Page 101 of Hot Puck
“No. I want the rough edges. The rawness of the morning after a big win and celebration.” She smiles. “I plan to grab a few words with all the guys tomorrow.”
“Okay. But maybe start with the one you’re sleeping with.”
“Come on, you.” Beckett tugs her toward the door. “No more work tonight.”
Once they’re through the door, I say, “Thanks again. See you both later.” And when it closes behind them, I take a deep breath and turn to face the room.
Beckett mistaking my room for Chase’s shouldn’t be an issue, it’s not like I have to sleep in the main bedroom. But it does offer a logistical problem when it comes to me showering and getting ready for bed.
All my toiletries are in the bathroom attached to the room Chase is currently in. I could pack everything up. Move it over to the other bathroom. My clothes too.
Except I don’t have the energy for that. All I want is a quick rinse off before slipping on my comfy pjs and climbing into bed.
Checking the door is locked, my gaze sweeps the room and lands on the bottle of champagne I’m assuming the hotel delivered after our win.
I didn’t order any and while I refrained from having a celebratory drink tonight, I no longer need to beon. I no longer need to be the in-charge owner and GM. Here, in the privacy of my suite, I can drink from the bottle if I want.
That thought brings a smile to my face.
When was the last time I drank wine from anything other than a glass? College?
The small rebellion against manners holds an appeal I don’t want to resist. And I’m already walking over the table where the ice bucket is.
There’s a couple of glasses beside the stainless-steel tub stamped with the hotel’s logo, a puddle of condensation spreading out from its base. And the ice has long since melted, making me think it’s been here a few hours. At least. But when I pull the bottle from its water bath, it’s still ice cold.
With practiced ease, I remove the wrapper and pop the cork. It shoots up, bounces off the ceiling and lands somewhere on the other side of the couch. The sound echoes through the room and my eyes dart across to the open doorway I can see Chase through.
He doesn’t stir and a rush of air leaves me, making me laugh at myself.
What does it matter if he wakes?
It’s not like I’m doing something I’m not allowed to do.
I’m an adult. I’m thirty-fucking-five. If I want to drink champagne from a bottle, I can.
I will.
It can be a belated birthday celebration for myself. Chase’s isn’t the only birthday I overlooked. Candace’s is the only one we acknowledged and had a cake and presents for.
Lifting the cold glass to my lips, I tip it up and relish the burst of bubbles on my tongue. And because obviously I’m doing all the things polite society would frown upon, I guzzle the cool liquid instead of sipping.
I’ve never been a huge fan of champagne. It reminds me too much of my childhood and the man who insisted on strict rules that were appropriate for our station in life.
Shuddering, I repress the memories that threaten to fill my head.
Albert Redding is dead. He can’t do anything else to ruin my life. Unless I let his memory, the restrictions he placed on me, continue to dictate what I do—how I behave.
“Nope. Not happening.” And I take another slug from the bottle to prove my point then grin. “I answer to no one but me.”
The emotions flowing through my veins along with the bubbles of champagne, are freeing.
For years I was forced to toe the line. My whole life, even before my parents died, was what my grandfather dictated—demanded. As much as I loved my father, he had no spine when it came to his own father.
Our lives were ruled by a man who cared for nobody but himself. His own flesh and blood no more than property he ruled over with an iron fist.
Until college.
Until I met three women who changed my life in ways I never could have dreamed of. The memories of those years rush in and I let them.
