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A dozen Philly Flyers players strut into my vision and interrupt my scheming. They throw me second glances I’m not used to, and Blake breaks away from his throng and comes marching toward me.
“Wow,” he whistles, looking me up and down. “And here, I thought you’d wear Mom’s dresses forever.”
Distracted, I grin at him. Alex is staring right at me. It’s exactly the reaction I was hoping for. His gaze dips lower, licking my exposed skin like flickers of light, taking in every inch of my body.
My stomach swirls as I lock eyes with him. For a second, it feels like we’re the only two people around. In the world, even.
His expression tells me,soon.
I swallow hard and manage to give him a small smile. It’s not even close to what should be happening, but I still like it. Playing with fire alongside Alex is my favorite pastime.
“You’re coming with me.” Blake takes my hand and marches me into the hall. “I’m going to keep you as far away as I can from that Theodore brat.”
Big brother to the rescue.
“Thanks,” I say, letting him lead me inside. The hall is as extravagantly decorated as most of the halls that have hosted these kinds of parties for the Philly Flyers over the years. This time, though, the decorations are more tasteful than usual. I notice a portion of the wall adorned with a backdrop displaying the Philly Flyers logo alongside the NHL emblem. In front of this backdrop, there’s a small podium with a long table where TV reporters are already setting up cameras.
Blake catches me looking at them. “Andy Furman had the genius idea of fixing the press meet before dinner.”
Just as I open my mouth to tell Blake that Alex mentioned the press meet was after dinner, I catch myself and nod. “Shouldn’t he have fixed it for after?”
“Well, we both know the Furmans are not exactly ones to play by the rules.”
Yeah, I think, suddenly spotting Theodore gazing directly at me, flanked by none other than our father. Somehow, mydad managed to convince two billionaires that they needed me to marry into their family.
And now, with the look in Theodore’s eyes, I can tell he’s basically got him locked down.
Anxiety sparks in the pit of my belly. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn this dress. Theo didn’t need even more reasons to swoon over me. And coming here dolled up like this had done just that.
As I turn back to Blake, a few players, including Alex, are crossing the hall to the press table.
My gaze is fixed on my brother’s face, avoiding looking at Alex. Once again, my plan is starting to fall apart because I couldn’t keep it in my pants and kept thinking of Alex over myself.
“You coming?” Alex calls to Blake.
“Sure.” Turning to me, my brother adds, “I don’t want to see Theodore zeroing in on you when I’m not around. Make sure you stay in sight of the press table for the next hour.” He gives me a peck on the cheek before he leaves.
Stay in sight of the table, I repeat like a mantra, swallowing hard. While I do like the fact that being around Blake means Theodore is less likely to come closer to me, I’m not a fan of staring directly at Alex when I should be figuring out the best way to cut him out of my plan.
Still, I follow Blake’s instructions, pushing through the small crowd of fans and hotel workers to stand right in front of the TV reporters’ equipment. Most of the hockey players are already taking their seats behind the table. I’m not surprised to see that Alex is front and center.
To reassure myself, I look around and am relieved to see Theo’s back in the main hotel area.
“You look . . . different.”
I jump. My dad is behind me. I turn around to see an unreadable expression in his gaze as he takes in my dress.
Fuck.
Maybe it is a little bit too risqué for my dad, even if Theo is a huge fan of it. I close my eyes for a second, realizing it’s a tiny bit harder to fall into my faux character after I’ve behaved very differently almost all day. I wonder what to say, how best to explain myself.
But before I can say a word, about a dozen camera lights go on. One of the reporters shoves a mic in Coach’s face and asks a question about the season’s lineup. As he rattles off some stats, my dad is adequately distracted.
“We’ve got to admit that this is kind of an unusual season for your team, maybe even for the hockey world. The scandals—”
“We’ve had one scandal,” Coach Birby, one of the more irritable coaches, spits into his mic at the other end of the table. “And it’s been cleared up.”
“But how do you think it’s affected your performance this season, Alex?” yet another reporter says, shoving his mic toward him.
