The Sweet Talker (Boston Hawks Hockey #1) - Gina Azzi Page 0,7

“No. We want to stay.”

“You can barely stand,” Austin snaps.

She glances up, her eyes bleary, her makeup smeared. “Let Indy stay. She never goes out. Her vagina is going to close up if she doesn’t get some good di—”

“Stop talking,” Austin demands.

Holy shit. I’m going to kill Claire. I drop my face, knowing it’s flaming from my chest to the tips of my ears. I can’t believe Claire’s drunk ass just outed me like that. But I can’t deny it. Seven months is…seven months.

My skin flushes all over again.

Over the din of the chatter and the distant pulsing of the beat on the dance floor, I hear Noah and Austin exchange words.

In the next instant, Claire’s being pulled from my arms as Austin supports her weight. He glances at me. “You want to stay, Indy?”

Not after Claire’s public declaration. Right now, I’d like the ground to open and plunge me to Earth’s core until the next century. I open my mouth as Noah says, “I’ll make sure you get home.”

My mouth snaps shut. I look around the private section we’re enclosed in, the gorgeous women, the wildly attractive, muscular men, the plushness of the club. I am way out of my depth here. Way, way out of my comfort zone. I should leave. I should go back to my apartment and my reading chair and pour a glass of wine and lose myself in Yuval Noah Harari’s Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind.

Claire pinches me, reminding me that I’m turning over a new leaf. Starting now.

“Sure,” I hear myself say, still shocked that I’m agreeing to this.

Austin cuts Noah a look. “Keep an eye on her.”

“Of course, man,” he agrees, offering me a smile. “I promise, you’ll have fun, Indy.”

“I’m sure she will,” Claire mutters.

Austin shakes his head, pulling her toward the exit. He points at me. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I’ll be okay, Aus.” I wave him off. Even though I haven’t spent a ton of time growing up around Austin, he’s always looked out for me like I was his third sister. The same way Aiden does. The realization warms me up, filling a bit of my only-child void.

Noah shuffles forward, his fingers pressing into the small of my back. He dips his head. “Want a drink?”

I nod.

He steers me closer to the front of the bar. “We can leave whenever you want.”

“Oh, I don’t have to stay if you have,” I pause, glancing around the space, “plans.”

Noah chuckles, following my line of sight. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, Austin told me this isn’t really your scene. So, whenever you’re ready to call it a night, tell me.”

I scoff, pulling back and looking at him. “What? You’re going to tell me this isn’t your scene either?”

Chagrin flushes across his features and he flags down a bartender. “Nope. Lately this is too much my scene.”

I blush at the meaning underlying his words and order a vodka soda.

Noah rests his lower back against the bar beside me. He crosses his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging. How do men make casual look so enticing? I tap my fingertips on the top of the bar, wracking my brain for something smart to say as Noah studies me.

The bartender slides over my drink. “Thanks,” I say, picking it up, relieved I have something to do with my hands.

“You’re the most interesting woman in here, Indy,” Noah says after a beat.

I rear back, surprised, wondering if he’s joking with me. But when I meet his gaze, his eyes are as black as midnight, intense and potent.

I take a long pull of my vodka soda, needing the liquid courage to interact with him.

Especially since I’m happy I decided to stay.

4

Noah

Indiana Merrick could tempt a saint.

While nearly every woman in the club tonight and definitely the women up here partying with the team would do almost anything to impress one of the guys, Indy sets herself apart.

She’s dressed sexy as hell, with long, shapely legs, delicious curves, and hair I want to fist my hand in. But it’s her face that’s gold. Her damn expressions, so genuine and honest, ripple across her features with an openness that most of the women I know learned to conceal years ago.

Her eyes burn with curiosity and excitement and a self-consciousness that’s more endearing than it should be.

“How do you like Boston?” I ask, wincing at how lame I sound. The truth is, I don’t have much practice with small talk. Most people I