Page 37 of Double Puck

“Still worth celebrating.” He places a fresh champagne in my hand. “It will be wonderful to have them here tonight. The guests are excited about our special guests.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Careful, Dad. That sounded dangerously close to encouragement.”

He winks. “Don’t make me repeat it.”

Mom smiles into her champagne, and Dad’s thumb moves against her waist as a pair of foundation directors approach. Dad offers Mom his arm as if they rehearsed the movement. Always sharp. Always perfect.

Mom begins making introductions, but pretty soon, I’m pulled away by the sound of the front doors dramatically swinging open, followed by a collective intake of breath that suggests either royalty has arrived, or someone’s dress just fell off.

They’re here.

I turn around to see the Beachside Bears’ table arriving in force.

The Morrison brothers stand shoulder to shoulder in an unholy trinity of tuxedoed glory. Declan, composed as always, is dressed in a perfectly pressed charcoal tux. Mason’s black jacket is tailored so precisely, it looks like someone hand-sculpted it just for him.

And Beck…

My eyes practically leave my skull.

His bowtie actually tied, his hair just barely tamed, like it couldn’t resist one last rebellion. And those maddening Morrison-blue eyes are sweeping the crowd before immediately locking onto me.

Across the room, he grins.

And it wrecks me. It fucking wrecks me.

Oh God.

He's hot. Beck Morrison in a tux is hot.

Beside him, Josie clings to Declan’s arm, smiling sweetly as she takes in the room. Rose appears at Mason’s side, whispering as Finn lingers in the back, craning his neck to stare in awe at the chandelier.

"Oh, Darcy. Who is that?" Mom drifts up beside me again, just as Corbin Cole stumbles in, somehow managing to trip over nothing on the way in.

Beck helps him gather his balance before he crosses the ballroom floor, carrying what looks like a vintage bottle of red wine with a ribbon tied around the neck.

He stops directly in front of my mother, holding out a hand before bowing when she accepts his handshake.

"Mrs. Madden, I'm Beck Morrison. On behalf of the Beachside Bears, it's an absolute pleasure to meet you." He extends the bottle with both hands like it's an Olympic medal. "I hope you don't mind, but I bought you a gift. A vintage '94 merlot, the very same year you founded the Madden Foundation, if I'm not mistaken?"

Mom's perfectly composed face softens.

"You brought me vintage wine?" She takes the bottle, turning it in her hands like this might be the most thoughtful gift she's ever received.

I’ve seen this woman maintain expression through charity disasters, foundation board scandals and a champagne tower collapsing onto a senator. But Beck Morrison just melted her with a bottle of wine.

“You know he’s here as part of the Beachside Bears table, right, Mum?” I give Beck a pointed look over her shoulder. “He and his entourage are technically a community-outreach initiative.”

“Then they’re practically family.” She waves a hand. “And anyone who brings me wine is welcome at my gala.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Madden.” Beck grins.

For the next fifteen minutes, the ballroom fills slowly with guests in black ties and gorgeous evening gowns. Mom fires up the orchestra before moving across the room to catch my arm.

"Sweetheart," she says in my ear. "Your father suggested you take that friend of yours, and greet the guests, both of you together."

I swallow hard when I see Beck already laughing with someone across the room. Even in a room full of strangers, he's instantly the life of the party.

I don't know how he does it.