Page 93 of Cross Check

The club is warm. The lights are low, the music is loud, and I stop to drop my outer layer at coat check. I spot Emmy sitting at a table in the corner, flanked by Maverick and Grant, and I head their way.

“Hey,” I say when I get close. Grant’s grip slips on the beer bottle he’s holding when he stares at my skirt. “Mind if I join you all?”

“Hi!” Emmy gives me a hug. “Do you want a drink?”

“Maybe a gin and tonic?” I say, and Maverick stands.

“I’ll grab it for you. I need a refresh. G-Money? Another beer?”

“Whiskey,” he croaks. “A double, please. Neat. If they’ll do a triple, I’ll take that.”

“He’s here to party.” Maverick grins. “Emmy girl. Want to join me?”

“To carry the drinks five feet from the bar to our table? Are you that dependent on me?” she jokes. “Don’t answer that. I know you are.”

“Guilty as hell,” he says, holding out his hand. “I really just want to make out with you.”

When they disappear, Grant swallows a sip of his beer then pats the spot next to him on the leather bench.

“Want to sit?” he asks.

“Please. I love my heels, but I’ve been standing all day. My feet need a break.” I drop in the empty seat and give him a grateful smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” His throat bobs. There’s a flash of heat behind his gaze when he moves his attention from my feet up to my thighs. “I love your heels too, by the way. I like how tall they make you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Pure honesty. A hand scrubbing over his jaw. “Tall women are my kryptonite.”

“Careful, Everett.” I lean closer. “You’re not supposed to tell me your weaknesses.”

“The drinking has my tongue loose, I guess.” He taps my knee, and my skin ignites under the warmth of his palm. “How was your clinic with Emmy?”

“Amazing. The girls were eager to learn and ask questions. Emmy and I have a platform, but sometimes I forget about my influence until I see it in real time. Does that make sense?”

“It does. You’re not always around young girls to give them advice. When you are, you see firsthand how important your position is.”

“That’s exactly right. I’m glad you get it.”

“I totally do. What about the rest of the weekend? Are you having fun?”

“Between the clinic and watching the game tonight as a fan, I’d give it a solid eight out of ten.”

“An eight?” Grant frowns. “What do we have to do to get the night to a ten?”

“I don’t know.” I reach for his beer, finishing what’s left of the drink. He tracks my movements, his mouth parting with a rough exhale when I lick a rogue drop from my upper lip. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

“I’m going to do my best.” His eyes rake over my outfit, from my short skirt to the jewelry I left on after we talked yesterday. “Am I allowed to tell you that you look beautiful?”

He’s leaving the decision up to me, and I glance at the people in the club.

No one is paying attention to what’s going on around them. No phones, no cameras. Everyone a little less guarded with a drink or two in their hands. It’s like the league collectively agreed tonight is an excuse for debauchery, and that means I’m allowed to indulge too. For an hour or so, I’m allowed to be called nice names.

“I won’t argue with you if I do,” I say.

“Better take advantage of it,” Grant says. He rests his hand on the cushion between us. He fans his fingers out, pinky grazing along the hem of my skirt. I blink, and the touch is gone far too soon. “You’re stunning, Amelia.”

It’s not the first nice thing he’s said to me. There’s been comments in the past that have been edged with an extra layer of softness, but tonight he’s earnest about it. Unabashed with the slow look at my hair that tumbles past my shoulders in loose waves. Appreciative in the top of my thigh highs he sees when I shift on the leather.