Chapter 15 #2
When she finished and opened the floor to questions, I was surprised that Jane was the first to speak up, although based on the way her hand shook as she raised her glass to her lips, it wasn’t easy for her.
“Does the charity accept both lump sum payments and ongoing commitments or is it one of the other?” she asked.
“We accept both.” The manager smiled at her, obviously grateful for the softball question. “Ongoing commitments give us a degree of certainty, but we’re aware that lump sum payments are easier for some people, and we’re always pleased to receive them.”
Someone else asked another question and another. Once we’d run out, the manager moved on.
Jane tilted her face up to me. “I’m going to get another drink. Would you like one too?”
“I’ll have water, please.”
She moved away and, at that moment, one of the Milwaukee players, Herdacre, sidled over and nudged me with his elbow.
“How long have you been banging Alec Wright’s sister? And how the hell did you see past her boring outfits and realize what she was hiding underneath?” He whistled. “She has a great body.”
A spark of irritation heated my gut. There was no need to be crass. Although, oddly enough, that wasn’t the only thing that bothered me. I was also irritated with him for noticing the woman who was supposed to be mine.
Well, as far as anyone else knew, anyway.
“Do you role play boss and assistant?” he asked with another not-so-subtle elbow nudge.
I stepped away and pivoted so I was facing him. “Don’t talk about her like that,” I growled, only just resisting the urge to shove him.
Not now. This isn’t the time.
“She deserves your respect, and if you can’t give her that, then keep her name out of your fucking mouth.”
He held his hands up and backed away, staring at me as if I were a rabid dog. “Calm down. I’m not about to make a move on your girl.”
“You shouldn’t talk about any woman that way. I—” I cut off, horror dawning as I realized that Jane was returning and alongside her—potentially close enough to hear us—was a familiar woman, tapping rapidly on her phone.
Long, blonde hair. An upturned nose. A heart-shaped face that should have been sweet but was instead twisted with scorn.
Rebecca Jansen.
Fuck.
I swallowed the rest of my sentence, taking my glass from Jane and urging her away from Rebecca.
Had they been speaking, or was Rebecca just hovering near her like a shark that smelled blood in the water?
“What’s wrong?” Jane asked.
I searched her face, but she certainly didn’t seem like she’d just been conferring with one of our team’s greatest detractors. “Nothing. I just don’t like those guys.”
If I asked her about Rebecca and nothing had happened, all that would do was draw attention to the reporter’s presence and stress her, potentially making her emotional enough to struggle speaking. That would upset her further and accomplish nothing.
The charity’s owner tapped a microphone up on the second level, drawing my attention away from the Rebecca problem. She announced the first speaker—a retired NHL player who’d come on board as one of their coaches—and handed him the microphone.
We listened to the speeches, including one by Joseph Trent, the Chaos’s new owner. I couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t come over to talk to us. Perhaps he was too busy glad-handing the other rich folks.
After the speeches ended, the catering staff brought out a selection of tiny pastries and desserts, and the center of the floor was cleared as a dance area.
When the musicians began to play instrumental covers of pop music, I had to admit to enjoying it.
I’d never been one for classical music, but this was cool.
“Want to dance?” I asked Jane, dipping my head down beside her ear. She looked slightly pale, and I was always eager for a bit of space. “It’ll give us a few minutes away from everyone else.”
“Yes, please.”
My arm around her back, I escorted her onto the dance floor just as an instrumental version of a Taylor Swift song began.
She swayed in my arms, moving with a grace that surprised me. Jane had never struck me as clumsy, but she danced like someone with years of lessons behind her. I supposed, for all I knew, she could have. Perhaps she’d learned ballroom dancing growing up or ballet.
All I knew was that she moved like a dream, and her subtle lilac scent wrapped around me as we turned in circles, easily avoiding the less skillful dancers nearby.
I, for one, hadn’t had dance lessons, but I’d practiced before prom. I hadn’t expected Dad to allow me to attend, so when he had—because I’d been approached by a particular college scout and he was feeling magnanimous—I’d wanted to make the most of it.
Jane smiled up at me, and my breath hitched. Her eyes sparkled with green and gold, and something unfurled in my gut.
Christ, I’d been a fool not to realize exactly how extraordinary she was.
She looked away, her cheeks coloring, and I drew her slightly closer. The warmth of her body radiated toward me, and I was mesmerized by the way her teeth worried her lower lip.
Without thinking, I smoothed my thumb across it. “Be gentle.”
Her eyes flew to mine, her pupils dilated, her chest rising and falling rhythmically with each breath.
She pulled me in like a magnet.
My lips touched hers and my eyes closed. The kiss was as soft as our first one, that night at the pier, the contact almost nonexistent, but somehow, it was more intense than any other kiss I’d shared.
My senses were alight, my pulse going crazy.
When I snapped out of it and drew back, she blinked up at me, dazed.
The song ended and we separated. I wet my lips, feeling like I needed to say something desperately, but I couldn’t figure out what.
Before I had the opportunity to work it out, her expression cleared and turned distant and polite again.
I’d missed the moment.
We didn’t dance again for the rest of the night. Instead, we mingled, doing our best to represent our team positively.
When we finally called a taxi to take us home, I waited until we were in the back and raised the divider between us before bringing up the thing we’d both been careful not to acknowledge.
“About that kiss…”
“It’s all just part of the act,” she said, fussing with her skirt. “Don’t think anything of it.”
My heart sank. To my utter shock, I wanted the kiss to mean more than that.
Despite the fact I hadn’t exactly been acing my fake boyfriend duties, and despite the ever-present concern that getting involved with someone would inevitably mean letting them down, I was disappointed that she’d brushed the kiss off.
What the hell was wrong with me?