Chapter 12 Here’s Our Game Plan
Here’s Our Game Plan
Eric
A uniformed guard at the hotel gate squints at my invitation before handing it back and waving me through. For the second time today, I ease the car onto the winding curving drive toward the massive, gabled building in the distance.
My impression of the hotel hasn’t changed since I dropped Darcy off here a few hours ago. This place isn’t really Maribel’s style.
Yet when I pull up to the valet stand, there’s a sign on the desk in a gold frame. The Fletcher-Randolph Wedding Shower. So I grab our gift from the back of the car and hand over the key to a young man in uniform. “We’ll take good care of her, sir.”
“I have no doubt.”
Standing there in the drive circle, I check for a message from my date.
But then I hear my name called. I turn around and spot Darcy walking toward me.
At least I think it’s her. My gaze doesn’t want to land on her face just yet.
It’s temporarily stuck on her cleavage. She’s wearing a navy-blue cocktail dress that makes my mouth go dry.
The halter style shows off her shoulders, and also her…
Jesus Christ. I need to get my eyes back up to her face before she notices that I’m staring at her like a hound dog eyes a steak.
But my brain isn’t cooperating. The dress hugs every curve perfectly, showing off what’s usually hidden under business attire at the office.
And those matching heels that somehow emphasize her shapely legs…
“Too much?” she asks, glancing down at herself uncertainly. “The invitation said…”
“Don’t.” The word comes out rougher than I intended. I clear my throat and try again. “Don’t second-guess yourself. You look incredible. I’m the one who’s underdressed.”
She stops a few feet short of me on the path and gives my jacket and pocket square a once-over.
“Somehow I think you’ll do.” She smiles, and it short-circuits something in my brain.
My thoughts are entirely inappropriate for a fake date.
They involve sliding that dress off her shoulders, counting each freckle with my tongue…
Get it together, Tremaine. Darcy is asking me a question, and I missed it. “Sorry, what?”
She gives me a curious frown. “Your parents. I thought they were coming along with you?”
“Oh.” Right. “My mom decided she wasn’t up to it.”
Darcy winces. “Oh no.”
I shrug like it’s no big deal, but it kind of is. My mother is a weepy mess right now—I saw it with my own eyes. And if my parents bail on the actual wedding next month, Maribel will probably feel bad about it, which just isn’t fair.
“You didn’t need a date after all, then,” Darcy says.
“Sure I did. You think I want to dance by myself?” I offer her my arm, mostly to have something to do with my hands that isn’t reaching for other things. “Ready for battle?”
She slides her arm through mine, and the brush of her skin against my wrist sends electricity up my arm. “Yes, Captain.”
I’m so screwed.
“… Except the party is that way. Pay attention.” She redirects us around the side of the gracious building, toward an event space that faces the ocean.
Even the sea breeze isn’t enough to cool me off right now.
As we approach the entrance, I’m acutely aware of how her hips sway, how the fabric of her dress catches the light.
Even the tap of her heels on the wooden steps is doing things to me.
This is going to be the longest night of my life.
“So here’s our game plan,” she says. “I’m going to say hi to my family for approximately seven seconds.
You’re going to introduce me to Maribel, who’s the real reason we’re here.
And meanwhile, we’re going to scout out the appetizer offerings.
If Tessa planned this party, the food will be good.
But we’ll still need to be tactical. Why fill up on spinach turnovers if there’s shrimp cocktail or sashimi? ”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” I say as we arrive at the doorway of the party.
“I didn’t come here to play. Please pay special attention to any miniature foods we might find.”
“Um… what?”
She gives me a glance like I’m the confusing one.
“You know—mini bao buns. Tiny grilled cheese sandwiches. They’re not just regular food made smaller—they’re engineered for maximum flavor impact.
Think about it: with a full-sized quiche, you get boring middle bites that are mostly just egg.
But with minis? Every single bite has the perfect ratio of crust to filling.
It’s like they’ve solved the fundamental problem of food geometry. How could you not notice this?”
“Obviously, something is very wrong with me.”
“We’ll work on it,” she says as we step into the party.
“Yes, ma’am.” I take in the lay of the land. There’s a wooden stage at one end of the room, and a lot of candlelit high-top tables and bar stools for guests. And a distant buffet table.
I don’t spot Maribel just yet, but I hear Darcy sigh. “My family, two o’clock. Might as well get this over with.”
A tall man in an expensive suit catches sight of us and his eyebrows lift. I was expecting a redhead. But even as a blond, he looks enough like Darcy around the eyes that he has to be her father. A polished beauty in her forties stands at his side. That must be his wife, Kandi.
“Pumpkin!” her father calls out, and I feel Darcy’s fingers tighten on my arm. “You made it!”
As we approach, another woman—younger, in a formfitting silver dress—appears at his other side, her perfectly styled hair gleaming under the party lights. Her resemblance to Darcy’s father is even stronger, but where his expression is warm, hers is calculating.
Tessa, I presume.
“Hi, Dad. Kandi. Tessa.” Darcy’s smile looks forced. “Have you met Eric Tremaine?”
Her father’s handshake is firm. “The hockey player! I caught some of your last playoff series. Tough break in game seven.”
I manage not to wince. “Thanks. We’ll get them next year.”
Tessa’s gaze bounces between me and Darcy, and then her eyes narrow. “You two know each other?” Her gaze rakes over me with obvious interest. “How?”
“I’ve worked for the Legends for years,” Darcy says simply.
Tessa’s perfectly shaped eyebrows arch. “I wouldn’t have thought the admin pool would mix with the players.” She gives Darcy a once-over. “Interesting dress. Where did you find it?”
“It’s vintage,” Darcy says.
“Looks it.”
I feel Darcy flinch, and something protective rises in my chest. “Of course we know each other. In fact, Darcy practically runs the front office.”
“That’s my girl!” Darcy’s father says, and Tessa glowers. I’m surprised she doesn’t sprout fangs and attack. Meanwhile, Kandi is taking it all in with an amused expression. Like she’s enjoying a tennis match.
Christ. “Where should we put our gift?” I indicate the shopping bag in my other hand. We’ve got to get away from these harpies.
Tessa looks down at the gift, and then her gaze pops between me and Darcy again. She appears confused, like I’ve asked her to solve an equation.
Maybe she’s not very smart.
“Just there,” Darcy’s stepmother says with a tight smile. “We’ve set up a table.”
“Super,” I say, trying to keep a friendly smile on my face.
Darcy’s father, oblivious to the weird energy bouncing between the women around him, cuffs my shoulder. “Have some food, grab a drink. Tessa planned a dance-off. Should be loads of fun. Enjoy yourselves! And Darcy—we’re on for lunch tomorrow?”
“Of course,” she says quickly. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Lunch?” Tessa echoes, looking confused again. “We’re doing lunch?”
“Just me and your sister,” her father says, patting Tessa’s arm. He’s a toucher. “Haven’t seen her in ages.”
I don’t miss how the look on Tessa’s face hardens again, even as Darcy practically marches me toward the gift table, where she pulls a beautifully wrapped box from the shopping bag and finds a spot for it.
Then she turns toward me and exhales. “Welp. That was fun. Let’s drink.”
“Your sister is such a charmer.”
“That was actually restrained for her.”
I guide her toward the bar, my hand settling protectively at the small of her back. “Pick your poison. There’s a special cocktail called the Theribel.”
“Aw,” she says, chuckling. “Not bad for a couple name. What’s in it?”
I study the printed sign on the bar. “It’s like a French 75 with pink champagne. Some nice beers back there, too…”
“I’d love a Theribel,” Darcy says, turning to me. “Listen, there’s something I need to do.”
“Hmm?” Keep your eyes up there, Tremaine.
“I have to give our music to the DJ. So they use the right clip.”
“If you must.” Still not happy about this dancing thing.
“Eric,” she hisses. “It’s going to be fine. You even insisted that we practice!”
“Practicing is what champions do.”
She gives me a sideways glance, like maybe I’m a crackpot. “I know that competition is your thing. But you’re on vacation.”
“My idea of vacation doesn’t include dancing in front of strangers.” At least not when I’m unprepared. That’s why I pulled over at a rest stop for a quick rehearsal after Darcy explained her idea to me.
We danced, briefly, in the grass, while I tried to focus on what she was telling me and not the scent of her perfume.
“I just don’t like to lose,” I add now.
She rolls her eyes. “We all lose sometimes, hotshot. I’m going to give that guy our song, okay? You grab those drinks, and meet me over there?” She points toward another corner of the room. “I think I see mini empanadas and little shish kebabs, and I need to investigate.”
“Godspeed,” I say, and she gives me a salute before striding off in those heels that make my mouth water.
The bar line advances. I get our drinks and drop a twenty into the tip jar.
“Omigod thanks,” says a young woman mixing drinks behind the bar. Then she lifts her gaze to mine, and her eyes widen. “Wait, you’re that hockey player!”
As soon as she says it, several heads swivel in my direction. “Um, yup. Not playing tonight, though. Unfortunately.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh yeah. Wow. What is tonight, game two of the finals?”
“Game three,” I say, lifting our cocktails off the bar. “But who’s counting?”
The answer is me. I’m counting. We could have beaten Colorado, and I’m still salty about it.
Darcy has disappeared, so I carry our drinks over to a high table to wait. It’s covered with a tablecloth, and adorned with a bouquet of ink pens and a short stack of “ballots” for voting on the dance-off winner.
I set down our drinks and pull out my phone to check my texts. There’s one from my father. Give Maribel our best tonight. Tell her your mom isn’t feeling well.
Sure, Dad. Lying for you guys is such a joy. I take a deep breath and sigh it out, the way the team psychologist taught me to do when I told him I was having panic attacks again. “Try to have a nice, relaxing summer, okay?” he’d said.
Yeah, pal. Family drama is so conducive to relaxation. I take a sip of my Manhattan.
“Omigod, Tessa!” a voice rings out from nearby. “Missy says your sister is here with Eric Tremaine? Is it true?”
Startled at hearing my name, I glance around. But the sound seems to be coming from the other side of a room divider that’s screening the kitchen from view of the guests.
“I don’t even get it,” Tessa’s voice hisses back. “They came here together. But she’s not really with him, right?”
“She can’t be. It just wouldn’t make any sense.”
What the actual fuck?
“None at all,” Darcy’s sister snaps. “Can you imagine? He’s a ten, and she’s a five on a good day.”
My head just about blows off.
“Nah, a four. And maybe it’s, like, a stunt?” the first woman says. “She’s doing this to get back at you.”
“Right?” Tessa yelps. “It’s probably the only reason she came tonight. Maybe she heard about my problems with Josh.”
“That bitch. And God, her shoes,” the first woman says, her voice fading, as if they’re walking away. “So ugly. To go with her ugly face.”
Tessa snorts with laughter.
And I see red.