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She whips her face to mine, her eyes flashing with anger. I recoil, remembering the last time she went nuclear on me. My reaction doesn’t go unnoticed, and she loses some of her murderous glare. “I’m not a prude,” she grits out. “I just didn’t expect your comment, that’s all.”

Our driver pulls up at the entrance of the hotel, so I drop the subject, even though there’s more to unpack here. But that will have to wait until later.

The charity event is being held at a boutique hotel in downtown LA. I usually drive to these things, but because of Leigh’s high profile, Bobbi ordered us a car. Even though her appearance is last-minute, there are way more photographers outside than I’m used to. Has everyone watched the interview with Trina Tucker? I glance at my outfit, and the reality that I’m about to face all those people while stuck in Leigh’s body drops like a bomb. I had pushed it aside, and the banter during the car ride helped me forget about it.

“Shit,” I mutter.

“What’s wrong?”

“There are a lot of paparazzi out there.” I rub my clammy hands on Leigh’s dress.

“Welcome to my world. You’ll be fine.”

The way my pulse is pounding in my ears tells me otherwise. “What if I trip again?”

“You won’t. I got you.” She smiles, and this time, it does reach her eyes.

Her improved mood makes me feel less nervous about stepping out in this super-uncomfortable dress and not-sensible shoes. Leigh picked a pair of strappy sandals, and the thin strips of leather pinch my toes.

“Ready?” She reaches for the door handle.

I snort. “No.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Key.”

“Key?”

She’s never called me by my nickname before, and I confess I like it. The blush returns to her face, and it tells me she’s as surprised about that as I am. “Well… we’re friends now.”

“Technically, we’re a couple.” I grin.

“Ugh. Don’t remind me of that.” She opens the door and steps out of the car before I can reply.

I scooch across the seat with the expected grace of a guy wearing a woman’s gown for the first time. The dress is long, but there’s a slit that goes all the way up to the middle of my thigh, so I have to be careful not to flash anyone. Leigh offers me her hand, which is helpful.

The flashbulbs go off, and I don’t know where to look or how to stand. Several voices call Leigh’s name, and I understand that I should be posing for the photographers, but I’m completely frozen. As much attention as I get as a hockey player, it doesn’t compare to this.

Leigh puts her hand on my lower back, leaning closer. “Okay, we should get moving.”

“Yeah.”

“Keep smiling.”

Now the photographers are calling my name too, and automatically, I turn toward them. The short walk from the curb to the entrance of the hotel seems to take forever, and by the time we’re inside, I have a headache.

“That was intense,” I say.

“That was nothing.” She steps in front of me and proceeds to fix my dress.

“What are you doing?” I hiss.

“The skirt was crooked.”

“Oh. Shit. I’m going to look bad in the pictures, aren’t I? I mean, you are going to look bad. I’m sorry.”

To my surprise, she simply shakes her head, unbothered. “It didn’t look that bad. But we still have to go through the step and repeat.”

I follow her line of sight and grimace. I totally forgot about that. This part of the charity events was always something I never worried about. No one cares if a player doesn’t pose perfectly for pictures. Now I have to worry about angles and stances. Being a woman is so much harder than being a man. I get it now.