Page 7 of Pucked In Vegas

She ends her call abruptly when she notices me standing there, those blue eyes widening slightly as they travel down my chest. The heat in her gaze sends blood rushing south, and I'm suddenly very aware of how little my swim trunks hide.

"I think these belong to you," I say, holding out the sunglasses.

Her fingers brush mine as she takes them, and that simple touch sends electricity shooting up my arm.

"Thanks," she says, her voice soft and warm.

I'm frozen for a heartbeat, my hand extended between us like some kind of bridge I'm not sure either of us should cross.

Madison's voice echoes in my head—low profile, nothing stupid—along with a highlight reel of every hockey prodigy who blew their shot before they even got drafted.

One week.

This woman… She's exactly the kind of beautiful distraction that could complicate everything. And for that reason, I should walk away. Should head back to my boys, drink my beer, and keep my head down until draft day.

But there's something about her that pulls at me.

The way she's trying so hard to look like she's got it all together when I can see the cracks. The way she knocked back those drinks like she's trying to drown something. The slight tremble in her fingers when she took the sunglasses.

I watch her smile up at me, this slow curve of her lips that makes my chest tight. She's waiting for me to say something more, to make a move.

My boys are hollering something from across the pool deck, but their voices fade to background noise. Madison is probably having a coronary watching me right now.

Fuck it.

I'm not asking for her life story. Not asking for anything that'll end up splashed across social media in a months time.

Just a name. Just a moment of being twenty-two and alive in Vegas with a beautiful woman looking at me like I'm more than just a hockey stick with legs.

"I'm Jax."

I don't add the rest. Don't tell her I'm Jackson Holt, top NHL prospect. Don't mention the draft or Iron Ridge or any of it.

For once, I just want to be a guy meeting a girl at a pool, not a walking highlight reel with expectations strapped to his back.

She smiles. This time it's a real smile that finally reaches her eyes… and wow. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

She takes my hand without letting go. "Nice to meet you,Jax."

Her collar shifts as she leans forward, the oversized shirt gaping just enough to reveal the soft curve of her cleavage.Plentifulcleavage.

She gestures to the empty chair beside her, a casual flick of her wrist that somehow manages to be both dismissive and inviting.

"You can sit... if you're not going to sell me anything."

I drop into the chair, stretching my legs out and crossing them at the ankles.

"Not selling a thing," I promise, looking sideways while trying to hardest to be discreet.

She's got her legs stretched out, long and smooth and bare. One knee bent. The golden afternoon light catches on her skin, making it glow like honey.

I try not to stare and absolutely fail.

"I've had enough sales pitches this week to last a lifetime." She takes another sip of her drink, and I notice the slight flush on her cheeks, the relaxed set of her shoulders.

She's drunk enough to be warm and loose, but not drunk enough to be sloppy.

It's the perfect amount.

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