Twenty-Seven
LEXIE
The night unfolds like something from a dream, or maybe a movie about how the other half lives. We start at an exclusive rooftop restaurant where the maître d' greets Jax by name and leads us to a private table with a view of the city skyline. No menus appear. Instead, the chef himself comes to our table to discuss what we might enjoy.
Yeah, I am definitely underdressed.
And yet, the guys keep stealing glances at me like I'm wearing a shimmering, haute couture ballgown.
"Just bring us your favorites," Jax tells him with confidence. "And a bottle of the Cristal."
I raise an eyebrow at that. "Cristal? Really?"
"What?" Zayn grins. "Too cliché for you?"
"No," I laugh. "Just… extravagant."
"Nothing's too extravagant for a night out with you," Aidan chimes in. "But what do you usually drink?"
I hesitate, already flushed. "Um, red?"
Jax nods, turning back to the sommelier who has materialized at his elbow. "The lady prefers red. Perhaps the 2015 Châteauneuf-du-Pape?"
The sommelier nods approvingly. "An excellent choice, sir."
As he departs, I can't help but laugh. "I have no idea what you just ordered, but it sounded fancy."
"It's good," Darren assures me, his thigh pressed warmly against mine under the table. "Trust me, you'll like it."
The food arrives in waves, delicate appetizers, perfectly cooked entrees, decadent desserts, each more impressive than the last. The conversation flows as easily as the wine, jumping from hockey to fashion to Aidan's latest baking disaster. Apparently he tried to make macarons and ended up with what Zayn describes as "colorful hockey pucks".
What surprises me most is how normal it feels. Despite the luxurious setting and the fact that heads turn whenever one of the guys is recognized, at its core this is just dinner with people I'm growing to care about. People who seem genuinely interested in my opinions, my work, my life.
People who look at me, a beta woman who makes sweaters for a living, like I'm someone extraordinary.
After dinner, we move to a private club where the music thrums through the floor and the lighting gives everything a sultry glow. A VIP section is cleared for us immediately, champagne and cocktails appearing without being ordered.
"Do you dance?" Aidan asks, looking adorably nervous as he gestures toward the crowded floor.
"Not well," I admit. "But I'm willing to try if you are."
His smile is blinding as he offers his hand, leading me into the mass of bodies moving to the beat. I expect awkwardness. He's so tall, and I'm not exactly a clubbing expert, but Aidan moves with surprising grace for someone his size. His hands find my waist, respectful but firm, guiding me to match his rhythm.
"You're good at this," I shout over the music, genuinely impressed.
He ducks his head, a flush visible even in the dim lighting. "Hockey requires good footwork," he explains. "And I may have taken a dance class in college. For, uh, credit."
The admission is so unexpectedly charming that I laugh, relaxing into the movement. One song blends into another, and I find myself passed between partners, from Aidan to Jax, whose controlled dominance on the dance floor matches his demeanor off it. Next is Dmitri, who doesn't so much dance as sway powerfully, his large hands spanning my waist in a way that makes me acutely aware of how small I am compared to him. Then Zayn, who moves with sensual purpose, his dark eyes never leaving mine. His hand on the small of my back feels like burning coals eating through my sweater, and the intensity of his gaze is even hotter.
Finally Darren pulls me close, his body familiar against mine. "Having fun?" he murmurs in my ear, making me shiver.
"More than I expected," I admit, arms looping around his neck. "Your pack knows how to show a girl a good time."
"We're just getting started," he promises, and the rasp in his voice makes my heart skip.
The night continues in a blur of luxury and attention, starting with a private tour of an art installation that should be closed but opens for Dmitri, who apparently is a major donor. Next up is cocktails at a speakeasy so exclusive it doesn't have a name, just a blue door in an alley where Zayn is greeted like royalty. And to top it all off, a midnight dessert tasting at a patisserie where Aidan exchanges baking tips with the chef while the rest of us sample exquisite creations.
Through it all, I'm the center of their attention, never smothered, never overwhelmed, but constantly aware that these five extraordinary men are focused on making me feel special. It's intoxicating in a way that has nothing to do with thechampagne and everything to do with the way they look at me, touch me, listen to me.
