Page 43 of Play Dirty

“Watching me make out with another guy is kind of fun, right?” She’s teasing and I chuckle.

“I don’t know if fun is the word, but I’m not mad.”

A tiny bit jealous maybe, but not mad.

“He’s actually very nice,” she says. “And really funny. There was one part where he was supposed to be whispering in my ear and he started rapping the ABC’s. We had to do the take four times because I couldn’t stop laughing.”

Good to know there are celebrities out there who don’t take themselves too seriously.

“How much longer do you think this will go on?”

“Oh, we haven’t even done the fight scene yet. Then there will be the me-taking-care-of-him after the fight scene. Then we’ll be done.”

“You weren’t kidding that we might be here all night.”

“Nope.”

“Well, I’m in. This is kind of fascinating for me so I’ll try not to be in the way.”

“Nah. You’re fine. They might even ask you to be an extra. They want the club to be full of people.”

“Whatever you need.”

Our eyes lock, and I can’t quite decipher the level of indecision in hers.

What is it that makes her pull back whenever we have a moment like this?

I don’t believe it’s something I’ve done, and I’m positive she likes me—why else am I here—which means there’s something in her past giving her pause. Whether it’s about me specifically or all men in general, I don’t know, but I’m not going anywhere until I find out.

My mom made me realize that I’m kidding myself if I don’t admit that I want to see what we might be as a couple, but now I somehow have to convince Stevie of that too.

“You okay?” I ask after a moment when we stare at each other without moving.

“Just trying to figure out why you’re here,” she says finally.

“Don’t you want me here?”

“I do, but…” She turns her head as someone calls her name. “I’ve got to get my makeup touched up—I’ll be back.”

“Not going anywhere.” I watch her hurry off to a room in the back where I lose sight of her so I head to the bar, which appears to be open. I get a draft beer and then turn, taking in my surroundings.

I’ve never been to this club before, it’s not really my scene, but it’s nice. The floors are faux marble, with glass, mirrors and crystal chandeliers everywhere. The seating area is full of plush velour seating in shades of red and black, and the bars are black and chrome. The VIP area upstairs looks like it’s even more high-end, and I see a good selection of liquor behind the bar.

It had to cost a pretty penny to rent the place out for the night, and it’s interesting to see some of the people milling about. I recognize a couple of local professional basketball players, a few actors, and a retired football player. Those are just the faces I recognize—there are probably more celebrities, but I don’t know them.

This is Stevie’s world, though. At least a small part of it. She may not know the guests and extras invited to fill the club, but this is part of her life.

I’m a pro athlete, but hockey doesn’t usually have the high profile faces that other sports have, and I personally tend to keep to myself outside the rink. I’ve always been focused on my family, close friends, and making sure my kids have all the love and attention they need. There’s never been room for clubbing beyond the occasional bachelor party or red carpets or any of it.

But if I want to date Stevie, those things might be inevitable.

And I can’t help but wonder if a guy like me would fit in.

* * *

Stevie works all night.

Literally.

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