"How about her?" he asks, pointing to a buxom woman with curly hair. "Her tits are about to pop out of that dress. She’s looking for a hookup."
I shake my head. "Not my style."
He keeps doing this, pointing out women he assumes are up for an easy pickup. I keep responding the same way, with total disinterest, until he finally shrugs and heads out on the dance floor with Mikhail and two young women looking to party. I stand at the railing, watching the crowd and nursing the same beer I started with. I wonder how many minutes I should stand here before I can go because I probably look creepy as fuck hanging out, staring into the crowd. I shouldn't have ever come with them tonight. This totally isn’t my thing.
I head to the upper deck, hopefully where I won’t look so awkward. There are several people up there, some already hot and heavy in the booths along the wall. I stand along the edge, watching the crowd below, when a blonde captures my attention.
I think that’s—could it be Talia? Damn. Yes, she’s totally Talia Wentworth.
She stands at the edge of the dance floor, much like I did just moments ago. In skinny, leather pants and a sleeveless, flowy top showing off her creamy skin, she looks…really hot. Exactly my type if anyone's asking.
Her thick glasses rest on her face, which is probably the only reason I recognize her, because she isn’t in her stiff work-wear. Her hair flows long and wavy around her shoulders, bright in the flashing club lights.
Wow, Talia is incredibly gorgeous tonight. I don’t like the thought of feeling attracted to someone I need to have a professional relationship with, but I can’t help it. And I can't look away.
She stands alone, gripping a beer bottle and swaying to the music as she watches someone on the dance floor. I follow her gaze to see a young woman, gyrating against some random guy, trying to wave her out to the floor to join them. Talia just laughs and shakes her head.
I watch her for the length of two songs, trying to decide if I should go down and talk to her. I mean, this is a club. It’s outside the boundary of our professional relationship. She’s probably out to have a good time or hook up or whatever. Another song and at least two guys try to talk to her. Her posture is awkward, and I can tell she’s either embarrassed or shy or not interested. Both guys walk away empty-handed, a fact which makes me irrationally happy.
Since I’ve now been staring at her for four songs, I decide I should just go down and say hello, rather than looking like a serial killer up in the balcony. I head back down the stairs, running into Tyler at the edge of the dance floor near where I last saw him. He’s got a woman on each arm and Mikhail trails closely behind with another.
"One for each of us," Tyler says proudly.
My gaze is still focused on Talia across the room. Tyler’s eyes narrow and he nods. "Okay. More for me, then. Quit being a fuckin' creeper and go talk to her."
Tyler's got a point.
So as their little group wanders off to do whatever they can get away with in a public club, I decide to take the long walk over to talk to my sexy obsession.
Sixteen
Talia
Girls Who Wear Glasses
This is a disaster. I feel stupid, all dressed up in Parker’s slutty clothes.
I’ve never been a good dancer. My limbs always felt too long, too out of control. I never learned to move my body the right way and besides, this house music is crazy. People who can dance look stupid out there, so I know I would just up the idiot-quotient by a gajillion points.
Also, I’ve been hit on three times and all three guys made opening comments about girls who wear glasses. Ugh. Get original, dudes.
Parker comes off the dance floor with a huge smile on her face. She’s a natural beauty, tall and lithe. As an actual dancer, she puts everyone to shame on the dance floor, but her beauty doesn’t hurt either. She’s got sleek, dark blonde hair, high cheekbones, perfect lips.
"You’re all cute over here, looking like a total hottie, and I’ve seen you turn away three decent-looking dudes. How are you supposed to meet anyone if you refuse to talk to people?"
"I feel like an imposter," I say with a shrug. "Plus, all those dudes used basically the same line on me."
"Girls who wear glasses?"
"Ugh…yes."
"Lame. Well, the guy I was dancing with was totally hot. I guess he does sound and stuff? for the big acts who come in for concerts."
"Sounds like an interesting job." I try to sound engaged but I couldn't care less to be honest.
"I mean, it’s hard to talk with the music blaring. He could really move." Parker fans herself and looks around, a big smile on her face.
"Well you should go find him, then. Talk to him, Parker."
"What about you?"
"I’d rather just go home and order a pizza."
"What a party pooper."
"But when have you ever known me to be otherwise?"
"Well," she says, a sly grin on her face, "you can go if you want, but there’s a big, hot-looking dude over there who’s been eyeballing you for quite some time. I think he might be disappointed to see you leave."
I look and my heart does a little bounce inside my chest. It’s Boris. I catch his eye but he looks down. If the lighting was better, I’d swear he was blushing.
Still, I’m really glad to see a familiar face. "That’s my hockey client!"
"Well no wonder you’re crushing on your puck-money dude. Holy hell, he’s the freaking poster boy for hot athletes."
I laugh at her name for Boris. "That's hilarious, Parker. Puck-money dude. I guess it's a pretty accurate descriptor though. Should I go say hi to him?"
"Yes, yes, you should." Her tone is salacious. "I’m gonna go find my hot dancing hunk, too. Text me if you leave."
"What about you?"
"I’ll do the same."
She gives me a hug before slinking off toward the bar. Me? I put one foot in front of the other and take the few steps over to Boris because I'm fatalistic like that and gravitate toward awkward situations like the nerd I was born. At this point in my life I've just given up and owned it. I'm never going to be any different.
"Hey." Yes, you just sounded as painfully embarrassed as you're thinking you did.
"Hey yourself. I saw you earlier." Smooth as silk. No awkwardness at all coming off of him. How? How does he do it?
"Earlier?"
"I mean, I thought I might talk to you earlier." He clears his throat and rubs his hand over his stubbled chin. Which, by the way, yum.
"Why didn’t you?"
"I was upstairs, and you were downstairs."
"Well, I suppose that would make it hard to talk."
A silence settles between us as I mull over the fact Boris must have been watching me from the balcony.
"I also did not want it to seem weird," he blurts unexpectedly. "I'm your client and you're out on your free time."
"It’s not like you planned to talk business, though, right?"
"I suppose not." He shrugs a shoulder and takes a sip of his beer.
"So, you did plan to talk business?
"No." Only the music fills the space between us for another minute. "I saw you kick a few guys to the curb."
So he was watching me for quite some time. Interesting. Does that mean he was too nervous to come over to say hi? I shouldn’t overanalyze it, right?
"I was…they weren’t my type, I guess? I mean, I wasn’t interested."
"Did they ask you to dance?"
"They, um, used bad pickup lines. I didn’t let them get far enough to ask me to dance. Also, I mean, I’m not really a very good dancer anyway, so…"
"That doesn’t matter. If you’d like, we could…"
"I don’t really know how," I say, giving what I think is an apologetic look. "I’ll look like an idiot."
"Everyone looks stupid when they dance." Boris gives me a cute, dimpled, lopsided grin. "I’m big. I can shield you from view." He holds out a hand. "Come on, dance with me."
"I can’t promise I
won’t step on your toes or embarrass you."
"I am not easily embarrassed, Talia."
I look up and am struck by the stark gorgeousness of a hard-stubbled jawline, and the soft lips, and the liquid brown eyes that look exactly like melted chocolate. It does beg the question… Where are the hordes of women who I know would love to be hanging from his muscular frame right now? In this club—where hookups are negotiated (or occurring) every minute of every hour this place is open for business. Did he send them away because he's into men instead? If so, he's probably in the wrong club tonight. But I've never felt that vibe from Boris even slightly, so if he is gay, I'm way off base. Anyway, I might never get the chance to dance with a guy this beautiful ever again. And besides all the hotness he has going on, he’s also sweet. A gentleman. This will be nice. Or, as nice as me dancing will ever get, I suppose.
"Okay." I still feel reluctant, but I put my hand into his anyway, allowing him to lead me out onto the dance floor.
We find a spot along the wall and, as promised, Boris stands with his back to the crowd, acting as a shield to give me an illusion of privacy. I start to move, trying to loosen up and get my limbs under control. Boris can keep a beat. I suppose all that skating is often like a dance of sorts, so I’m not surprised he can move. He gives me that little lopsided grin of his and a thumbs-up.
I lift my shoulders and cringe.
"Just close your eyes and feel the beat," he says over the music.
I take a deep breath in through my nose and give a short nod. Closing my eyes, it takes a minute to get past the worry that people might be looking at me. Eventually, though, I catch the beat, my body moving. I just let go, then, lost in the sound. I dip and sway, and when I open my eyes, Boris is staring at me, his eyes dark and intense. Holy ever—loving hell, he is sex on legs. Does he even know?
I feel emboldened by the expression on his face, for some reason, so I drape an arm over one of his shoulders. Suddenly, our bodies are moving together, his hand on my hip. His knee is between my legs as we move, and I can’t stop thinking about how I wish it was his hand between my legs. Our eyes are locked and there is an odd energy connecting us, moving us. I’ve never felt so . . . sensual before. In tune. Alive.
We stay like that for what seems like forever, my free hand moving to his solid chest. The man feels like a stone sculpture. Christ. What must all those muscles look like under that white, button-down shirt?
My heart beats frantically in my chest. I’m sweating and thirsty, but I just want to keep touching this man.
Still, he’s a client and I made a rule. This needs to stop.
As the song ends, I back away. "I’m hungry," I announce. "And thirsty."
Boris backs off, nodding. He looks away and I think he’s blushing again. "Do you want to get a bite?"
"Let me tell my friend. I’ll meet you outside?"
Boris nods again and shoves his hands in his pockets. I’m pretty sure he stands right there where I left him, watching me walk away, but I’m too scared to turn around and find out.
Seventeen
Boris
TO CROSS OR NOT TO CROSS?
The fresh air outside of the club is a relief and I grab onto the opportunity to get myself under control. Dancing with Talia was very hot. Hot enough to make my cock wake up and start demanding attention. If we’d kept going, I would've been totally hard which would have been horrifying. And if she’d leaned in any closer, she would have felt it. Felt what she does to me.
Now I just feel nervous. Did she realize I was so turned-on by her? Is that why she stopped so abruptly? Maybe her announcement she was hungry was just a reason to get rid of me. It seemed like she was as into the dancing as I was, as into me as I was into her. Still, we both know this is a line we shouldn’t cross.
It was impossible not to focus on our bodies together. Her breasts rubbing against my chest, my leg between her legs, my hand on her hip, her hand on my chest.
Shake it off. Shake it off, fucker.
I wait five minutes and she doesn’t come. Was I a creep? Was it too forward to ask her to dance?
Another five minutes and I’m positive she’s ditched me. I deserve it, of course. I crossed a line with her. Shit. Now I'll have to face her at her office. I’ll have to begin with an apology. And be prepared to grovel because I need her help with my fucked-up financials. I don’t want to lose her expertise. I should've just left her alone to her evening. She just looked so incredibly sexy and gorgeous standing—
"Hey," a voice says to my right.
I turn and there she is, all white-blonde hair and creamy skin. Her cheeks are pink, flushed. My mind immediately goes to inappropriate wondering where else she might be blushing.
"There you are," I say, my voice more hoarse than usual. Maybe she’ll think it’s from the smoke in the club and not because I’m thinking filthy thoughts about her. I clear my throat and ask, "What kind of food are you in the mood for?"
"Would pizza be okay?"
"Perfect choice."
We start walking, neither of us really sure where the nearest pizza place might be. Talia pulls out her phone and does a map search, and we follow the little dot until we find a greasy-looking pizza shop.
At the counter, Talia orders a small pepperoni pizza and a large soda and then turns to me and says, "What are you having?"
A barking laugh escapes my throat, which makes Talia grin broadly. She looks young, sweet. I want to kiss her so badly.
Pizza, right. Order some fucking pizza, creep! Get your head back on your shoulders.
I manage to order my own pizza and another beer (my third of the night) and pay, pleased that she's let me this time. She fills her soda cup at the machine before grabbing seats at a high-top table.
"Can you really put down a whole pizza by yourself?" I ask, curious. "Never mind. I saw you eat that hamburger as big as your head. I know the answer already."
She smiles prettily up at me but stays quiet.
"So, what was it like to go to college so young?" I ask, genuinely curious. She's done a great deal for someone so young.
"It was fine. I mean, I was always really focused. I spent a lot of time studying and did a few extracurriculars. I lived in the dorms the entire four years, so I never had that off-campus experience."
"Not a lot of partying for you?"
"Not really," she answers. "I wasn’t old enough to drink for most of it and I was terrified I’d get in trouble. I got shit-faced a few times, but nothing to write home about."
"No boyfriends?"
"A few, but nothing serious."
"Do you have a boyfriend now?"
Talia’s responding grin is flirtatious. "Nope."
"That’s good," I say as our eyes meet. There’s bit of a nervous flop in my stomach jarring me back to reality. I look away and ask her another question instead. "Is pizza your favorite food?"
"All food is my favorite food," she says. "Pizza ranks pretty high, though. You?"
"I like it a lot, too."
"Well, we have that in common, then."
"I was worried you were not going to come out of the club earlier," I admit. "I thought maybe I'd…gone too far. That I’d crossed a line." Please say no. Please tell me I didn’t.
"I was the one humping your leg. I'm pretty sure I should be apologizing to you."
I try to hide the grin threatening to split my face. Talia Wentworth is so interesting to me. Awkward and shy, yet such a mouth on her. She’s so direct sometimes. It’s refreshing and frightening at the same time.
"I didn’t mind at all. I…liked it. Probably too much."
Talia bites her lip then turns away, hiding her face with her hair. When she turns back to me, the subject changes. "So, how are things with Ally?"
"We haven’t had time to meet yet."
"Boris, what the hell? How are you supposed to get organized if you don’t utilize the person you hired to help you get organized?" Talia is even more beautiful when she's annoyed.
"Well, I'm not used to the idea of having an assistant. But I promise you, I’ll call her tomorrow and find time, though."
"You’d better," Talia says, pointing her finger at me. "If you want me to manage her tasks, I can do that."
"No, you’ve done enough. More than is probably normal. Thank you. I promise to call."
Thankfully the pizza arrives and interrupts the Ally conversation.
Thank God. Because I can’t tell Talia that despite feeling nothing but uncomfortable when Ally hugged me, I felt desperate for more of Talia in that club. As if I was starving for her touch. Starving for time with her.
And now I get to watch Talia eat, which is entertainment in and of itself as she takes big bites of pizza and goes to town on her small pepperoni. I’m utterly fascinated. Because the pizza is sizzling hot…to which she appears oblivious as she shovels bites in. Also, where does all that food go? She’s thin—her body is perfect, from what I can tell. I just don’t know where the calories go.
After eating two slices in the time it takes mine to cool to a reasonable temperature, Talia takes a long drink of her soda. She covers her mouth and burps into her hand, audible enough that I can clearly hear it.
"Sorry, my bad." She giggles and blushes at the same time.
"That was kind of epic though. Almost as good as one of my hockey teammates could do."
"I feel very accomplished, then," she answers, grinning sexily.
I'm transfixed.
Also fucked…
* * *
The night air is crisp, and the brief break in temperature is appreciated as we walk. I insisted on walking Talia home, since it’s now very late, and the people still out and about on the sidewalks are probably very drunk.
"I forgot to tell you, I tried calling your investment guys in Russia," she says.
"Oh?"
"Yeah, some guy named Tolya? Vlad was his usual weird and cryptic self when he called to give me his name and number. Then when I got this Tolya guy on the line, he told me to keep my nose where it belongs. I’m pretty sure he was really telling me to fuck off in so many words."
Puck Money: A Hockey Love Story Page 9
