Chapter 11 #2
And every single one of them turned to look when we entered.
Kieren leaned in, voice low. “Still worried about embarrassing me?”
I didn’t look at him.
But I reached down, slipped my hand into his anyway, and said, “Terrified.”
His fingers curled around mine. “Good.”
The dinner was louder than I expected.
Not in a bad way—just… alive. It pulsed with inside jokes, old stories, clinking glasses, and that effortless camaraderie you only get from people who’d bled together on the same ice.
I stayed quiet for the first twenty minutes, content to sip my wine and observe from the cozy seat beside Kieren. We sat near the middle of the long table, tucked between the chaos that was Adam and Beckett on one side, and the quiet brooding wall of Asher and Griffin on the other.
At first, I thought Kieren would be the kind of guy to fade into the background. Broody, silent, arm-candy for intimidation’s sake.
I was wrong.
He didn’t speak often—but when he did, people shut up and listened.
When Adam and Beckett started bickering over who had more assists last year, their voices rising and napkins flying, Kieren didn’t even raise his voice. Just one look. One arched brow. They stopped like he’d flipped a switch.
Beckett actually apologized.
Asher, who barely said a word all night, nodded when Kieren made a point about power plays. Griffin—all fire and dominance—leaned back with a thoughtful hum after Kieren challenged something he said. Not confrontational, just… calm. Grounded.
It hit me then.
He wasn’t the team’s grump or ghost.
He was their anchor.
The one who didn’t need the spotlight because he was the gravity holding the rest of them together.
I must’ve been staring, because Kieren leaned in, low and warm near my ear.
“Counting how many people listen when I talk?” he murmured, a thread of amusement in his voice.
I smirked. “Trying to figure out why they do.”
He chuckled—barely a sound. “That makes two of us.”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the twist in my chest. It was so easy to forget that under the smirks and grunts and unbearable hotness; he was just… a guy. One who probably never asked for this level of respect, but had earned it anyway.
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye.
“You’re not what I expected,” I admitted.
“Let me guess,” he said, sipping his water. “You thought I’d be a caveman with anger issues and a punching streak.”
“Well.” I tilted my head. “The night is still young.”
That earned me a grin, sharp and slow.
“Keep talking like that,” he said, voice rough, “and I’m going to start thinking this fake dating thing is just an excuse to flirt.”
“You think I’m flirting?”
“I think,” he said, inching closer, “you like what you see.”
I held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than I should’ve.
Then I smiled. “I like the wine.”
He laughed, and this time, it wasn’t quiet. It was real.
And warm.
And dangerously easy to want again.
Halfway through the meal—somewhere between Griffin trash-talking Asher’s taste in wine and Beckett daring Adam to eat a chili pepper whole—my phone buzzed in my lap.
I glanced down, keeping my expression neutral.
Don’t forget: you’re embedded for the Chicago away game next week. Media clearance approved. You’re traveling with the team.
Great.
I’d known it was coming—he’d mentioned the assignment days ago—but it still felt… complicated now.
I took a sip of wine, composing myself. Waited for a lull in the conversation. Then, casually, I leaned toward Kieren.
“Looks like I’ll be crashing your away game next week,” I said, voice light. “Chicago.”
His eyes flicked to mine, the faintest twitch of surprise.
Then he leaned back in his chair, one arm draped casually along the back of mine. “That hotel has thin walls.”
I blinked, barely holding back a smirk. “Guess you’ll have to keep your nightmares quiet, then.”
His gaze sharpened—just for a second. Not offended. Just… reading me. Assessing.
Then he nodded, a lazy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
We both turned back toward our plates, the banter fading—but the air between us stayed charged, crackling under the surface like static clinging to silk.
Because the truth was, this wasn’t just another assignment anymore.
Not really.
Not when he looked at me like that.
Not when he leaned closer than necessary to whisper smart remarks that made my pulse skip.
Not when his hand brushed my lower back just a little too naturally every time someone walked by.
Fake dating was supposed to be controlled chaos. A fix for both our problems.
But every time he held the door for me or smirked across the table or said something that hit a little too close to vulnerable… it got harder to remember that this wasn’t real.
Harder still to admit that part of me wanted it to be.
Across the table, someone cracked a joke and the team erupted into laughter. Kieren’s eyes found mine again, just for a heartbeat.
And in that moment, I knew one thing for sure.
Chicago was going to be a problem.
The dinner began to wind down the way all team functions seemed to—loudly, with half-finished desserts, inside jokes echoing across the table, and a few players already plotting which downtown bar still had heated patios and overpriced cocktails.
Griffin was the first to peel away, giving Kieren a nod and me a sharp once-over that said I’m watching, girlfriend or not. Adam and Beckett were still arguing over something ridiculous—probably fantasy league points or which of them had better hair.
I stood, clutching my bag tighter than necessary, and drifted toward the valet line outside. The cold slapped me the second the door opened. Wind off the river, sharp and biting, tunneled straight through my blazer and down my spine. I tucked my chin into my scarf and told myself I didn’t care.
But somehow, I wasn’t surprised when Kieren ended up beside me, anyway.
We didn’t speak for a moment. Not while the wind kicked up and salt crunched beneath our boots on the icy pavement. Not while headlights flashed and brake lights flared and the valet called out someone’s name.
I tried not to shiver. I really did. But the cold sank deeper than I expected.
Then, without a word, Kieren shrugged off his coat.
He draped it over my shoulders like it meant nothing. Like we did this all the time.
My breath caught.
It was warm. Still holding the heat from his body, from the solid weight of him. And it smelled like cedar and cold air and something slightly spicy I hadn’t noticed before. Something him.
“Don’t read into it,” he said, voice low.
I smirked, but my fingers gripped the lapels before they could fall. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
But I did.
I did read into it.
Because it wasn’t just the coat. It was the way he didn’t hesitate. The way he stood close, just enough to block the wind. The way he didn’t try to fill the silence with small talk, like he knew I hated that.
My heart kicked a little harder in my chest, louder than it should’ve been for a man I was supposedly pretending to date.
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.
He was watching the curb, jaw tight, one hand in his pocket, the other adjusting the cuffs of his shirt like this was any other night. Like giving me his coat hadn’t meant anything.
And maybe it hadn’t. Maybe this was just who he was—quiet, responsible, oddly thoughtful.
But maybe…
Maybe it meant he saw me. Not just as part of a lie. Not just as damage control.
But something more.
A valet called his name, and we stepped forward together. The moment slipped between us like mist. But his coat stayed on my shoulders.
And I didn’t give it back.