“Anyone else?” I ask good-naturedly.
A few of the girlfriends and wives come over and dump more drinks on me with smiles, relishing the opportunity to get in on the action.
I look at the last of the wine bottle and wave it in front of Saige. “Come on. Finish me off.”
“Poor choice of words,” she says but walks toward me anyway. “You know it was childish to let them think you’ve had your way with me? That I would even sleep with you in the first place?”
“I do.”
She takes the bottle out of my hands and tips it over my head. “I’ll forgive you once, especially since you fessed up like a man.”
I hop down from the table and the bartender throws me a clean rag to wipe my hair and face. No matter what, this suit is getting dry cleaned.
I look at Saige with complete sincerity because I’m really not one of those guys. “I’m really sorry, Saige. It was never my intent, but regardless, I should’ve set the record straight as soon as I knew what they thought.”
She nods. “Thank you. I appreciate your apology.”
“Then you’ll let me buy you a drink and you’ll stay?”
“Sure.”
But as soon as she says it, the door to Carmelo’s opens, and Joran steps through. Just my luck.
Chapter Six
Saige
Aiden and I look toward the door and disappointment washes over me like all that wine just did Aiden. I shouldn’t feel let down when Joran walks through, arms raised, shouting to the team about what a great game it was.
He spots Aiden and walks over, but stops short when he sees me. “Saige?”
“Hey, Joran.” I wave like an idiot.
Joran and I are far from an exclusive couple. We’ve gone on one date and a few lunches because his schedule is so busy, so I shouldn’t feel as if I just got caught doing something I shouldn’t.
He winds his arm around my waist and kisses my cheek. “What a surprise. You were my next call. Just finished up with work stuff.”
I smile and let him touch me, but my vision shifts to Aiden, who’s intently watching Joran’s hand on my hip.
There’s no way a guy like Aiden could be jealous of Joran. They couldn’t be more opposite. Now that I know him better, I can tell that Joran is the type of guy who’s always “on” and I doubt anyone ever sees the real him. Whereas Aiden is quiet and reserved. You never know what he’s really thinking, but when he speaks, he means what he says. Those dark eyes are fixed on you, and it’s unnerving and electrifying all at once.
Joran dislodges from me and pulls Aiden into that handshake-man-hug thing guys do. “Two games in a row. I told you, you’re the man.”
Aiden looks at me over Joran’s shoulder, and I swear there’s guilt lining his face. “Thanks. It feels good to be back.”
Joran excuses himself and heads over to the bar. “Give me your best bottle of champagne.”
The waitress, who first poured the drink on Aiden and whose name tag reads Brielle, says, “Look around. This isn’t the Ritz.”
Joran puts his arm around Brielle and whispers something to make her push him off. I catch Aiden glancing at me from the corner of his eye and the entire thing makes me uncomfortable. I feel as though Joran forgot I was even here. Even if we’re not exclusive, there’s such a thing as being courteous.
“He’s just a flirt,” Aiden murmurs. “Want to grab a booth? Or go back to Tedi?” The booth where I left Tedi is vacant and Aiden must notice because he laughs. “Man, she works fast.”
“It’s her fuck-it bucket list,” I say as if it’s an excuse, but who cares? If she wants to screw Tweetie or whatever his name is, so be it. She’s a grown woman and it’s her business. “He’s a good guy?”
“He’ll take care of her,” Aiden assures me.
That’s all I need to know so that I can sleep well tonight. Not that Tedi can’t take care of herself. I’ve always admired how tough she is.
“Then do you want to sit?” He gestures to a booth.
“Sure.”
I lead the way to the same booth we were in before and slide in. Aiden is polite and sits across from me instead of sliding into the middle of the circular booth.
“Don’t you want to shower?” I ask him. He has to be sticky from all that wine.
“Nah. I’m where I want to be.”
My face heats with what I’m sure is a blush I hope the dim lighting hides.
“Well, it’s not much, but we’re celebrating.” Joran folds himself into the booth, holding three champagne glasses and a bottle.
“Hey, Brielle,” Aiden calls and holds up his beer.
She nods to say she got his order.
“I’m good, Joran, but thanks for the thought,” Aiden says. “That shit gives me a headache.”
Joran’s shoulders deflate, but he recovers quickly, pouring himself and me a glass and raising his in the air. “To whatever the hell got you back on your game.”
We clink glasses and Aiden holds his bottle up, gaze on me the entire time.
Ever feel as if you’re doing something wrong even though you’re not? Right now, I feel as though I made out with Aiden in the back hallway then came out here, but we haven’t stepped over any line. Everything between us has been strictly platonic. I owe Joran nothing, but a part of me says that I’m playing games.
“It’s me!” I blurt.
Aiden almost spits out the beer he just swallowed, his eyes wide in surprise.
“What?” Joran asks, but his phone rings and he pulls it out at the same time.
“I mean, it might not be me. I don’t believe in superstitions and I certainly don’t think I’m a part of one.”
Aiden purses his lips to stop from laughing as I try to backpedal my way out of this.
To my surprise, Joran silences his phone and sets it on the table. I’m sure I’m not the only one who sees his body tense and his eyes laser in on Aiden. “What exactly did she do to become part of a superstition?”
I throw my hands in the air. “Why does everyone in here think it’s sex?”
Is that all these hockey players think of?
“Because they’re testosterone-filled athletes,” Joran says. “Sex is usually part of the superstition—whether they can have it or not have it, who they can have it with, or whether that matters at all. Ask any player in this room and I bet each one has a superstition about it.”
I look at Aiden and he diverts his gaze, sipping his new beer Brielle just dropped off.
“Is that true?” I ask.
Aiden makes a dramatic swallow as if he’s taken by surprise. “Joran has a point, but as for me, I’ve never believed in superstitions, so…” He shrugs.
I swivel around in the booth, looking over the guys and spot who will tell me the truth. “Ford!”
“Wrong person to ask,” Aiden mumbles.
Ford comes over and slides in next to Aiden, making Aiden slide closer to me, which means his knee brushes against mine. I ignore the tingles rushing up my leg.
Ford asks, “What’s up, sweet thing?”