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“How’d I get so lucky to snag his notice?”
“Who cares?” Sophie says with a laugh. “Just go with it and enjoy.”
“You’re right,” I agree, knowing I have to quit worrying about the what-ifs or I will sabotage myself.
While sipping our drinks, I give her more details about our first date. The bar and restaurant are filled to capacity with fans who trickled over after the game. It’s loud and jubilant, despite the Titans 2–1 loss after a hard-fought battle against the Houston Jam. Sophie tells me the city has been absolutely nuts in their support of the new team, and it’s always a celebration after every game because we actually have a team to celebrate. That really touches me.
I hate that the Titans lost, but the only goal came from Gage, and it was thrilling to cheer for him in a different capacity from just being a fan or an employee of the organization.
The man had his lips on mine two nights ago, and that made watching him extra special.
Sophie’s eyes light up as she spies something behind me, and she raises her hand. I tense, knowing it must be Baden and Gage she’s waving to.
I swivel on my stool at our high-top table for four Gage had reserved. Here he comes, looking impossibly more gorgeous than the last time I saw him. He’s dressed casually in jeans, which he must’ve brought with him to the arena since I know they arrive in suits. The black Henley fits his torso so well, I can see the curves and dips to his chest muscles between the edges of the leather jacket he’s wearing over it.
He’s laughing at something Baden says, but then he turns his head my way and our eyes lock. His smile slides a little, only to ease into an appreciative curve as he notices what I’m wearing.
His jersey.
Over a turtleneck, of course.
Baden moves past me to reach Sophie, and perhaps he even greets me, but I have no clue. All I can do is stare at Gage as he walks toward me.
“You got a Heyward jersey,” he says, staring down at me.
I shrug. “He’s my favorite player, so yeah.”
Gage laughs and then to my surprise, delight, and slight embarrassment, he leans down and kisses me. So easy with displays of affection, but I still tense up and force myself to stay in the moment. Both pleasure and pain—it’s hard for me to trust—but I have to believe it will get easier to enjoy and accept.
“It looks good on you,” he murmurs as he draws back. “I feel like a dumbass. I should’ve gotten you one.”
I shake my head. “No. I would’ve never expected—”
“I know,” he says, placing a finger over my lips to silence me. “Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to have someone give you nice things.”
Pushing his hand away, I remind him, “You gave me flowers.”
“I’ll give you more if you let me,” he says, and it’s done in a low rumble so only I can hear it. The double entendre sends a shiver up my spine.
A waitress appears quickly. She’d been hovering, ready to pounce, when Gage and Baden showed up as she knew Gage had reserved the table and obviously, the hockey players are treated like royalty.
We soon settle around the table and discuss the game for a bit. I update Baden and Sophie on my job, and we talk about the documentary. There’s a lot of teasing that Gage will become a big film star, and Sophie fills us in on their house hunt. She wants to remodel an old Victorian for them to live in, and while I can tell it’s not Baden’s cup of tea, he hangs on every word she says. If she’s pleased, then he’s pleased.
Throughout it all and over the course of two drinks, Gage draws a lot of attention from the fans. Several stand off a few feet and take photos of him sitting there. Some come up and ask for autographs and pictures together. He’s gracious to all of them, taking particular care and extra time with the kids.
I enjoy watching him.
Except when it’s women seeking his attention, and not women in general. I’m discovering a certain type of fan who goes above and beyond just wanting an autograph or a simple photo. They tend to be scantily dressed and do a lot of pouty lips and snuggling in too tight before the camera clicks.
In fairness, Gage doesn’t seem to enjoy those interactions. Just as I can tell he’s a little tense when it’s a group of rowdy, drunk male fans. I suppose one would call this the perils of celebrity.
More importantly, I logically understand that my own insecurities about my outward appearance are magnified when I see Gage near a beautiful, sexy woman. And that’s my problem to deal with.
