Chapter 13
. . .
Will
Holy fucking shit.
I thought that asking Drew to drive us to the gala would be a fun way to spend more time with a girl who is increasingly on my mind, even when she isn’t sending me multiple emails.
Turns out, her behind the wheel of a supercar is the equivalent of me in the rink.
She’s a goddamn natural.
The long slit that leads up her right thigh, hitting higher than normal when she depresses the clutch, has me staring out of the windshield and recounting the former Seattle Scorpion’s captain and NHL Hall of Famer, Jon Morgan’s, best goalscoring seasons in chronological order.
Where the fuck has this Drew been hiding?
When we reach a stoplight and she shifts into neutral, I chance a quick glance her way.
Glossy pink lips are tipped into the cutest smile as she drums her fingernails on the steering wheel.
“How do you know—”
“How to drive a car like this?” She tips her head to one side as she turns to look at me.
The dress she’s wearing should be illegal—the way it dips down at the front, revealing smooth skin but zero cleavage. The shoulder straps are so thin that it makes the bodice look like a corset, but somehow, their presence gives the dress an even sexier effect.
To me, there’s something about a woman who gives nothing away—emotionally or physically—to a guy, allowing his imagination to interpret what lies beneath.
Drew is exactly that type of woman, and I stand by what I said to her the other week—Paul Tierney wouldn’t know a good thing if it hit him straight between the eyes.
My brain itches to tell her that again, but I hold myself back because I’m eager to know how she learned to drive like Michael Schumacher.
Drew shifts into gear, totally forgoing the flappy paddles on the steering wheel, and we take off down the road.
“You know my dad and his love for muscle cars.” Drew shifts gears again and holds the steering wheel with one hand, the other waving about, like a prop to her story. Confidence oozes from her every pore right now and—
Holy fucking shit, this is your friend and publicist, Will.
Jon Morgan, second season: ninety-two goals, one hundred twenty assists.
“Don’t you remember that after he retired from hockey, he started following NASCAR and Formula 1 more carefully?
He got invited to a number of track days, and he dragged us all along.
” Drew moves down a gear and takes a left.
“Turns out, I actually really enjoyed them and picked up the basics pretty fast.”
No fucking kidding.
“This is a nice car,” she adds as we pull into the venue’s parking lot, but instead of heading to the valet, she finds a space at the back and kills the engine.
“Why are we parking here?” I ask, keeping my eyes on her face and not her right thigh. I swear that slit is gradually working higher.
She takes her purse from where I’ve been holding it in my lap and hands me the car keys.
“This is a charity gala, and you read my emails about the importance of arriving in a modest style, no?”
I shrug. “Just because I drive nice cars doesn’t mean I’m not humble.”
She deadpans in a way only that Drew can. “William, do you even know the meaning of humble?”
I feign hurt, but actually, her words do kind of sting. It sucks to be misunderstood, thanks to an online persona I’ve manufactured, but to hear that Drew thinks I’m full of myself bothers me way more than it probably should. Even if she is responsible for my public image.
“If you had your own way tonight, what would you have me do?” I ask her genuinely.
She drops her eyes and thinks on it for a second, examining the purse that matches her stiletto sandals.
“I’d like you to engage with a few of the sponsors—notably Repeet—take a few photos with some of the families who have been invited here tonight by the charity, sign some autographs, and make a couple of donations during the auction.
Tonight’s event is about supporting people who truly know the meaning of having nothing in life. ”
While tonight’s nominated charity isn’t the one run by Coach and Mia, it is another domestic abuse foundation, which focuses on rehoming women and families who have been rendered homeless due to violence from a former partner.
A lump sticks in my throat when I think about what Coach endured when he was a kid and the horrors he witnessed at the hands of his dad, who has been behind bars for most of my lifetime.
And while those thoughts weigh heavily in my mind for a second, I’d be an idiot to miss the slump in Drew’s shoulders or the sudden shine to her eyes.
This might be unwise, but to hell with the consequences.
No one can see us in the darkened parking lot anyway.
I take Drew’s hand in mine and rest it in my lap, squeezing her fingers gently.
Her skin feels as soft and smooth as it looks, but there’s a chill to her fingers that makes me want to wrap my other palm around her hand and bring it to my mouth, blowing on her skin to warm it up.
“I know this night means a lot to you, Drew. It does to me too. Mom and Dad have only told June and me a few details about Jessie’s past. And I can only imagine how hard it must be for you guys to process what happened to him.”
“To them both.” Drew sniffs quietly. “Mom got caught up in the violence one time too.”
I squeeze her fingers tighter. “Your parents mean a lot to me.” I swallow hard. “As do you.”
She doesn’t say anything in response, ocean-blue eyes searching mine.
Ordinarily, nothing about Drew screams that she’s only twenty-one.
She carries herself with grace, maturity, and sophistication.
Right now though, she looks incredibly vulnerable, and that stirs a foreign feeling inside me—one I don’t totally recognize, but one I don’t mind being there.
“I wasn’t going to say anything until later, but I already made a donation before I arrived at your place.”
Her attention whips to me, eyes wide with delight. “You did?”
I nod once, so fucking happy that I took a second out of my day to open the email from the charity, asking for advance donations.
“I figured since I’d treated myself to a new car, I should pay it forward and donate the same amount to charity.”
Drew chokes on her own breath, sputtering out, “What?! This car has to be at least two hundred fifty thousand dollars!”
Sure, the donation can be written off on my taxes, but that’s not why I did it.
“Maybe it can set up a family for a year or so.”
Drew bursts out laughing, and I find myself smiling at her.
“Will!”
She slaps her thigh hard, and I’m looking at that slit again.
“You’re so funny! That kind of cash could set a family up for life—or at least the next decade.”
Her laughter fades, and when she leans across the center section and sets a chaste kiss on my left cheek, warmth inflates my chest. Making people happy has always made me happy, although there’s something truly great when a person smiles at me the way Drew is.
“What you’ve given is going to make such a difference. And in the most non-condescending way, I’m really freaking proud of you.”
“I have to say, Will, we’ve been really impressed by your start to the season.” The sponsor tips his drink at me as we stand next to the free bar, put on by the Rogues.
“You’ve really made an impact,” a female, dressed in a long red gown that almost matches her hair, agrees with the other sponsor.
Both she and the dude have told me their names a handful of times, but they might as well be speaking in Mandarin since I haven’t absorbed a word. I don’t even know which companies they represent.
Because all I’m focused on right now is Tristan Vaughn’s left arm wrapped around Drew’s lower back.
Drew has never enjoyed the spotlight, and I know that includes dancing, although with the way she’s smiling and laughing with him as he moves her around the dance floor to one of Ed Sheeran’s ballads, I’d only be fooling myself to deny that she’s enjoying it.
He’s single—I know he is. And if he isn’t entertaining our coach’s daughter to score brownie points with her dad, he’s definitely angling to take her back to his place tonight.
I grip my soda glass tighter and force a smile at the redhead. “Thanks. I was hoping to make an early impact for the team, and I’m really happy with how things are going.”
The male sponsor gives the woman a side-eye, inching a little closer to me, like he’s trying to muscle her out of the conversation.
She takes the hint and backs off a little, offering me her congratulations again before making her way to Coach’s table on the far side of the event space.
The auction wrapped up an hour ago, and now business talk is in full swing.
I know Drew wants me to take advantage of tonight and start networking when, really, all I want is to climb back into my new car with her and tear up the streets of Seattle.
I shoot another quick glance at Tristan, who hasn’t looked my way once—and come to think about it, neither has Drew. Why should they? To him, she’s my publicist, although I can’t help the niggling doubt that he’s only with her tonight to goad me.
The man who is probably around the same age as my dad runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.
“Actually, Will, I wanted to take the opportunity to apologize for the way we backed away from the sneaker deal in the offseason.”
My attention snaps back to the guy. I take him in a little more, and immediately, his face grows familiar.
He’s from Repeet.
I remain quiet because I have a habit of putting my foot in my mouth.
“Initially, we were concerned about some of your … social media content.”
He clears his throat, and I try not to cringe. Arguing with a random fan over the nutritional value of potato chips was fucking stupid, especially when I threatened to shove a bag up his ass.
My eyes momentarily track to Drew’s.
She’s smiling right at me from over Tristan’s shoulder as she throws me a subtle thumbs-up.
What would she say to this guy in my situation?