7. Sofie
Practicethe next day hits different.
The buzzer rings out for the tenth time. The noise is even louder in the empty arena than it is on game night. Beside me, Payton and Dakota whoop and cheer for Parker. He swings around by us, blowing a kiss at us as he skates back to the red line.
Not at us. At me.
I don”t take my hands off the camera to catch it, hiding my flushed face behind my thousand-dollar Nikon. Even after a week of attention from Parker, he can still make me blush in public.
Okay, he can make me blush in private, too. Who knew a jock would be so creative in the bedroom? He”s getting better every day, too. It”s like he”s slowly tuning a radio, locking in the wavelength of Sofie FM.
”I don”t know what you did to him, Sof. I”m not sure I want to know, but whatever it is, keep it up. Parker is on fire,” Dakota says, her face a little awe-struck.
Parker just scored ten out of ten on Erik. In a row. He”s flying across the ice like a speedskater, decking and moving like a figure, and his shots are vicious, fast things that always seem to hit the spot of the net Erik isn”t blocking.
Now that I know Parker”s secret, it all makes sense.
The more people watching— the bigger and louder the audience— the better he performs. But Parker doesn”t care about fame or having his name splattered all over the sports pages. What he wants, what really drives him, is recognition from the people he cares about.
Me.
”Well, you”re going to have your hands full tonight, Payton,” Dakota chuckles. ”Erik is going to be livid. Look, he”s already playing angry.”
Sure enough, Erik”s movements are the clipped movements of a frustrated player. It doesn”t help that Parker likes to showboat.
”Alright, I think we”ve seen enough. Did you get enough pictures, Sofie?” Payton asks.
”No, but I”ll get more later,” I say with a grin.
Both the girls next to me shoot each other a look and then burst into giggles. It”s kind of fun being out in the open.
Parker skates up, pulling off his helmet as the other two girls head off in Erik”s direction. The goalie is purposefully skating away from Parker, still pissed.
”We still on for tonight?” Parker asks, smiling up at me.
He”s gorgeous all the time, but there”s something about the way he looks when he”s asking me about a date that makes my heart plunge off a cliff. It”s the hopeful, happy look of a golden retriever. Excited by the prospect of time together.
”Of course. Why, you got somewhere else to be?” I ask, grinning.
Parker rolls his eyes.
”No, of course not.” His expression shifts to seriousness, and even that is too beautiful for words. ”I just meant that it”s okay if you change your mind. We can always stay in again.”
We”ve stayed in every night for the past week. Not that I”m complaining— non-plans are the best plans as far as I”m concerned. But I know Parker has been dying to take me on a date. A real date. The kind that means leaving the house.
”Hell no. I didn”t go actual dress shopping with the girls just to sit at home with you, Parker.” I grin, unable to hide my own excitement when his eyes light up in anticipation. ”I”ll see you at seven, alright?”
He reaches across the boards, pulling me in close before I can slip away. His lips sear into mine quickly, my mouth melting against his. His kisses are so varied, they”re always a pleasant surprise. This one is short, sweet, and just a little spicy.
We break it as a whistle from across the arena lets us know Dakota is watching. Parker is blocking me bodily, obscuring me with his frame completely so nobody sees just how red I am.
”It”s not the size of the audience. It”s the quality, right?” Parker asks, his eyes sparkling with mischief and lust.
I shove him away because if I don”t, I”m liable to jump him right here.
”Go get showered, Parker. I”ll see you tonight,” I tell him.
State of Graceis a beautiful restaurant decorated in a style that”s like a modern art deco. Gorgeous, tiny tiles decorate the walls and counters that wind through. There”s a small bar jutting out into the dining room floor, bottles of liquor catching the light from the chandeliers. The chandeliers hang low, illuminating plush booths and leather seats.
Seats that are empty.
I turn to look at Parker as he holds the door open for me as I step into a quiet, empty restaurant.
”Parker, I think they”re closed,” I frown.
”No. I thought a crowded place might be too much, so I reserved it,” he says with a soft smile.
I blink, trying to figure out just how much it would cost to rent the whole place for a night. The mental math quickly becomes too much as my emotions wrestle for control of my tongue.
”Parker, that”s too much to spend on me,” I say, my cheeks heating up. I know Parker is making good money now. Pro athlete money. But for him to spend a chunk of it on me, just for one night?
He steps up, leaning in close. I”m aware, suddenly, of the eyes of the staff on us. Watching, weighing, waiting.
”Don”t worry. They gave me a discount when I told them why I wanted it,” Parker says, giving my hand a squeeze.
It”s clearly not true because I know Parker wouldn”t dream of not paying full price for something like this, but the joke does jump-start my brain.
”Warn a girl next time, would you?” I fish a tissue from my purse and hold it up to one eye. I didn”t spend an hour getting my mascara perfect just to ruin it before appetizers.
That”s for dessert.
Something about how much care and thought went into this surprises me. It shouldn”t. I know Parker cares for me. He”s already shown me that. But there”s something about someone being nice to me that always puts me on guard, and I”m slow to lower my guard.
This, though, is making me open the gates, raise the portcullis, and lower the drawbridge. I can”t stop smiling. For once, I don”t want to. I want to just exist in this happiness.
Parker makes it easy to smile. He”s so bubbly, so good-natured. The way he makes friends everywhere we go — something I always wished I could be better at. Normally, I”d be jealous of someone like him, but his warmth makes it impossible.
The suit doesn”t hurt, either. It”s clearly expensive, something designer that”s been tailored to his bulk. Parker is so exquisitely built he could easily model if this whole hockey thing doesn”t work out. There”s something about seeing all that raw strength and power confined within the soft, sleek lines of a suit that makes me squeeze my thighs together under the table.
I”m wearing a classic little black dress. It”s nothing crazy, but the fire in Parker”s eyes every time he glances at me makes me resolve to fill a closet with them. His amber eyes linger on my curves, dancing along my exposed cleavage, tracing the lines of my thigh tattoo as it peaks out from under my short hem.
There”s no question I”m going to end up in his bed again tonight. I can”t stay away from him. I”m thoroughly addicted to his dick.
Dinner is exquisite, the staff friendly. I can see a few of them gossiping as they watch us from the safety of the kitchen, but it isn”t too much. They”ve got hearts in their eyes, and I don”t blame them.
I do, too.
Parker takes it all in stride, asking questions about every dish on the menu before finally settling on the roast octopus in green curry vinaigrette. He”s outgoing, friendly, every inch the extrovert that I”m not.
I find myself watching, studying his every move. Parker”s voice and smile consume my entire world, and for once, the anxiety of being out in public fades away. I know the staff are watching us, but their eyes aren”t burning a hole through me. Parker”s brilliance is bright enough that I can hide in his shade.
It”s the most romantic, intimate date I”ve ever been on. The kind of thing I”ve never even let myself dream about.
We pass on dessert. The menu is decadent and rich, but right now, there”s nothing sweeter or more addictive than the man sitting across from me. I can tell that Parker is on the same wavelength by the heated look in his eyes. I want nothing more than to get him back home so he can rip this dress off and destroy my makeup.
I”m not ready for the flash as we exit, or the sudden noise. There”s a clamor— the rush of multiple voices shouting over each other all at once. They”re not asking questions, but demanding answers.
”Parker, is it true that your hot streak is because of your new girlfriend?”
”Mr. Knight, they”re already calling you the Next One. How many of Gretsky”s records will you break?”
”Parker, how big is your stick?”
”Parker, who”s your date?”
”Parker —”
It”s overwhelming, a sudden storm of chaos that crushes my brain. The hands of terror grip me hard, leaving me paralyzed, too stunned to speak. I”m too used to being able to hide behind a camera. Too accustomed to being on the other side of the flash.
”Alright folks, no questions tonight, thank you,” Parker says, his voice firm and bordering on angry.
His arm wraps around my waist, sheltering me protectively against him as he pulls us back inside the restaurant.
”I”m so sorry, Mr. Knight, I don”t know how they got word that you were here —” the ma?tre d” is instantly apologetic, moving to block the doors bodily to keep the tide of paparazzi from seeping inside.
”Not your fault. Is there any way you can help us slip out the back?”
It isn”t until we”re safely ensconced in an Uber that I can breathe freely again. The impending sense of doom eases, and my rapidly galloping heart finally starts to slow down.
”I”m sorry,” I whisper again and again.
Parker looks confused, pulling me closer against him in the backseat.
”You don”t have anything to apologize for,” he strokes my hair, making soothing noises as we ride home.
But I do. I”m the least fit person in the world to be dating a sports star, especially semi-sneakily. Payton is probably going to fire me for the bad PR I just caused.
”I feel like I just ruined something wonderful. It was such a nice night,” I whisper against his chest, my tears flowing freely, all thoughts of makeup dashed away by dread.
”Hey, it”s still a nice night. We had fun. We”re going to go home, and I”m going to wrap you up in our softest blanket and cuddle you until you”re feeling better. Maybe later we”ll grab dessert, too,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
I sniffle, pulling myself together.
”I”d like that,” I murmur. ”Especially dessert.”
His laughter is the salve that finally banishes the fear, but doubt still clings to my heart.
I”m not sure I can do this.