Page 103 of Oh, Puck!
"That's exactly right," Coach says. "Welcome to professional sports. Now get your five-holes moving out the goddamn door."
We land back in Beachside just before sundown, and Salt & Neon looms at the edge of the boardwalk.
I've only ever seen the rooftop nightclub, which is the 'Neon' part where I've dragged Beck away from one too many times.
Tonight we're funneled through the ground floor instead.Salt.The room is filled with white brick and candlelight, with the backdrop of the ocean pressing black against windows.
The ground floor restaurant has been cleared for the event, white linen tables replaced with high cocktail rounds. In the corner of the room, a string quartet plays something that sounds vaguely like a hockey anthem slowed down until it's romantic instead of aggressive.
There's a bar along one wall, with towers of oysters on crushed ice and tiny shrimp cocktails served in individual glasses. There's a whole roasted sea bass being carved by a chef in a tall white hat who looks entirely too serious about fish for a room full of drunk hockey fans.
I would rather be literally anywhere else on earth.
My phone buzzes in my jacket pocket as I'm signing my third program of the night for a woman who introduces herself as "the Assistant Deputy Mayor's wife" like that means something to me.
ZOEY:Just talked to Dad. Has he called you too? Did you pick up?
I read it twice. Then I swipe it away and shove the phone deeper into my pocket.
Not tonight. I can't do this tonight.
"Declan Morrison." Colin Holden appears out of nowhere, champagne flute in hand, grinning like a man who did not just watch his team lose two straight. "Look at you. Suit and everything. Very captain-y."
"Thanks, Colin."
"You seen the silent auction table? Half the jerseys are already at four figures. Josie really outdid herself with this—" He catches himself. "I mean.Ioutdid myself. This wasmyidea."
"Sure it was."
He wanders off before I can call him on it further, and that's when I finally find the one person I'm actually happy about seeing.
Josie's standing near the bar in a deep navy silk dress that clings to every curve I've spent the last three nights devouring. Her hair's down, honey-brown waves shining softly, and when she laughs at something Rose says beside her, the sound cuts straight through the noise of the whole room and makes me smile.
Fuck. She's going to be the death of me.
I make my way toward her slowly, weaving through sponsors and suits, keeping enough distance that it looks casual by the time I land beside her at the bar.
"Whitfield," I say, low.
"Morrison." She doesn't look at me, keeps her eyes on the bartender mixing something pink and elaborate. "You're standing very close for a man who's supposed to be keeping his distance. Didn't we discuss this on the plane?"
"I'm ordering a drink."
"You already have a drink."
I glance down. I do, in fact, already have a drink.
"I'm ordering a second drink."
"Uh-huh." Her mouth twitches.Damn.She looks good with lipstick on. "You look good in that suit, by the way. Almost makes up for the fact that your team lost twice in one road trip."
"Careful." I lean in, just enough that only she can hear it over the quartet. "Keep talking like that and I'm going to remember exactly how good you looked bent over that desk last night."
Her cheeks flush pink. She grabs her drink off the bar and takes a very long sip.
"You can't say things like that," she hisses, still not looking at me. "There are literal reporters here, Declan."
"I know." I turn, propping one elbow on the bar so we're back to back, facing opposite directions like two strangers who happen to share a counter. "That's why I'm whispering it instead of shouting. Unlike you when I finish inside you."
