Not that she minded. She wanted more time to talk to Trick, and this was her way to do it without strings.
And who knows? Maybe her subconscious did bring her to this bar tonight for a reason.
Maybe it was time to hook up with Trick again. She didn't know why they'd lost touch before, but he was the right kind of man for her--the kind who would enjoy playing, but didn't want attachments.
She was all for that.
Chapter Two
Trick saw Stella and her sister approaching, so he put up his cue and headed their way.
"We saw you had a game going, and Greta wanted to meet the guys," Stella said.
Man, she looked good in her tight jeans and black leather boots, and the clingy top did nothing to hide that killer body of hers. He really wanted to gather her up in his arms and take a taste of her. Too bad they were in public.
"We were at the game tonight," Greta said, motioning to her sister. "Something Stella failed to mention."
Trick shifted his attention to Greta, before looking again at Stella. "You came to the game? You should have texted me. I would have gotten you tickets."
"I didn't want you to think I was going to hit you up again after all these months just for tickets."
"Why? We're friends, Stell. I'd be happy to give you tickets."
Greta elbowed her sister. "See? He'd be happy to give you tickets." Greta gave him a hopeful look. "I don't suppose there's a game tomorrow night."
"Sorry. I have the weekend off. But once you get that job, you can have tickets anytime you want."
Greta grinned. "Awesome. Now you can introduce me to all your friends."
"That I can definitely do." He swung an arm around Greta's waist and pulled her into the crowd. Stella hung back, waving at Drew, Avery, Boyd, and the rest of them. She and Trick would often go out after games and have a few drinks with the guys, before hitting up either her place or his for a wild romp of some amazing sex.
Just thinking about his hands and his mouth on her made her regret losing touch. But one of her rules was she never went back for seconds once a fling was over, because that might just mean emotional involvement, and that she just wouldn't do.
But Trick was fun and easy and sexy and hot and not at all demanding of her time. He understood her life as a dancer, how much of her days--and often nights--it commanded. He didn't whine or pout when she had to cancel on him. He traveled a lot, so he knew work took precedence over everything--including sex.
In a lot of ways, he'd been the perfect non-boyfriend.
So why had they stopped seeing each other earlier this year? She'd been slammed with performances for the show she'd been doing, and he'd been so busy with the end of hockey season, trying to make the playoffs. They hadn't had much time for each other and had to keep canceling. That much she remembered. They'd just drifted apart.
It happened.
After her show ended she'd taken some time off--but only a couple of weeks before she'd started auditioning again. There was no such thing as time off for a dancer. If you didn't work, you didn't eat or pay the rent. She really liked eating and enjoyed having a roof over her head.
She'd auditioned for a lead dance role in a new show on Broadway, and after a ridiculous amount of auditions, had gotten the part. Now she was even busier, but still . . . it had been a long time since she'd played with a hot guy.
Trick was definitely a hot guy. She watched him as he shot pool with his friends. He was tall, muscular, but not too much in that body-builder way. Just enough that he was strong. He wore jeans and a long-sleeve Henley, which showed off every one of those muscles, especially his biceps.
Plus, he had a fantastic back. Being a dancer, there was just something about a man's back that she found enticing. So much strength there, and in the arms and legs.
She'd seen Trick naked, knew everything about his body.
A flash of heat engulfed her, and after he took his shot, he turned and gave her a look that was pure sexual attraction.
Yes, it was still there between them. He grabbed his beer, laid his pool cue aside, and came over to her.
"Not playing?" he asked.
"I'm content to just watch."
"Your sister seems happy in the mix."
Stella's gaze drifted over to the pool table, where Avery was helping Greta line up a shot. "My sister knows how to play pool, but she's enjoying letting Avery put his hands on her."
"I'm sure Avery doesn't mind."
Stella nodded. "I'm sure he doesn't, either." She shifted her gaze back to Trick. "Greta broke up with her boyfriend recently. A real jerk. She could use some attention from a nice guy."
"Avery's a nice guy."
"I know."
Trick slid onto the barstool next to hers. "So am I."
She swiveled to face him, sliding her legs between his. "Oh, no, you're not. You can be very bad."
"You think so?"
"Definitely."
"You like me bad."
Stella laughed. "And this is a lot like verbal foreplay."
He slid his hands across her knees and down her legs. "I prefer the other kind of foreplay. Why don't you go home with me tonight?"
She drew in a breath. "As tempting as that sounds, I need to entertain my sister."
Trick looked over at the pool table. "Your sister looks like she's being entertained just fine by Avery."
"You know, if it was anyone else I'd say fine, they're on their own. But I haven't seen Greta for a few months and I promised her we'd spend the entire weekend together."
He nodded. "I understand. But I want to see you again, Stell."
This went against all her rules. But his touch seared through the denim of her jeans. "I want to see you, too. When's your next game?"
"Tuesday night. It's an away game, though. I'll be back in town on Thursday."
"Okay. I have rehearsal on Thursday until late."
His lips curved. "This is why we lost touch before. Those damn schedules of ours."
"True. But we'll figure it out."
"I'll text you when I get back in town."
"You do that." She slid off the barstool. "In the meantime, I intend to kick everyone's ass at the pool table."
He laced his hands with hers and drew her against him. "You can try. And until next week . . ."
Before she could object about being in a public bar and her sister being there, he'd cupped the nape of her neck and held her still while his mouth bore down on hers for a kiss that seared her feet to the floor.
It was everything she remembered about why she'd liked being with him--and so much more. A desperation, a hunger, a need that fed her desire as well. Before she knew what was happening, she was up on her toes, her body pressed to his, and his arm was around her waist, his fingers sliding down her back, nearly coming into contact with her butt.
"Holy shit," she heard her sister say, and that broke the spell.
But only barely. If there'd been anyone else but her sister there, she wouldn't have cared.
Trick looked down at her, and she was lost in the whiskey depths of his eyes. He smiled down at her.
"Next week, Stella."
She licked her lips. "Yeah. Next week."
Chapter Three
Stella stretched and wiped sweat from her brow. It had been a grueling dance practice today, worse than usual. The choreographer was kicking their asses. There were twelve dances in this show, and as one of the leads, she was front and center in all of them.
Not that she was going to complain. A career dancer never bitched about getting work. She'd deal with sore feet and screaming muscles every day as long as she had a job like this one. It wasn't all that often that she booked a show on Broadway, and the more exposure like this she could get, the better it was for her career.
Plus, she loved what she did. Dance wasn't just her job. It was part of her soul. She couldn't imagine not doing this. At the end of every rehearsal day, she felt equal parts brutalized and euphoric.
<
br /> But right now, all she wanted was a long hot bath and a beer. Or a six-pack.
Okay, one beer, since Lawrence the bastard choreographer seemed to have a sixth sense and noticed every time she gained even an ounce of weight.
Prick.
She pulled on her jeans and sweater, slid on her tennis shoes and jacket, then found her bag and headed for the subway. It was late, and she was starving, so she grabbed a salad with grilled chicken at the corner restaurant on the way to her apartment in Chelsea.
She would have preferred a nice greasy pizza.
"After this show? You are totally a large pepperoni pizza," she said to her salad as she ate once she got to her apartment. "But I'm still having a beer."
She took a couple long swallows of beer, and sighed in contentment. She smiled at the bottle. "Mmmm. Screw you, Lawrence."
She looked around her apartment and at the tiny, one-foot-tall Christmas tree sitting on the pass-through between the kitchen and living area.
It was as holiday as this place got, but it was at least something.
She wanted a bigger place, but she'd gone the roommate route before and that had been a disaster. Her lease was up in January, so she'd have to decide whether to try the roommate thing again and opt for a bigger place, or maybe move. She could live with Greta, temporarily, but she and her sister had different temperaments, and while she loved her sister, they could not live together. They'd done that for too many years. Growing up together was one thing. Deliberately sharing living space together? No.
She didn't think she was cut out for roommates, so maybe she should just consider a move. Hopefully to someplace where the heat actually worked in the winter.
It was freezing in here.
After finishing dinner and her beer, she did dishes, then picked up her phone to check messages.
One from her best friend, Carolina Preston.
Dancing your ass off? Call me. Love you.
She smiled and typed a return text.
Wish ass had been danced off. Could have had the pizza I wanted for dinner. How about U? Saw your label in window when I passed by store on the way home. Want the B&W sweater! Off to take a bath. Call U later.
She sent the text, then headed into her oh-so-tiny bathroom. But at least there was a tub in here, something she'd insisted on before she'd rented the place. Dancers needed a bathtub. They couldn't survive without a hot soak after a grueling day of rehearsals or after a brutal performance night. And her quickly tightening muscles did not like this cold apartment. A warm bath would definitely help.
She put some lavender bath gel in the tub, set the water to ridiculously scalding, then stripped and settled in with a very loud, "Ahhhh."
She let the hot water do the trick of relaxing her muscles. When her phone buzzed, she picked it up, thinking it was Carolina replying to her text.
It wasn't. It was Trick.
Are U naked?
She laughed and shook her head. She hadn't heard from him since last week, and it was just like old times again.
She typed a return text.
As a matter of fact, I am. I'm in the tub.
It took him only a minute to respond to her text message with, Rough day on the dance floor?
Yeah. Current choreographer is an asshole.
She sent that back, and then her phone buzzed with a call. She punched the button and Trick's low, deep voice was on the other end.
"So, naked, huh?"
Her nipples hardened at the tone of his voice. "Yes. Unwinding after a tough day. And returning to a cold apartment."
"Poor baby. And I hate your apartment."
"I know. That's why we usually ended up at your fancy Upper West Side place."
"Yeah, because my heater works."
She laughed.
"Hey, did your sister get the job?"
She liked that he remembered to ask about Greta. "She did. She's really excited to be moving here. I can't wait."
"That's great. When is she making the move?"
"She has to give notice at her current job, and pack up her stuff, so not for about a month. But it'll be awesome to have her so close."
"I'm sure it will. Family's important."
He understood. She also liked that about him.
"So tell me about this new choreographer that has you soaking your sore muscles."
"He's a dick. I think he wants stick figures as dancers, so he watches all of us, especially the leads."
"You got a lead part, huh?"
She told him about the show she was in, and how she'd had to audition seven times for Lawrence before he announced her as one of the leads.
"I'm glad you got the lead, but this guy sounds like a class A douche, Stell."
"He is, but he's also a brilliant choreographer."
"I thought you looked thinner when I saw you last week. When was the last time you had a nice, greasy pizza?"
She groaned. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Too long, huh?"
"I was thinking about pizza on the way home, too. But ended up having a salad with grilled chicken."
"Your body is slammin', Stella. You can afford the pizza. You dance it all off, anyway."
She enjoyed the compliment. "See, now why aren't you my choreographer?"
"Because I can't dance for shit?"
"I wouldn't know about that, but you sure can dance on the ice."
"I'll have to take you dancing sometime."
She couldn't even imagine. "Now that I'd like to see."
"Anytime. Though I'm better on the ice."
"Ice dancing? Thinking of an Olympic career?"
"Ha. No. But speaking of ice--without the dancing, that is--are you coming to the game tomorrow night?"
"Wouldn't miss it. It's a Friday night and the start of my weekend, which means no rehearsals. At least right now."
"Great. I'll leave tickets at the window. Are you bringing anyone?"
"You mean like a date?"
"You're funny. You don't want me to have to hurt someone, do you?"
Her lips curved at the possessive tone. They'd never laid claim to each other. It had always been a very open relationship, with no strings. Exactly the way she wanted it. But just now? She couldn't help the little thrill of excitement that ran through her.
She didn't know how she felt about that.
"No, doofus. I'm not bringing a date. But maybe I'll bring a girlfriend."
"Oh, so you want a threesome."
She rolled her eyes. "Now you're being an ass."
He laughed. "Go enjoy your bath. I'll see you tomorrow night."
"Okay. Play good."
"Don't I always? See you, Stella."
She hung up and slid her phone onto the side of the tub, thinking about seeing Trick tomorrow. Her body tingled at the thought of getting her hands all over that man again.
She'd have thought she'd have lost interest. In the past years, she'd tired of men after only a few rolls in the sack. But seeing him again the other night sparked her up all over again.
That shouldn't surprise her. He was inventive, sexy, had a body that just didn't quit, and he'd learned her body fast. Every time with him had been like the first time, and she always eagerly anticipated seeing him.
There was something about him that completely frazzled every nerve ending, but at the same time, gave her a sense of calm in her whacked-out world. It was crazy. She was crazy for starting up this relationship--
Correction. She was not having a relationship with Trick. She did not have relationships. Not anymore. Not since that epic mistake she'd made. She'd vowed to never again give a man that much control over her heart, her soul, and her life. No one was going to hurt her so deeply again.
So far, it had worked. She was much happier controlling her own destiny. She'd worked her way up the dancing echelon in New York City, and now she was one of the lead dancers in a show that was going to premiere on Broadway next spring. She'd worked her ass off to get here, and i
t was because she'd let nothing and no one distract her.
Not even the incredibly hot man she was going to see tomorrow.
Chapter Four
"Pull your head out of your ass and focus on the puck, Niemeyer."
"My focus is on the puck, Hogan." Trick skated past his friend and teammate, Drew Hogan, and shot the puck toward the net, where the Travelers goalie, Avery Mangino, waited and easily used his stick to shove it out of the way.
"Shit," Trick muttered.
"Come on, Trick. You made that one too easy for me," Avery said. "How am I going to hone my goalie skills if you don't give me something to work with?"
It had been a long practice this morning, and Trick's head wasn't in the game. He'd even missed an easy shot on goal while Ray Sayers, the other Travelers forward, had distracted Mangino.
"I hope you don't play like that tonight, Trick," Drew told him. "Or we're screwed."
Leave it up to his teammates to call him on his shitty play.
"No problem. I'm working out all the kinks during practice."
It was a home game tonight, and he played best on home ice. They'd lost their last road game, and that sucked. It had been a close game, too.
He intended to play better tonight.
After sitting in the sauna for an hour to relax his tense muscles, he went home for a couple of hours, put his earbuds in, and listened to some music. After, he did an easy workout, trying to stay pumped up for the game tonight. Then he grabbed a small snack to eat and went back to the Garden to get ready.
Putting on his uniform always made him realize how damn lucky he was to be able to do what he loved the most. He'd been on skates from the time he was old enough to toddle. His father had loved hockey and had encouraged Trick to play, and he'd taken to it as if he'd been born to do it. He wished his dad were still alive to see him play now. He missed the enthusiasm and excitement his dad had shown at all his games. Trick always took a few seconds before the start of every game to focus on his father, to remember he wouldn't be here now without his dad's encouragement and the push he'd given him to stick with it when times hadn't been so good.
He still had his mom back in Milwaukee, and saw her as often as he could. She called and texted him all the time, and she was as big a hockey fan as his dad had been. She came out to New York a couple of times a year to see him play, and he always loved seeing her.
He smiled at that thought, and as he took the ice and heard the cheers of all the fans, wished he could see his mother's smiling face there. But he rounded the corner out of the box and saw Stella grinning down at him. His stomach tightened in a good way.