Page 9 of Pucked In Vegas

When I return a few minutes later, she's staring at her phone, laughing and shaking her head. The sound catches me off guard, completely different from the careful, measured way she's been talking to me.

I set her martini down in front of her. Dirty, three olives, exactly like the last one. Four. Whatever. I've lost count.

"What's so funny?" I ask, sliding back into my seat with my crisp, cold beer.

She glances up, tucking her phone away. "My friends are being ridiculous, sending me messages."

"Good ridiculous or bad ridiculous?"

"The kind of ridiculous that happens when your friends think you need to let loose." She pauses, looking at the drink I've set before her. Her eyes flick up to mine, something new in them. "You know my order."

I shrug, playing it cool despite the fact I've been watching her for the last hour.

"Three olive dirty martini. Not exactly rocket science."

She takes a sip, studying me over the rim of her glass. "It's not. But most guys don't pay attention to details like that."

"Guess I'm not most guys then, am I?"

She hums, but instead of answering me, she just looks me up and down as we fall into easy conversation.

And the strangest thing happens…

She doesn't ask a single question about what I do. Not my job, not my career plans, not even my last name.

Instead, she asks about my favorite Vegas restaurants, whether I prefer the mountains or the beach, if I think aliens exist.

It's... refreshing.

For once, I'm not Jackson Holt, hockey prodigy. I'm justJax, a guy in board shorts talking to a beautiful woman.

"So what exactly were your friends suggesting you do?" I ask after a while.

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, you know. The usual.'You're in Vegas! Do something crazy! Make bad decisions!'" She mimics what I assume is her friend's voice. "Apparently I need to 'live a little.'"

"Well," I say, leaning forward, "my friends and I were about to head to a nightclub. Nothing too wild, pretty low-key actually, but... you're welcome to join if you want. Maybe that would help get them off your back?"

She hesitates, those ice-blue eyes flickering with uncertainty. It's the first crack I've seen in her perfect composure all afternoon.

"I don't know..." Her voice trails off. "I'm not exactly dressed for clubbing."

She gestures at her bikini and cover-up that's been driving me wild.

Without thinking, I slide my hand across the small space between us, letting my fingers rest on her thigh. Her skin is warm and soft beneath my palm, and I feel her muscles tense beneath my touch.

Those big blue eyes widen, and I watch her pupils dilate as she stares at me.

"I think you look incredible," I say, my voice dropping lower. "But we could always swing by your room first if you want to change."

Her breath catches, and for a second, I think she might pull away. Instead, she places her hand over mine, not to remove it, but to hold it there.

"Wow. You're trouble, aren't you, Jax?" she asks, but there's a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"The best kind," I admit with a grin. "The kind you'll remember tomorrow, no matter how many martinis you drink."

She laughs then, a genuine sound that makes something warm unfurl in my chest.

"Fuck it.Okay," she says, downing the last of her drink in one graceful swallow. "Okay, I'll come. Let me go change. Text me the club details."

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