I’d been on the dance floor, which wasn’t really my thing at all, but Kristi had assured me it would be fun. I could already tell she was getting tired of trying to persuade me, so I didn’t argue. It was better than standing by the bar getting elbowed constantly, or hit on. I’d been about to call it a night when I’d spotted Lance making his way across the club with his friends. He was impossible to miss, his huge frame parting the crowd, the blacklights making his freckles glow and his hair look like flames.

Kristi had followed my gaze.

“Oh my God. Who are those guys?” she’d asked.

“They’re NHL players.” I’d rhymed off their names and Lance’s stats, because I knew them.

Kristi started screaming in my ear about how hot they were. I hadn’t paid much attention because I could only focus on my childhood crush less than fifty feet away from me.

And then I’d realized they were headed our way. I turned around, thinking it would be a great time to make an emergency trip to the bathroom, except there was no clear path off the dance floor.

“What are you doing?” Kristi grabbed my arm and looked over my shoulder. “They’re headed over here right now.”

I didn’t have a chance to answer because the next second I felt a tug on my ponytail. “I like yer hair,” a deep voice with only a hint of Scottish accent said in my ear.

I turned around to find Lance Romero standing right behind me, smiling.

In that instant I was eleven again, shoving books in my backpack after school. That lovely memory faded an instant later when I realized all of them were totally wasted, especially when Lance linked his pinkie with mine and said something about doing shots.

He shouldered his way through the crowd and pushed his way to the bar, maneuvering me into a gap that had opened up, and flagged down the bartender.

He ordered a bunch of shooters and passed them out, handing two to everyone. Knocking his glass against mine, he shot the first and then the second. I sniffed mine.

He smirked, his eyes heavy with alcohol. “You don’t think you’re gonna like it?”

“I don’t really do shots. What’s in it?” Shooters didn’t seem like the best idea when I was already tipsy.

“A bunch of stuff. You wanna know what it tastes like before you try it?” he asked.

I tilted my head to the side, unsure what he meant. But before I had a chance to answer, Kristi was yelling in my ear about how she was going to get him to take her home that night and stealing my shot.

“I’ll do hers. She doesn’t drink.” She gave Lance a simpering smile.

They did another round, and I took a tiny sip of the one Lance had handed me. I must have made a face at how strong it was, because he laughed and took it from me. He put his mouth to my ear. “You’re not a big partier, are you?”

“Not really.”

“That’s good. You look like a good girl. You can take care of me, tonight, ’kay? Make sure I don’t do anything I might regret.” He ran his fingers through my ponytail, and I felt the end of his nose touch my cheek. “What’s yer name?”

I yelled my name over the music, but it was hard to hear and he got it wrong.

“What’re you two talking about?” Kristi yelled in his ear before I had a chance to correct him.

“Hey, Romance, you gonna take a little break from your friends and order more shots, or you need me to do it for you?” Randy asked, his arm slung around Kristi’s friend Felicity’s shoulder.

Lance sucked in a breath, but lifted his head. I watched shadows pass behind his eyes as he turned to his teammate.

“Wanna get off my dick, Balls?” A sloppy grin broke across his face, and he ordered yet another round of shots, doing mine for me once again.

Kristi slid in beside him, taking my place, and I did nothing to stop her.

When he invited us back to his place, I considered going home, but Kristi had my phone and wallet in her purse, and she told me I should live a little. I could’ve insisted on getting my things from her, but my curiosity and fascination won out, and I went along for the ride.

When we got in the limo, Randy and Felicity got friendly, Kristi dropped down beside Lance, and I found out all the rumors I’d tried so hard to ignore about him were true.

CHAPTER 8

BLANK SPACES

LANCE

Usually I don’t have a problem coming home to emptiness, but tonight I don’t like it. Panic makes me jittery every time my phone pings with another message. Being alone means free time, and I could use a distraction from the forty-three text messages—it dings again; make that forty-four—currently unread on my phone.

They’re all from Tash.

Not having my phone today was a blessing because it meant I couldn’t read or respond to anything. But now that I have it back, it’s hard not to check them, though I know it won’t do me any good to read them.

I take a minute to call my agent and my publicist. Turns out the guy I got into a fight with has a record a mile long, including several charges for domestic violence, so my stepping in actually makes me look good—not bad like I expected. It makes the aches and stitches almost worth it.

I toss my phone on the kitchen counter and open the fridge. Vodka seems like a good choice. My mum used to drink a lot of vodka. She always said it was water, but then her breath smelled like rubbing alcohol. I find a glass and fill it halfway, not bothering with ice or a mix. I grab the bottle and the glass and pass through my living room to the sliding glass doors.