Push (Colorado Storm Hockey #3)

Chapter 1

1

ADALINE

I’ve never been one for diamonds.

They’re so common today that there’s nothing about them that seems rare and nothing about them that seems special. They’re a symbol, but not even of eternal love, not even of money anymore. You can get a finance plan on a diamond the way you can on a refrigerator. No, they’re a symbol of completion. Of winning. Might as well hold up a trophy or put on a medal. You’ve made it, girl. You got your man. You get the wedding and your prize is a mediocre marriage at the end. The diamond is for the women to show the other women of how far you’ve come. How normal you actually are.

And there’s no one that is showing off their prized diamond as much as my cousin Kyla at this over-the-top bachelorette party. Since a lot of her old college friends—now members of her bridal party—live out of state, they could only judge it over Instagram and fake praise it in the comments. Since the moment we landed in Las Vegas, Kyla has held out her left hand more times than I can count to show it off, and every single time she does it, I’ve got to hold back my eye roll. Even now, as we stand around taking sugary shots at our hotel’s very fake Irish pub, she flagrantly shows off her ring as she throws them back.

I’m not jealous.

Although I could see why someone might think that. She is engaged to marry a Lebanese prince. Okay, not really a prince, but in the eyes of my family, he might as well be. David Nassar is the son of the most famous personal injury lawyer in Colorado, Michael Nassar. Together they appear on billboards up and down the I-25 corridor. They’re on TV more times than the weather and they’ve got branches of their office in more convenient locations across the front range than the DMV does. My uncles and even my dad can’t wait to dance the dabke with the Nassar family’s men at the wedding reception.

The diamond Kyla picked out, and strong armed David into buying, is definitely impressive in the most objective sense. It’s huge, weighing in at 4.61 carats. I know the number exactly because she’s said it out loud multiple, multiple times. On the diamond clarity scale, it rates as an IF, meaning no internal flaws. You can tell it chaps her that it’s not one rank better, Flawless , and only practically flawless. But she’s educated us that true FL diamonds are so extremely rare that it’s nearly impossible to acquire one.

It personally gives me the ick and on some days when I’m being really mean, I wonder if it’s actually a blood diamond. Give me a simple gold band that belonged to a grandmother any day, hell that’s what I’m already wearing on a few of my fingers. Most of the jewelry I have came from my Teta Lena over the years and that means so much more to me than any diamond a man could give me. Not that there have been a lot of suitors lining up with precious gems to woo me.

The last round of Pink Starburst shots has barely passed our lips when Stacy, Kyla’s maid of honor, turns to me. “Ada, our server is nowhere to be found. Will you get us another round of shots? Let’s do the Woo Woo ones this time. ”

Not only have I been picking up every other round, but I’ve been tasked with acquiring them, too. I keep getting sent off on these little missions to stand in long lines with mostly dudes. The money thing I understand, since I’ve had some recent success with my little business, but it doesn’t seem all together fair.

The pub is packed and getting to the bar is hard, especially with this gigantic man blocking my way. He takes up space like his job depends on it. Ripped muscles under a tight black t-shirt, jeans, and his black hair pulled back in a bun.

“Excuse me,” I say as I try to pass by his left side and in that moment he takes a step to the left, his arm colliding directly into my chest. He looks down at me with a menacing look and I immediately cower and apologize. “I’m sorry.”

He grunts out some throaty sound and doesn’t budge, but turns back to the bar.

I roll my eyes behind his back, not even at the jerk, but at myself for being so timid. For apologizing for something that was clearly his fault. It drives me crazy when I do that. This is just a person and we are in society. I shouldn’t cower all the time. I take a chance and tap on his arm. He turns and gives me an even more menacing look, and it actually pisses me off this time.

“Excuse me, have you ordered yet?”

“What do you think?” he barks.

“I don’t know what to think because I can’t see around you and so that’s why I’m asking.” I bite back at him, practically speaking it with my hands, just like everyone in my family does when we get heated.

He eyes me up and down, taking in my whole five feet, four inches.

“What?”

“You’re small.”

I puff out my chest. “Well, you’re big. ”

That makes his glacial face crack. It’s barely perceptible, but there’s an inkling of a smile in his dark brown eyes.

Without another word, he grabs me by the shoulders and moves me in front of him. It’s a bold move that initially catches me off guard but then lights up my nerve endings with a feeling that is one exit past surprise. He shadows me, standing close behind me, and the strangest sensation comes over me, something on a base instinct level. Something cavewoman. It’s something that feels like protection. I’m being defended.

He leans down near my ear and says. “I haven’t ordered yet. Order yours first.”

I turn up to face him, our eyes connecting, face to face. My limbs feel loose as a heat rushes through my body. “I have to order six shots for a bridal party.”

“Well, you have me beat. I have to order four beers for hockey players. We’re good. Go ahead.”

It’s a kindness I was not expecting from this mountain of a man. All he had to do was answer my question about if he had ordered yet. Wait, did he say he was a hockey player? “You’re a hockey player?”

He nods.

“I don’t know a single thing about hockey, but that explains the intimidating stare.”

He shows off that stare, and then he flicks his gaze across the bar. “Here comes the bartender.”

“Six Woo Woo shots, please.” The bartender doesn’t hear me and I have to say it louder. “SIX WOO WOO shots, please.” Heat floods my cheeks. What a ridiculous name for a shot, but to be fair, the group I’m with are a bunch of Woo girls, which were on full display at Magic Mike earlier tonight. I can admit it was the highlight of our trip so far. I am, after all, a human that’s unfortunately attracted to men.

The hockey player, with one arm on each side of me, holding onto the bar, leans forward and orders the round of beers for his teammates right after me, then slides a credit card across to the bartender.

“No, I’ve got it,” I say while digging out my wallet from my purse.

He leans down, near enough for me to hear him say, “For giving you a hard time earlier.”

We don’t speak at all as we wait for our drinks and I know I should at least say thank you, but the way he’s cocooned me between his arms is wreaking havoc on my brain and doing the right thing seems like an impossible task. Or maybe it’s his scent that’s confusing me away from common decency. With my line of botanical products that are middle eastern inspired, I know exactly what he’s wearing, but I’m honestly surprised he’s wearing it. It’s not terribly common to find a man that wears a fragrance with black gold in the States. Oud is a popular aroma in the Middle East. With his dark features, thick eyebrows, and pronounced nose, he gives off a Mediterranean vibe, but I feel fairly certain he isn’t Lebanese like me.

The beers come first and I’m a little sad about it. He maneuvers around me and grabs them so effortlessly and simply walks away without another word. I really regret not thanking him for the drinks. It’s got to be the hormone spike from Magic Mike that’s turned me into such a rude fool.

My eyes follow him as he returns to his table and sets the beers down. The men he’s with seem to be having a fun time. Sports mean pretty much nothing to me, so I don’t exactly get it, but it’s nice to see that the players aren’t a bunch of jerks to the fans surrounding them wearing jerseys.

The shots come next, and I do my best to take them back to the bridal party. The girls barely acknowledge me beyond taking the shot glasses. They’re all about Kyla and rightly so. She’s the bride, but I don’t even get a thank you, which is probably just karmic payback for my rudeness with the hockey player. It’s been like that the whole trip, though. I think there’s bitterness that I’m even in her bridal party, but that wasn’t her decision or mine. It was a collective decision of our family. I think they’re all hoping I’ll meet someone at the wedding and if I’m in the bridal party, I’ll stick out. Plus, in a family full of boys, we’re the only girls, so to them it just made sense.

“Bitch, you’re getting married!” Stacy shouts, and all the Woo Girls woo, no one louder than Kyla, and then they all swig them back and woo again. The Peach Schnapps is way too heavy, so it’s terribly sweet, but the girls love them.

Kyla sticks her left hand out dramatically to set her empty shot glass on the table so we can get another view of the ring and maybe it’s the booze, but this time I laugh. Really hard.

“Glad to see you’re having a good time finally,” she says to me. “I know you’re happy for me, of course, but I know this can be tough.”

Any and all laughter coming from me drops faster than the pants the strippers wore at Magic Mike. “Why would it be tough?”

“You know,” she says and holds up her hand.

Dear God. Do not eye roll. Do not eye roll. “The ring?”

“The engagement. I know the family puts so much pressure on you to get married and all that. I’m sure you’ve been feeling it from everybody. Isn’t there someone, cousin? Some guy that’s come into your store or something.”

I inhale for four seconds and hold it for another four as I shake my head.

“What about George?”

And then exhale for four seconds.

“Never,” I state simply.

“But he’s always had a thing for you. Everyone in the family thinks you should just give him a chance.”

I know this is true. My dad, my twin brother, my three uncles, and all nine of my cousins think it’s a great idea. The only one that slightly holds out is my teta. While she would love nothing more than to see me get married, she knows I see George as a brother, but even she’s been hinting around about it lately. Sure, she was engaged to my jedo after three dates. And while it was essentially an arranged marriage between two Lebanese families, they loved each other wholeheartedly until he died when I was eight years old. It was the kind of love where even if they bickered or fought, which they did often, it was because of their passion for one another.

George and I were in the same grade growing up and his family attends the same small Maronite Catholic Church my family does. He’s been hovering around me for years, but I’m not a cruel person. I refuse to get myself into a marriage where there is no spark whatsoever. This isn’t the olden times. I’m a successful woman who doesn’t need to partner up to get by.

“Never,” I repeat.

“But there’s no one else?” Kyla asks with genuine concern for me. “Have you tried online dating?”

“Of course I have,” I reply. And that lasted all of one week. Every guy I met called me Jasmine and talked about their dicks way too much. One, in particular, obsessed over his member. Repeatedly asking what I thought about it. How many times can one person compliment a penis? There are only so many things that can be said about it honestly.

“Okay, so George then. Imagine this, cousin. You and George get married by the end of the year and we can both get pregnant next spring.”

“I’m not sure I want kids,” I tell her. And it’s the truth. That’s never been a desire of mine. I’ve pictured myself doing many things like traveling the world, taking my business to the next level, and having a beautiful home of my own, but never once have kids been part of that picture. Hell, a man hasn’t even been part of that picture. Sure, if he was on that trip, cool. Or in that home, I guess that would be okay, so long as he didn’t expect me to treat him like his mother .

Kyla’s eyes go wide. “You should not say that out loud.”

And what she means is that I shouldn’t say that out loud in front of my family. I really think we’re good on Khoury’s. There’s definitely enough of us.

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that,” she says and takes a drink from a fresh vodka soda that Stacy has handed her. When I look around our table, I see all the girls have other drinks, so that means while I was at the bar getting them shots, they ordered a round for themselves but not one for me. That’s fine. I don’t want to get too drunk, anyway. But it fits the theme of this entire weekend, where I just don’t quite fit in.

I glance back over at my new hockey friend and I find him glancing at me, too. He shows nothing. Gives nothing. He turns back to his teammates and finishes half his beer in one go, then glances back at me again and finishes the rest.

I half expect him to throw his glass to the floor and demand another like Thor. He doesn’t have to, though. The server scurries around them and I see him ordering another round. She’s beautiful, but his gaze is cold and he doesn’t come close to cracking a smile in her direction. He’s like a concrete wall.

Jackie hooks her arm through mine. She’s my favorite of Kyla’s friends and the person I’ve been sharing a room with on this trip. “Did I see you talking with that guy at the bar?”

“Which one?” I ask, knowing exactly which one, but it buys me some time.

“The very tall, very dark, and very handsome one over there.”

She points over at the table of men who are now surrounded by some new people also wearing Vegas hockey jerseys. The fans look elated as they talk to them. And while three of the hockey players seem to be very kind in response to these fans, Mister Tall, Dark, and Brooding doesn’t emote an ounce of anything.

I swallow hard. “Yeah, he was a real jerk. ”

“It didn’t look that way to me. One second you were behind him, the next time I looked over you were wedged in front of him, gazing up at him like you were looking at the stars.”

I scoff. “Looking at the stars? Really, Jackie?”

“Okay, yeah, that’s the Schnapps talking. You know what I mean.” She looks back toward him again and shakes her head. “He has such a hot face.”

She’s not exaggerating on that one. His side profile is unreal. He’s got a strong jaw, but his pronounced brow bone, dark eyebrows, anything but basic nose, and full lips framed by his beard make for one very hot face, indeed.

He looks at me again, and I turn away. Jackie turns with me in the same direction. “He just looked at you.”

“Yeah, he probably could feel us staring at him from across the pub.”

“Girls, come on,” Stacy says and starts pulling Kyla and the rest of us up toward the stage toward the live band that’s been playing Irish pub songs.

“Wait, what are we doing?” I ask.

“We’re dancing,” she replies.

But when she says we’re dancing, she doesn’t mean on the dance floor. She means on the stage. With the band. In front of everybody. “Wait, no.”

“Come on, sourpuss,” Stacy says and drags me by the hand. I’ve got just enough liquid courage to go along with it.

As we try our very best to Irish step dance with the professionals on stage, we laugh and laugh. It’s most definitely a memorable moment. And if I wasn’t embarrassed before, I notice that the hockey player from the bar is watching us dance, and in particular, he’s watching me. There’s some amusement in his eyes. I shake it off and look away, just trying my best to lean into this moment with my cousin and her friends. And I guess I can cross Irish step dancing in front of a big crowd off my bucket list .

When the song ends, we get a big round of applause and then the professional dancers usher us off the small stage and it’s all a bit rushed. When I get rushed, I get nervous and end up tripping over my own feet. I fall forward, and the next moment happens in a flash. Somehow I’m being caught by Mr. Broody. The impact of his arms might be as hard as hitting the floor. They’re strong as hell. But he quickly wraps me up in his arms and holds me gently.

I’m not only in awe of his body and his strength, but how quick he was to catch me, especially after all the drinks I saw him devour.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice deep and filled with concern. Even his eyes have a bit of panic in them.

“I’m so sorry.” Once again, turning to my automatic response in most situations.

He doesn’t lift me up right away. Instead, he slips my strap up onto my shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asks again.

“Yes, I’m fine, just embarrassed.” And it’s true. I can feel my cheeks flush.

He gives me that ever so slightly amused smile again and then takes hold of my hand and spins me around in time to the Irish jig the band is now playing. The laughter that spills out of me makes me double down on my embarrassment.

I’m not sure if it’s his liquid courage or mine , but we’re surprisingly good at this.

At the end of the song, I expect him to let me go, but he doesn’t. He just continues to hold me as a slower song begins and it makes me so very weak. This is what I’m talking about. A kind of spark that should be there between two people. How could you ever marry anyone if you don’t have this electricity?

I don’t even know this guy’s name, but this, this , is what I’ve been looking for. Someone carefree, albeit a bit broody like me, daring, and scorching hot. Not someone like George. Not even someone like David Nassar, who can afford to buy me a ridiculously enormous diamond.

This man spins me in tempo with the slower song as his rich brown eyes burrow into mine. Even though I have no desire to have children, I know that if we did, they would be so beautiful. And because its Las Vegas, and I couldn’t be more single, and the Schnapps has gone to my head too, I pull his face down to mine and kiss him with everything I’ve got. He freezes at first, but I give it a couple more seconds and I’m so glad I do because he kisses me back with such fervor, I can hardly keep standing. It’s the best kind of overwhelming. A voice in my head shouts, Take a look at this Kyla! George-fucking-who?

This kiss is nothing like what I’ve experienced before, with all those dumb guys I attempted to try and found meaningless. The ones that would make me change my life to suit them. No, this kiss is everything. It’s what I’ve been waiting for. It’s it. Finally, a spark.