Winning Streak (5 page)

The inside of Lotus of Siam looked a
lot
different. Rows of polished wooden tables gleamed under low, warm lighting, and the dark green carpet was a little faded but clean. It had a homey feel. And seated in the back, legs crossed and foot bobbing, sat Saralynn, twirling the straw in her water. The top half of her light brown hair was scooped up away from her face and secured with red chopsticks while the back half hung in loose curls over her shoulders. She wore a sleeveless, see-through white shirt with a red tank underneath and skintight white pants that ended just past her knees. But those shoes—shiny red, strappy sandals with spike heels—caught his attention. Feet had held no special fascination for him before, but those shoes had him subtly adjusting himself on the way over.

“This place is not what I was expecting.” He sat across from her at the small table for two against a mirrored wall.

She wiggled her toes painted the same red as the shoes and shook her head at him. “If you always judge things by how they look, you might miss out on something great. It took me a while to learn that one. But now I'm taking chances on new experiences.”

That observation struck deep. Most people judged him on the surface. To be fair, very few got to see underneath. The same seemed to be true for her. He weighed the pros and cons of asking if he fit into the new experiences category, but no sense pushing his luck. It was a huge surprise she'd said yes to begin with, and what the hell had inspired the invitation anyway? Had to be that kiss, the one on loop in his head. Dinner opened up the possibility for another. Jacey had just finished telling him what a bad idea it would be to get too close to Saralynn, he'd just promised not to let his sister down, and practically the next thing he did was ask Saralynn on a date. As far as he'd come from his impulse-prone former self, apparently he still had a ways to go.

Every line in his arsenal seemed like it would fall flat with the vixen in front of him. When in doubt, compliment. “I'm all for new experiences. And I have to say, you look incredible tonight.”

She smiled, then appeared to catch herself and gave him a wary stare. “Just so we're clear, this is a thank-you dinner. Not a date.”

If that were true, what did she wear on a real date? The possibilities weren't exactly the cold shower he needed. Their server, an Asian woman wearing a cross between an Indian sari and a Japanese kimono, appeared and asked for their order.

Saralynn went first. “I'll have the drunken noodle sea bass.”

Madden blinked and glanced at the menu. He'd never had Thai before and with only time to skim, half the offerings were a mystery. “Uh, that sounds good. I'll have the same.” The server giggled and fanned her lashes at him. Her cheerful nod almost looked like a small bow before she left, and then they were alone again.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“That waitress was practically fawning all over you. Are there pheromones in your cologne or something?”

Could it be? He grinned. “Hey, I didn't do anything. And if this isn't a date, why would you be jealous?”

“I'm
not
jealous.”

“There's certainly no reason for it. You're the most gorgeous woman in this room.”

“Yeah, okay. Will you turn it off, please? I'd like to have dinner with my co-worker. Not a reality TV host.”

Ouch. No one had ever called him out like that. Combined with the co-worker classification, things weren't looking good. No problem. Just time to regroup. “Okay. On this not-a-date, would it be all right to ask you about yourself?”

• • •

Saralynn leaned back in her chair and studied the man across from her wearing a bright blue crew-neck T-shirt with an oversized purple plaid pattern on the shoulders under a streamlined navy blazer. Not his most casual look, but bolder than his office clothes. If she wasn't mistaken, this was date Madden. As formal as he got outside of a wedding or funeral. Somehow, it still said
polished
. Maybe because that T-shirt was probably just under $200.

He thought this was a date. Hard to deny that when she'd spent two hours getting ready after work. Her plan had been an old hockey tee, beat-up jeans, and sneakers, with a full ponytail. But God help her, she couldn't leave the apartment like that when she imagined how good he'd look. The only compromise was putting half her hair up. Then the devil on her shoulder suggested the sexy chopsticks, and her last good intention came crumbling down.

Now here they were, dressed up on their not-a-date, and he wanted to test boundaries. This was a dangerous game, but as long as they didn't cross the line … “I guess a few questions would be okay.”

The line of his shoulders relaxed a little, and he sipped the water she'd ordered for him. “I better make them good then. Tell me about what it was like growing up with Reese.”

She smiled reflexively then frowned at him in suspicion. That was the second time he'd drawn one from her so fast. He was good. “By the time I was five, he was ten, and hockey took up most of his time. I remember only about four good years with him before he went with Carter to a school in Minnesota. But he was my protector even when I didn't want him to be. I was closer to him than my sisters. Still am. I was kind of a tomboy until my teens when I … blossomed.”

“Into one hell of a rose.”

“Thanks, but I'm more remembered for my thorns.”

His light blue eyes widened in a silent “Do tell.”

She picked at a straw wrapper on the table. “That stuff's not important.”

“You think
I'm
going to judge you?”

The corner of her mouth twitched, and she flattened her hands in her lap. “Okay, fine. Things came easily to me in high school. I was cheer captain and queen of every dance. I had a big group of followers but not a single friend. Not a real one. Guys were interested but assholes. So by the time I got to college, I stopped caring if they cared. I casually dated my way through the next four years and none of them even stand out in my mind. It wasn't until I started working for the team that I saw how different things could be. How different I could be. And I never want to go back.”

Whoa. None of that was supposed to spill out, but once the leak sprung, she couldn't stop. She pressed her lips together and stared at the flickering tea light in the middle of the table.

“I can't say I know exactly how you feel. My experience was a little different. But I think the keynotes are the same.”

That shouldn't be a surprise given the last few days, but somehow it was. Most people couldn't relate to her “charmed” life. Most people didn't know the curse of it. Hell, neither had she—not really—until recently. For the first time, she met a date's gaze and actually wanted to hear what he had to say.

He looked a little surprised by the opening, and she bit the inside of her cheek to hold back another smile. Madden took a sip of his water. “Oh, okay. Well, I wasn't enough of a joiner to be prom king, but I had my share of dates in high school. I got serious with a girl in college, but it turned out she wasn't that serious about me. And I guess you now know everything there is to know about the Linden thing.”

Saralynn did her best not to flinch. The Linden thing. She'd done some Google stalking. Being fully informed was part of her job, and she couldn't manage his media situation without knowing all the facts. “Yeah, what's up with that? What did you
see
in her? Not that I'm qualified to throw rocks, but she sounds kind of evil from what I read.”

He looked down, tilted his head to one side, and chewed on his lower lip. She beat down the stupid urge to kiss it better. She'd hit a sore spot, but to his credit, he didn't withdraw. When he met her eyes again, that trademark twinkle was tempered by regret, embarrassment, and just a little pain.

“That's a good question. I've asked myself that a lot. Definitely not one of my proudest achievements. I don't know. At first, I guess I was swayed by appearance and attitude. She didn't back down, and she went after what she wanted. And she really seemed to be into me. I thought we were starting something, but then she used me to get dirt on my sister. She apologized, but it didn't mean anything. I thought about her from time to time, but I was finally letting go. And then I saw the wedding announcement.”

The server returned with their order. After assuring the woman they didn't need anything else, she left them alone again. Saralynn dug in to her dish, eating the greens off the top first. Some kind of reassurance seemed appropriate after his story, but that had never been one of her strong points. Best to let the moment pass. And she would have if she hadn't glimpsed him pushing around his noodles, not out of distaste, but discontent.

“You know, she's not the one who got away. She's a bullet you were lucky to dodge. Seriously. And this is coming from a former hollow-point. You're not still hung up on her, are you? Not that I'm interested.”

His sad expression broke and crumbled away with a laugh and a grin that dropped her guard. “Of course you're not. I've been thinking about that night. It wasn't that I wanted to marry her or ruin her wedding. I guess it just sucked that she'd been decent enough to another guy that they'd made it down the aisle. I must not be that much of a prize.”

“You're hard on yourself.”

“Said the pot to the kettle. I don't think you're as bad as you think you are, either. Maybe we should give a real date a shot.”

It felt so good to hear him say that. Too good. Was this what she wanted? Validation that she wasn't as bad as she used to be? That she might be capable of something more? It didn't take Allie's psych degrees to know those things couldn't come from another person. She played it off with a smile. “You don't want to get involved with me. I'm ‘relationship napalm' according to my brother.”

“Reese said that? Not very nice.”

“No, it's not. But it is accurate. Or it was. I'm a work in progress.”

Madden spread his arms in a “Hello, me, too” gesture.

“Okay, yeah, but that's why we can't date. Ever hear of the blind leading the blind?”

“Or maybe we could encourage each other. Come on, who else fits this specific support group?” He was tenacious, she'd give him that. And exasperating. Before she could come up with a response, he poked again at his food. “So where are the noodles?”

Avoiding rejection with a change of topic. Her mouth dropped open in a mix of amusement and admiration. When he looked at her innocently, brows up, she sighed. “The slimy things on the bottom that look like squid? Those are noodles.”

“Man.” He made a face like a little kid looking at a plate of wilted broccoli. “You should write the menu descriptions.”

“They're good. Try them.” As encouragement, she took a forkful from her plate and licked her lips. “Mmmm.”

He watched her mouth, and his Adam's apple bobbed. “You're giving me other ideas.”

She pointed her fork at him. “Eat.” But now that he'd brought it up, those other ideas danced around her head, too. Maybe it was the forbidden aspect, or maybe there really was something about him, but she couldn't remember wanting someone the way she wanted Madden Vaughn. It just wasn't going to happen.

His shoulders drooped dramatically, and he pouted, which only made him cuter, damn it. But he picked up his fork and tried a bite. Then another. “Hey, you're right. This is good.”

“Yeah. I come here once a week. Not just for the food but the atmosphere.”

“I can see that. This place isn't so … Vegas.”

“Exactly.” She ate some sea bass and watched him wrestle a piece of his out from between the greens and the noodles. Adorable.

She was screwed.

Friday, February 28th

The main concourse of the Las Vegas arena teemed with fans eating, laughing, waiting for autographs, and playing carnival-style, hockey-themed games. So far so good. Saralynn clutched a glittery clipboard to her chest and navigated the pregame party in four-inch heels. She made her way to a long folding table decked out in black, green, and silver with a banner that read: Sinners' Den Fan Zone. People huddled around to buy player buttons, trading cards, Sinners Mardi Gras beads, and themed leis. The volunteer behind the table gave her a thumbs up, and she checked it off on her list.

“Update. Mic's all set up if you want to say a few words.”

Her shoulders twitched at her assistant's voice in her Bluetooth earpiece. No matter how often she wore it, there was still that jack-in-the-box surprise every time someone said something. “Coming.” She spotted the small stage in the middle of the concourse and maneuvered her way through the masses. On the way, she tousled her loose curls to cover the battery box on her glow horns headband and amped up her media smile.

She stepped up to the microphone on stage, and the crowd cheered. Pride bubbled up, but it wasn't like being voted this or that at a dance. They weren't applauding her. They were applauding the event she'd put together, and somehow that felt even better. “Thank you for coming to the party. We're glad to have you! Who's having a good time?” The responding roar almost made her wish for earplugs. “That's what I like to hear! Are you excited for the game?” They cheered louder, and a few whistles rang out. “All right! Don't forget to snag some Sinners swag, and it's not too late to enter the raffle for the signed jerseys. Let's go, Vegas!”

The music turned back up, absorbing the enthusiastic screams of agreement. Her smile faltered as she turned for the steps and saw Madden watching her from the mini rink with faux ice they'd set up for the kids. Her traitorous pulse picked up. The smart thing would be to ignore him, focus on her checklist. Except she'd just finished the list, and the event was running like a well-oiled machine.
Balls.