Page 97 of Turn Me On
But I won’t know till I ask him.
When the players and Adriana confer on whether they can go one more round, all my patience drains. I close the distance between Zane and me. “The bar’s open for thirty more minutes. Can you grab a drink with me?” I lower my voice, so only he can hear. “Just me.”
That should make my meaning clear.
“Sure. That’d work,” he says, but he sounds wary. Fair enough. I have to earn any chance of trust with him.
We head to the bar, leaving behind the others. “Did you get my texts?”
“No. I was listening to a podcast on the ride over,” he says.
“That’s so you,” I say with a smile. “But that’s good. This is something I should say in person.”
He doesn’t return the smile.
When we reach the bar, the bartender signals that he’ll be with us in a minute. I’m about to snag a stool when I catch a glimpse of the bocce ball stalwarts wrapping up.
I clench my fists.
There’s no time for a drink. I need to get him out of here now.
Hitting the gas, I speed up everything. “Zane,” I say, wrapping my hand around the back of the stool. My heart thumps at rock concert decibels. I’m sure he can hear it. Hell, I hope he can. “I’m sorry for walking out that morning and not coming back. I wanted to come back. I wanted to see you again. I keep replaying that day and wishing I could have done it differently,” I admit.
I feel like I can breathe again. Like I can maybe enjoy the sun again, a meal again.
Life again.
Zane looks over at me quizzically. “What do you wish you’d done differently, Maddox?”
Before I can say anything more, the footsteps grow louder. The Devils catcher, Trace, stops and claps Zane on the shoulder. “Hey, man. Can I steal your agent for a minute?” Then Trace turns to me. “I think I told you I was looking for new representation. All my guys out there said you’re the best. Would love to get a drink and talk.”
Zane’s expression is stony. He’s waiting, watching.
I’d love to work with Trace. I bet I could seal the deal tonight. But I shake my head. “Trace, I’d love to talk to you about representation sometime, but not right now,” I say, then I jump off a cliff. “I just promised Zane I’d drive him back to his hotel so that he can get some rest before the game. But I’ll reach out tomorrow.”
Trace shrugs amiably. “Tomorrow sounds great.”
A grin plays at the corner of Zane’s luscious mouth. That’s my next opening, and as Trace walks out, I set a hand on Zane’s back and tip my forehead to the door. “Come with me.”
It’s not a question. It’s a statement.
My muscles tighten once more, but this time with hope. We’re so close to making our great escape.
Despite that sliver of a smile, Zane doesn’t give in easily. He’s quiet as he runs his hand through his hair. Like he did in the New York hotel room when he was sorting out his thoughts about past dates.
I drop my voice another notch. “Do you want to know what my texts said?”
“I don’t know. Do I?”
“Yes. Because I miss you so much.”
His smile returns. He steps toward me and lifts a hand, maybe to touch me, but then he thinks the better of it, stuffing both hands into his pants pockets. Those twin moves—his desire coupled with his restraint—excite me.
“Let’s go,” he says. I’m ready to fly, but I can’t leave Adriana hanging.
“Let me just tell Adriana.” I wheel around to rush back to the patio, then I see her cutting through the bar.
She stops me, eyes full of curiosity. “I was just going to settle the final bill,” she says.