes, she needed step-by-step directions on how to go back in time and unsleep with a man. She also needed recommendations on how to find and live on a remote island where no one had ever heard of the game of hockey.

“No,” she said, returning his smile, “thank you.”

She gave the driver the address of the bar in Long Beach where the crew was meeting, then settled back in the seat.

Before the valet had even closed the door, she was struck by how very different this situation was from the night before. Memories of her fairy-tale-like ride just twenty-four hours ago made a melancholy smile turn her lips.

“Mia!” Rafe’s voice pulled her attention back just before the door closed on a click.

She sat there a long second, unsure whether to respond or ignore him.

Rafe made the decision for her when he opened the door, a look of complete confusion on his face. “What are you doing? I thought we were going together.”

He was wearing what he usually wore into the stadium on game day—a charcoal-gray suit and a crisp white button-down, minus the tie. His freshly showered scent drifted in and teased Mia’s nose. And, damn, she hated seeing him so soon after a game. His hair was still wet, his face still flushed, his eyes still sparkling from all that adrenaline. Heat stirred between her legs.