Page 13 of Scoring a Sweet Thing

“Yeah, do you wanna see?”

He practically beams at my offer. “Yeah, of course I do! Show me!”

I pull my phone from my pocket while he presses the elevator call button. He steps in closer, our hands still clasped together, and I shiver at his breath coasting against my ear as I show him the pieces I did today. His high praise and excited sounds of approval fill me with something I haven’t experienced before.

Is this what a dog feels like when they’re told they’re a good boy?

I have people complimenting my work all the time in the studio and on my social media pages, but there’s something about Remi’s genuine enthusiasm that feels… exceptional.

He’s the complete opposite of me. I’m the dark storm cloud, grumpy and filled with rain, whereas he’s the high sun at noon, shining his intense sunlight on everyone around him.

When we step out of the elevator, we’re greeted by waiters holding trays of champagne and seltzers.

“Oooh, thank you, kindest sir,” Remi says gleefully, picking up a dainty glass of champagne and sticking out his pinky finger when he takes a sip. He pulls a soured expression for the briefest moment before forcing a smile once he’s swallowed. “Mm! Delicious!”

I snort under my breath and take one of the seltzers.

“You don’t have to pretend to drink it if you don’t like it. I won’t judge you.”

“Ugh, it tastes so gross. I don’t know why people like drinking it? It gets all up in my nose and ughhh!” He pulls another face, and I can’t help but laugh.

“I can agree with you there.”

Champagne makes me want to barf, but I’m not going to admit that in a place like this.

With my hand still in Remi’s, he leads us toward the main conference room, where the gala will be held. Dark silk sheets and fairy lights are draped on the ceiling, making the ceiling look like a clear night sky, and there are navy blue and silver balloon displays scattered throughout the room—which I now recognize as the team’s colors, thanks to my quick internet search last night.

I glance around the room. Everyone is dressed to impress. High-end tuxedos and fancy dresses. They all look like they fit in here. They don’t look out of place, and a knot of discomfort settles in my stomach.

Am I going to stand out as someone who doesn’t fit in?

“Are you okay?” Remi asks, appearing in front of me suddenly. He’s standing so close the rest of the room is blocked from my vision. There’s a flicker of worry on his handsome face, and I hate myself for putting it there.

“If you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to stay. We could…” He looks over his shoulder, almost like he’s looking for another way to escape, even though the door is right behind us. “We could run away. Or we can fill our plates with food, then sit under the table. They won’t find us. Or⁠—”

The wave of nerves dissipates as I laugh, interrupting him. I give his hand a squeeze, then take a deep, steadying breath.

“It’s okay. It’s just… different. I’ve never been to places like this, and even when I’ve been to higher-end restaurants, the looks I get like I don’t belong there make it an unpleasant experience for me.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but I raise my free hand, pressing one finger to his lips.

“But I said I’d be your plus-one, Remi. I just need a minute to… get my head around it all, but I want to be here with you. Let me protect you from the grandmas.”

“Yeah?” His stunning brown eyes sparkle, creasing at the sides as he gives a wide, goofy grin.

Any discomfort I experience tonight will be all worth it for this man, especially if he keeps looking at me like this. People don’t look at me in this way. Like I’ve hung the moon or some other wonderful shit.

But with Remi?

I like it. And it worries me at just how much.

CHAPTER SIX

Remington

With a tight grip on Bailey’s hand, I weave us through the crowd of people toward the bar situated on the edge of the room. I ignore each one of my teammates waving at me, trying to get my attention. They will no doubt try to embarrass me in front of Bailey, so they can wait. When we reach the bar, I slap my free hand against the countertop and flash the brightest smile I can muster at the bartender.

“Hello there, kind sir! I need a good beer, like, yesterday.” I quickly turn to Bailey, checking he’s okay with my drink of choice. When he nods, I hold up two fingers and add, “Make it two, thanking you!”