Colliding Love - Tucker Billi...

When I arrive at Wino Wine Bar, I'm relieved to realize I didn't actually lie to Logan. Even though Ava is in charge, she must not have had enough time to make the event as over the top as normal. Or maybe my dad and Alex asked her not to. I never did listen to all the voice memos she sent.

The curved leather booths are empty while everyone mingles, and Ava hasn't tried to overpower the color scheme of deep red, gray, and black with the blue and silver of the team. Instead, she's let the richness and wealth that's already inherent in the club shine through.

My siblings and their partners are mingling with the hockey players and their families, and the royals are amongst the crowd too. Which means the Advisory Council is likely to turn up here, if they haven't already.

But I refuse to look around. Dalton and I will be in the same spaces; I've resigned myself to that. Not sure I'm quite comfortable with it yet, though.

Whenever anyone asks if seeing him will be awkward, or if it'll be difficult to attend the political or charitable functions now that we're not together, I tell them the split was amicable. There's only one person on the island other than me and Dalton who knows what really happened.

Tamiko slings her arm around my shoulders, a drink in her other hand. "You're easy to spot lately. Always so brightly colored."

My dress is short, hot pink, and tule. When I pulled it out of the back of my closet today, I really wanted to be the kind of woman who wears something like this. A year ago, I wore this dress without any second thoughts. I can't even remember the last time I made a choice with absolute certainty.

"No Logan?"

"I tried." As I search the upper level and peer over the edge to the lower level, I do a quick headcount of everyone I recognize. "I'm amazed Ava got almost everyone to come. Players, coaches, support staff. On short notice, it's impressive."

"She's persistent," Tamiko says. "Promised an exclusive Ember Whitten handbag, and she also promised a private shopping trip at all the top brand name stores to the WAGs if they got their significant other to show up."

"Logan wouldn't care about either of those. I wonder what she tried to use to get him?"

"Flexibility training," Tamiko says, and somehow she manages to keep a straight face. "That's what she told him. She'd give him some private flexibility training lessons."

"She did not." I close my eyes and stifle a laugh. "How do you know this?"

"He texted me and asked if Ava was legit or if her flexibility training was code for kinky sex."

"He actually sent you that? I need proof."

Tamiko takes out her phone, unlocks it, scrolls to the message chain, and passes it to me. Word for word, that's exactly what he sent Tamiko. I read through the exchange a couple times, and a strange warmth fills my chest. It feels silly to be intrigued by a hockey player who's ten years younger than me, but that's how I feel. Curious. Interested in a way that's bordering on unprofessional. He's nothing like anyone else I've ever dated, and maybe that's the draw. After Dalton, every fiber of my being just wants something different.

"He clocked Ava's intentions so fast," I say.

"He had to ask, so not that fast," Tamiko says.

A wave of excitement goes through the crowd, and I rise on my toes to peer around. Then I hear "Bishop" coming through the crowd like a murmured prayer.

"He showed up?" I say, a little stunned.

"Oh, that's interesting," Tamiko says, wiggling her index finger at me. "Should I be checking with HR about our employee dating policy?"

"No," I say with a huff. "Besides, there's no power dynamics at play. He might think I work for him, but I work for the organization, not him."

"If he didn't want to work with you anymore, though..."

"It doesn't matter." I take a long drink from my Bellerive Blue in the glass I'm holding. "He's too young, and I'm too..." Damaged. I catch myself before the word slips out. It's the first time I've been conscious of that feeling. Deep down, I know I came out of my relationship with Dalton banged up, but I haven't wanted to think about all the scars he left. They're everywhere, though. He marked every layer of my life, and I hate that it's true.

"There's no attraction there?" Tamiko asks before letting out a whoosh of air. "Because he's wearing a well fitted suit, and it looks like he got a hair cut and trimmed his beard," she tips her head to where he's talking to a teammate, "and if you were into that sort of thing, he'd be certified hot right now."

"I need another drink." I drain the last of mine and head for the bar. Tamiko's laugh tinkles behind me as I walk away.

There's no denying that Logan Bishop is an attractive human, but it bothers me that I've noticed. A few weeks ago, I was knee deep in a relationship that was not good for me, and the last thing I need is to sink into something that's toxic in a different way. A guy who's ten years younger than me, wanted by so many, and off the island half the year, can't be a suitable fit, can he?

I slide my glass onto the bar, and I wait for the bartender to finish the other drink orders to get to me.

A light touch lands on my elbow, and I flinch, pulling away.

Logan stands slightly behind me and to my side, and he's looking at his hand as though it's the problem and not my reaction.

"Did I give you a shock?" he asks, and he drags his gaze from his hand to my face, his brow furrowed.

I don't know if he means literally or figuratively, but my brain is already preoccupied with categorizing his appearance. He looked manly and scruffy before with his too long hair and too long beard, but now he's polished. So hot it's almost painful.

I flush.

His intense focus on me is unnerving, as though he's trying to memorize everything about me, or maybe analyze, because a hint of a smile tips one corner of his lips.

"You okay, doc?" he asks.

"You took my advice," I say.

"Not much choice when your sister has my driver take me to a barber."

"Somehow I don't see you getting out of the car if you didn't want to."

He doesn't say anything, he just slides his suit covered forearms onto the bar beside me, shoulders hunched, crowding my space but not in a way that might make me uneasy with anyone else. There is something about him, even if I don't want there to be. He raises a finger to the bartender, and the guy's eyes widen. A heightened interest in hockey has naturally taken hold with the team here, and it's clear the bartender knows who Logan is as he makes his way over to take our order.

"I'll have sparkling water. What do you want, doc?"

"Bellerive Blue," I say, and the bartender departs to mix drinks. "Not drinking?"

"Not a drop during the season. Socially in the off season sometimes. Are you a big drinker?"

"I might be tonight." Dalton is in the room somewhere, Logan looks sinful, and my thoughts are a jumbled mess. Might as well add alcohol. "Ava talked you into coming?"

"Not exactly."

I don't have a chance to pry before feedback from a mic makes Logan wince.

"Welcome, everyone!" Ava must be on the lower level of the bar, a microphone in her hand. Being the center of attention seems like a natural fit for her. Not sure why she's so intent on running a product-based company when event planning appears to be a strength. "We got approval from the coaching staff to teach you Bellerive's version of the bachata."

I roll my eyes, and Logan gives me a slow smile. "What? Is that bad?"

"If you're married or coupled up, it's probably fine. It's basically an excuse to grind on the dancefloor."

"Not your thing?"

"Not anymore."

"So, it was, once."

"More than once." I take a sip of my drink and peer at him over the rim. "I used to know how to have fun."

He scans my expression for a beat. "Be my partner."

"What?"

"Ava just called partners down to the dancefloor. You know what you're doing. I don't. Teach me."

"You want to dance?"

He tips up his sparkling water, sets it back on the bar, and holds out a hand to me. I pick up my Bellerive Blue, chug the rest of it, and when I place my hand in his, my palm is engulfed. God, he's got big hands.

He leads me through the bar with more authority than I'd expect, heading straight for the staircase that takes us to the first floor. I'm surprised—though I shouldn't be—when we stop in the middle of the dancefloor, front and center.

"You sure about this?" I ask, and his hand is still secured around mine.

"I've got great body awareness." He looks down at me. "You've got this "look at me" dress on. You afraid you won't look good dancing with me?"

I laugh. "You just don't seem like you enjoy the spotlight."

"You sure about that?" He squints at me, and Ava resumes her running commentary on the mic, almost drowning him out.

I let myself consider it for a beat. He's the team captain. Plays like he's on fire on the ice, and he's trying to become the best in the league. "I guess it's more that you prefer to choose when you're in the spotlight."

He leans down so his lips are close to my ear. "Good girl, doc." A shiver races through me.

Then he forces me to spin away, my short dress swirling around my thighs. I let out a startled laugh, probably drawing more attention to the two of us than I want, but I don't look at anyone except him. It feels good not to care, to be with someone who seems oblivious to what anyone else might think.

"We're not starting yet," Ava says, and annoyance is in her voice, likely directed at me and Logan. Normally, the annoyance between us runs the other way. Of course, our roles are usually reversed too—I'm the one organizing something, and she's the one ruining it with outrageous behavior.

"She's bossy," Logan says.

"Assertive," I say. "Would you call a guy bossy?"

"No, I'd just call him an asshole."

That makes me laugh again, and I can see an amused glint in Logan's hazel eyes, though he's not smiling.

"Okay, everyone," another female voice is on the mic, one that I recognize from the few Tuesdays I've come here for their bachata lessons. "My partner and I are going to take you through some basic steps. I'll explain, we'll demonstrate, and then you can try."

The dancefloor is surprisingly crowded, and if I was going to look around, now would be the time to do it. But I like this little bubble that Logan has created around us. It's sturdy enough that I don't have to care about anything but being in this moment.

I keep my back to the demonstration, but I listen when the step is explained. Logan draws me into his arms, and I'm suddenly aware again of how big he is. Broad, tall, and so fit. There's a furrow in his brow that makes his concentration clear, and the light beard he's adopted draws my attention to his sculpted jawline, his full lips. He's not just hot. He's actually kind of beautiful, and I wonder whether his scruffy appearance was a way to hide, in a sense, from prying eyes. He doesn't seem like the type to be unaware of his effect on women.

The woman on the mic counts out the steps, and I grin up at Logan when he gets it right.

"Told you," he says, glancing down with a smug expression. "I'm not going to step on your toes. You're safe with me."

My heart thuds at his words, at the confidence, at the notion that it might be true. Safe is something I've come to value more than I ever thought I would.

And as the brief tutorial progresses, Logan proves over and over again that he's incredibly skilled at following instructions to the letter. It makes me wonder whether he could have played any sport and been a champion. From our test sets during my assessment, I knew he was fit and understood how his body moved in a way that most people don't, but it's a little bit amazing to be this close when he's learning a new physical skill.

"I can tell you're in awe of me," he says, leaning down, lips close to my ear. "You'll get used to it."

"This cocky confidence is something else," I tease. "I've never seen this side of you."

"I only show my best sides to certain people."

"This is your best side?"

"You don't find confidence sexy?"

His expression tells me he already knows I do, that most people do. "You missed the word "cocky" in front."

"I know my strengths. I'm not hiding those for anyone."

"Are you as self-aware about your weaknesses?"

His jaw tightens, and he gives a sharp nod. "Are you?"

"My problem's been the opposite lately." The alcohol must be starting to hit because I continue without checking myself. "Can't remember the last time I felt good or certain about anything." A flush creeps up my neck, and I remind myself to zip my lips. Up to this point, I've been trying to sell him a different version of myself.

"You're smart and funny and the hottest fucking woman at this party. No contest."

"I wasn't fishing for compliments."

"Good. Because I don't give them unless I mean them." He spins me around, and he's leading me with ease through the steps.

We dance in silence for a beat, and then Logan says, "Have you always felt that way?"

"No." I don't elaborate.

I thought I was immune to manipulation. Already vaccinated against the sorts of behaviors meant to infect a person. Growing up, my mother was a master at making me feel like I was simultaneously too much and not quite enough. So, I thought I knew what manipulation looked like, understood how it felt, and I still somehow ended up under someone's spell who used their power to diminish mine. When I think about it, I feel like the dumbest person alive.

"I need a drink." I step outside his embrace and head toward the stairs. As I climb them, something makes me glance up, and Dalton is staring at me from the railing above. Our gazes lock, and he raises his glass in a cheers motion.

A shiver runs down my spine, and the back of my head, which had been feeling better, throbs once, as though in remembrance.  

Thoughts so far?

Stats:

Engaged readers: 94

Unique readers: 64

Total reads: 2094