“She said parents,” she whispered. “Evie. At the house. When we were leaving.” She picked at the material of her dress.
“Okay?” I risked a glance at her, taking in the worried line of her mouth before focusing back on the road. Having Skye had turned me into the most defensive driver imaginable. After all, if something happened to me, what would happen to her?
“I mean, obviously you’re her dad, but I’m not…” She shook her head. “I’m not her parent.”
I scoffed, and turned right, pulling into the parking lot that was full of million-dollar sports cars. Most Reapers liked shiny toys on four wheels, and I really wasn’t an exception in that department. I’d left the new Skye-safe SUV at home and driven my Bentley tonight.
“I’m being serious.” Fiona’s tone changed, growing harder.
I pulled the car into the slot next to Briggs and put it in park. “Fiona, you’re the closest thing to a second parent that Skye has.”
“I’m just her nanny.”
And this wasn’t a date. I was sensing a pattern here, and the odds weren’t stacking up in my favor.
“Just a nanny is the last thing I would ever call you,” I said softly, turning so I could take her chin between my thumb and forefinger. She had these tiny crystals lining her eyes that only made them seem even more ethereal.
She gave me a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and motioned toward the door. “We should get in there.”
“Kiss me.” I leaned in. There was zero chance I was letting this negative energy build.
She met me halfway and offered up her mouth. I took it gently, soft, sweet, and as neatly as I could manage given the gloss that colored her lips pale pink. “That’s better.”
She grinned. “You can’t kiss me out of every somber mood, you know.”
“Try me.” I brushed my lips over hers again, then hurried out of the car, helping her with her door and dislodging her wings when they got stuck.
There was going to be glitter lodged in my leather seats and I couldn’t even bring myself to care.
“Not a date,” Fiona whispered in my ear as security ushered us inside.
“Whatever you say,” I answered, my hand resting at the small of her back. I had feelings for this woman—warm, intense, life-altering feelings, and as much as that realization had taken me out at the knees for the last week, I wasn’t backing down or running away. This was a fucking date.
The club was lit up for Halloween, complete with a spinning disco ball and black lights. The DJ had half the team on the floor with their dates, and there was a good-sized waitstaff handing out alcohol by the trayful.
“Are those jello shots?” Fiona whispered.
“Fucking rookies,” I muttered. They’d pay for it in the morning.
“There you are!” Sterling raised a beer from a corner booth, dressed up like Superman. London sat next to him in a brunette wig, clearly the Lois Lane to his Clark.
Maxim sat beside London, generally glaring at the dance floor like it had personally wronged him. Naturally, he’d forgone a costume.
“Sit!” London ordered, tapping the table.
We slid into the booth and gave our orders to a very quick waiter. I’d gone with sweet tea, the house wine of the south, and Fiona had ordered a soda. Guess we were both too nervous about leaving Skye at home to drink.
“You look amazing!” London said across the table to Fiona.
“Thanks! You too!”
The music definitely wasn’t conducive to conversation.
Making sure we were out of sight, I slid my hand onto Fiona’s thigh and rubbed my thumb in small circles.
She glanced my way quickly, but showed no other sign that I was touching her.
“A devil and an angel!” London exclaimed, smacking Sterling with the back of her hand. “Why didn’t we think of something like that! She has wings! I have a pencil skirt!”
“I think you’re hot as hell,” he stated before kissing the shit out of her.
Maxim rolled his eyes.
I slid my hand higher on Fiona’s thigh.
London had a bemused look on her face, shaking her head slightly after the kiss. “I mean, it’s just a great couple’s costume,” she said to Fiona.
“Oh, this isn’t a date.” Fiona shook her head. “We’re not a couple.”
Every head swung my direction, and I took a long sip of my tea. “Whatever she says.” I took that hand higher, grazing the juncture of her thighs.
Her lips parted and she swallowed. Hard.
Gotcha.
“Oh, look! There’s Mia!” London waved Maxim’s sister over.
She was dressed as Cher from Clueless, and Maxim glared at her hemline as she approached. “Hey, guys! I’d stay and chat, but my date is over at the bar.” She bit her lip and gave the girls a conspiratorial grin. “He’s on the Hurricanes and so fucking hot!”
“God save me from baseball players,” Maxim snarked. “Don’t do anything that’s going to make me beat his ass, okay?”
She rolled her eyes at her older brother.
Maxim glanced behind her and then to both sides, his brow wrinkling. “Where’s Evie?”
Mia raised her dark brows and looked pointedly at Fiona and me. “How do you think these two got out of the house tonight?” She blew Maxim a sarcastic kiss and took off for the bar.
“Evie’s at your house?” Maxim asked.
I nodded. “She’s babysitting.”
His shoulders relaxed a little. “Good. Then at least I only have to watch one asshole’s hands tonight.” He titled his head and glared toward the bar. “Did he really just put his hand on my sister’s ass?”
“Looked more like her lower back to me,” Fiona interrupted.
“What has you in such a foul mood?” I asked, sipping at my tea and nodding as a couple of our teammates walked by with their wives. “The night is young, you’re an NHL star, there’s a bevy of beautiful women just hoping you might actually call them back, and our record is so fucking solid that ESPN is saying—”
“NO!”
“Stop!”
Both Sterling and Maxim’s eyes flew wide.
“Don’t hex us,” Sterling muttered.
“Our record is going to turn to shit if those guys can’t take it seriously. We have to fly out tomorrow and they’re over there drinking like it’s a fucking frat party.” He motioned towards the rookies.
“Oh, to be young and not suffer horrid hangovers,” London joked.
“We’ll be fine. Stop stressing about shit you have no control over.” I pressed in on Fiona’s gown slightly and scraped my nail along the seam of her pussy.
She gasped.
Everyone looked.
“I was just thinking we should dance,” she suggested in a rush. “I love this song.”
I grinned in agreement and followed her to the dance floor, where a rapper was telling the object of his desire to call him when he wanted.
“You can’t do that,” Fiona whispered in my ear as I pulled her close and started to dance.
“Touch you? Funny, but I didn’t hear you saying anything like that this morning.” I gripped her hips and moved her with me for a beat or two before she caught on, rolling her eyes at me as pink stained her cheeks.