Page 31 of Your Biggest Downfall
I nodded and Austin reached out as he walked toward me. The moment his hand touched mine, a jolt of electricity shot through me. His grip was firm yet gentle, his fingers warm and reassuring. It felt like he was anchoring me to him. The sensation of his skin against mine sent a flutter through my chest, and I sucked in a sharp breath.
As we wound our way through the crowd, his hand never left mine. It was a simple gesture, but it made me feel incredibly wanted and secure.
We reached the bar, and I ordered a drink. Just as I was about to say something, a guy came up to Austin and tapped him on the shoulder. Austin turned around, his hand reluctantly slipping from mine. The brief contact had been enough to light a fire within me, and even though his attention was momentarily elsewhere, the warmth of his touch lingered, leaving me yearning for more.
“After tonight’s loss . . . a little bump . . . fuck . . .”
I couldn’t quite make out the guy’s words, but I didn’t recognize him from work.
When the bartender set my drink down, I grabbed my can and slid around Austin. His hand went to my lower back, pulling me possessively to his side.
Austin looked between the guy and me. “Wanna learn how I like to escape in the offseason?” he asked.
My brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t get it?”
I eyed the guy who had tapped Austin on the shoulder. He had a put-together appearance, with slicked-back brown hair that hung just above his eyes, and he was wearing a polo andjeans. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and a faint smirk played on his lips. He was like one of those prep boys I only saw in British movies.
Austin leaned in close, and his warm breath fanned against my ear as he whispered, “Do you trust me?”
I should have absolutely no reason to trust Austin Hart, but I did, so I nodded. There was something about it—a camaraderie like we both somehow understood the same things in a way.
Austin grabbed my hand again, and I held my seltzer in the other as we followed the guy toward the back of the bar. Occasionally he’d look back at me as we wove through the throng of people. His smile was affectionate as we got to a dark corner of the club right outside what looked like an office.
The guy pushed open the door, and sure enough, there was a small desk in the middle of the room with an old wooden chair in front of it. No one else was in here, and piles of disheveled papers littered the floor.
I whispered, which felt silly because it was only the three of us in the room, “What’re we doing in here?”
The corners of Austin’s lip furled into a smile as he let go of my hand, grabbed his wallet from his pocket, and pulled out a hundred.
“Thanks, man,” Austin said, and the guy passed him what looked like white... baking powder stuffed inside a sandwich baggy?
No. It couldn’t be. Panic swelled inside me, making my heart race. I shifted uneasily on my feet, wishing I was wearing pants or jeans so I could shove my hands into the pockets—a habit when I felt uncomfortable. I wanted to curl up into a ball and run away from this whole situation.
I took a step backward, my mind reeling. Not only were we trespassing in a private office, but now Austin Hart, America’s hockey star, was illegally in a bar about to do drugs.
From a PR standpoint, this was a disaster. My logical side screamed that I needed to get far, far away from here. This was messy, and I didn’t do messy. My entire life was already a shit show, and I didn’t need to get involved in this... Whatever the hellthiswas. My instincts were in overdrive, urging me to get out before everything spiraled further out of control.
“Thanks, man,” the brown-haired guy said to Austin as he shook his hand. He walked toward the door and gave me a little nod. “Have fun” was all he said as he left, closing the door behind him.
I slowly turned around to face Austin, who was oblivious to my panic. In fact he’d taken some of the powder from the bag and his credit card from his wallet and was making a nice little neat line on the table.
I closed the distance between us, grabbed his shoulders, and pulled him so his face was in front of mine.
“What the fuck, Austin?”
He didn’t move, but when my words registered, he chuckled. “I’ve been doing this since I was fifteen, Supernova. I only do it during the offseason.”
“Why me?” I asked.
“Because I wanted you here tonight...” He tilted his head, and whispered, “With me.”
A battle was going on inside me—a raging war, so to speak. The logical part of me knew I should walk away. This was someone who was clearly not in the right state of mind. But my illogical side, the one that was attracted to Austin and cared for him, wanted to know his reasoning—his why for doing this.
“I don’t get it.” I threw my hands in the air as he shoved the little bag in the back pocket of his jeans.
But it didn’t escape me that he still held the credit card, and the line of white powder was still on the desk.
“You do, though, Nova. I’m so fucking tired of living here and constantly chasing something. I just had the worst game of my career, and the pressure to perform is crushing me.”
