Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
“Oh, right.” I pretend to recall this fact. “Good to see you again, Mr. Dawson.”
Five more steps and we’re intercepted by another stranger who thinks they’re my best friend.
“Gigi, so nice to see you!” a heavyset woman booms, clasping both my hands in hers. “Brenda Yarden, Bruins’ head office. We met last year at your father’s jersey number retirement event?”
“Of course.” I feign recollection of this too. I gesture to Ryder. “This is Luke Ryder. Cocaptain of the Briar men’s team.”
“Good to meet you.” Yarden gives his hand a quick shake before turning back to me. “We’re hearing murmurs about the Hall of Fame, and we cannot be more excited. What’s your father thinking about it all?”
“I mean, that’s up to the selection committee,” I remind her. “Not sure Dad has any say about whether he’s nominated.”
The next ambush involves a trio of male boosters who interrogate us about whether Chad Jensen expects to win the Frozen Four this year. I don’t know why they think I can speak for Jensen, nor can I offer many details about the men’s team because I don’t actually play on it. But Ryder is no help, so I talk out of my ass for about ten minutes before they mercifully move along.
For the next hour, we shuffle around the ballroom like mindless robots, while I pretend to care about the boosters and what they’re saying to me. I’m the only one touting the program, so my voice hurts by the time we manage to find a quiet moment for the two of us.
I grab two skinny flutes of champagne from a server in a black uniform with a red bow tie.
Ryder starts, “I don’t want one—”
“It’s not for you,” I grumble.
I chug the first glass in front of the amused waiter and place the empty on his tray. Once he’s gone, I sip the second flute.
“Easy, partner,” Ryder warns.
“Partner? Is that what this is? A partnership? Because from where I’m standing, I’m the one who’s been doing all the Briar hyping. PS you’re driving home because I plan to have at least, oh, ten more of these.”
“I told Jensen I wasn’t good at this shit.”
“Yeah, and you’re even worse than you made yourself out to be. Would it kill you to smile?” I peer at him over the rim of my glass. “I’ve seen you do it, so I know your face is capable of arranging the muscles in that way.”
He narrows his eyes.
I spot another small group of donors making their way toward us. Pure, single-minded purpose.
“Oh God, no,” I moan. “I just need five minutes of peace and quiet.”
“C’mere.” Ryder grabs my champagne flute and deposits it on the tray of a passing waitress, then takes my hand.
The next thing I know, he’s whisking me across the ballroom toward the stage. There’s a curtained area on either side of it, blocking off the two sets of steps leading up to the wings. I blink, and suddenly we’re tucked behind the curtains. Enveloped in darkness.
“Better?”
His rough voice tickles my ear.
I gulp, my pulse speeding at the realization that Ryder and I are standing in the dark, scant inches apart.
“This wasn’t what I had in mind,” I murmur over my pounding heart.
“Yeah, well. Best I could do.”
I draw a breath, falling silent for a moment. The music in the ballroom is muffled now, not only because of the barrier provided by the curtain, but because my heartbeat continues to thunder against my rib cage. The scent of him surrounds me. Woodsy and spicy, with a note of leather I find odd because he’s not wearing leather. It’s deliciously masculine. I probably shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do.
“I don’t get you,” I confess.
“Nothing to get.” He shrugs, and the action causes his shoulder to nudge mine.
“Seriously, I can’t figure out if this grumpy Mr. Silent thing is an act. Some cool persona you put on.”
“Sounds like a lot of effort.”
“Exactly, and that’s why I’m leaning toward it being genuine. That you really are just this grumpy, dangerous—”
“Dangerous, huh?” he cuts in. A soft rasp.
My eyes are adjusting to the darkness. I note that his are heavy-lidded, slitted as he looks me up and down. One side of his mouth lifts mockingly.
“Do you feel like you’re in danger right now, Gigi?”
“Should I?”
“No.” He chuckles. Low and smoky.
“Well, then I don’t.”
Something dangerous is happening, though. A strange thread of awareness traveling between us. Or maybe that’s a natural consequence of being in the dark with an incredibly hot guy. Ryder eases a bit closer. Still watching me.
“What?” I ask self-consciously.
“You look nice.” His voice is gruff.
Surprise flickers through me. “What?”
“I should have said it earlier when you showed up. That was rude of me.”
“Since when do you care about being rude?”
“I don’t.”
A laugh slips out. “Well. Thanks, I guess. You look nice too.”