Chapter 5 #2
“Erika’s great,” Tank agreed. “And she obviously has amazing taste if she helped you pick out that dress, because you look…” He shook his head as he snuck another peek at her in her curve-hugging, sapphire-blue dress. “God, you look fucking hot.”
McKenna flushed again, but her expression told him she was pleased by his compliment.
“You might look too hot,” he murmured, suddenly thinking about all the men who were going to see her tonight. “I probably should have brought my hockey stick along to beat off the guys who’re going to try to steal my girl.”
McKenna pressed her lips together, trying not to smile, but he still saw it. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, before laughing. “Also, not your girl, remember?”
He ignored that assertion, because he didn’t want to hear her call herself his keeper again.
“Whenever I attend in my official capacity,” she continued, “I just wear black slacks and a muted-color blouse so I blend in with the background.”
Tank found it hard to believe she could ever fade into the background, no matter what she wore. Then he recalled that, until a month ago, he’d been one of those blind idiots who’d failed to see her…and her true beauty.
They passed the drive to the party in quiet conversation, talking about their favorite parts of the city.
The gala, which included dinner and dancing, was being held at the Baltimore Museum of Art. Tank pulled up to the entrance, stepping out of his car and handing the keys to the valet before opening McKenna’s door for her.
While it wasn’t an official red carpet, quite a few reporters and fans had gathered near the entrance, hoping to see their favorite players, as well as the elite of Baltimore’s high society, all dressed to the nines.
Tank held McKenna’s hand, smiling and waving.
A few people yelled out questions about the season and the previous night’s game, which he answered charmingly.
Surprisingly, no one mentioned the video, which he was taking as a sign McKenna’s redemption tour was working.
McKenna was less comfortable with the attention, attempting to stand in his shadow. Apparently, she really was well-versed at fading into the background.
Which was a shame for her, because he didn’t intend to let her do that tonight.
“Smile,” he murmured, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “Say hello to my beautiful date, McKenna,” he told the cameramen, a few of whom played along, affably saying hi.
Tank signed a half dozen autographs for fans before leading her away from the crowd.
“That was a lot of cameras,” she said softly.
Tank grinned. “Isn’t that the point of shindigs like this, Miss Social Media? To draw publicity.”
“It is,” she agreed.
Once they entered the museum, a woman was there, pointing them toward the Fox Room, where tonight’s event was taking place.
“People are probably going to try to figure out who I am,” McKenna murmured, as much to herself as him.
“Is that a bad thing?”
McKenna looked up at him. “Not really. I’m sure it won’t take them long to find out I work in the PR department.
Given that viral video, it won’t look all that strange that you’re here with someone who’s basically your publicist.” She glanced back toward the entrance.
“I’m not sure how you can stand all those cameras being pointed at you all the time. ”
“Are you kidding me? That’s the best place on earth,” he joked, because front and center of any crowd was his preferred position.
“Of course, you would think so.” She flashed him a smile so genuine and bright, he forgot to breathe for a second. “But I can tell you right now, I prefer to be on the other end of the camera. I could never get used to that.”
Tank shrugged. “All the photographers are really hoping for is a bit of a show. Paparazzi are looking for the best or the worst in celebrities.”
“Well, tonight you gave them the best,” McKenna said. “Thanks for that.”
“Can’t give my gorgeous date a hard time at her first gala, can I?”
“Gorgeous, huh? Smooth.”
Tank winked, then continued toward the ballroom.
Once inside, he spotted the bar, where quite a few of his teammates were already standing in line. “Why don’t I get us a drink while you find our table? What would you like?”
“A glass of Chardonnay would be great. Thanks.”
He nodded, lifting her hand to kiss her knuckles, perfectly aware there were at least half a dozen cameras capturing images of people as they entered.
Fortunately, McKenna hadn’t noticed, so the way she flushed and smiled sweetly was certain to set the gossip pages aflame as people started to wonder who she was.
Tank reluctantly let her go and headed over to the bar.
“Hey, man,” Blake said, fist-bumping him as he stepped into line with several of his friends. “You clean up good.”
Tank chuckled.
“Nothing worse than a night spent in fucking monkey suits,” Victor grumbled, tugging at his bow tie, which was askew.
“It’s not so bad,” Tank said—aware that was the wrong response when Victor, Blake, Preston, and Coulton all frowned at him.
“You’re usually the first one to bitch about having to wear a tuxedo,” Preston pointed out.
It was true. Tank’s preferred attire was loose-fitting athletic gear or nothing at all, a joke he’d made countless times with his buddies, claiming he did his best work naked. Usually after that jest, he’d make a crude gesture to drive home his meaning, not that it was necessary.
Tank shrugged. “Please tell me we’re all sitting together.”
Blake grimaced. “Of course not. They’ve got us all split up so we can schmooze the guests and talk them into contributing big tonight.”
“It’s for a good cause,” Coulton pointed out, just as he always did.
The Stingrays Foundation raised money for several causes, but their pet project was one that spoke to Coulton’s heart.
Funds made tonight would provide money to foster children so that they could participate in school and community athletics.
The foundation paid for equipment, registration fees, and even provided transportation to practices and games, if necessary.
“Yeah, man, I know,” Tank said, agreeing. Coulton volunteered for Big Brothers Big Sisters and he’d grown incredibly close to his Little Brother, Slade, who Tank had to admit was the bomb. The kid was fucking hilarious and cool as shit.
“So you really brought Mac to the gala?” Preston must have seen Tank and McKenna walk in together. “Blake said you were, but I figured he was joking.”
“What’s wrong with me bringing her?” Tank asked, even though he knew the answer.
“Not a damn thing,” Preston quickly assured. “We all love Mac, you know that. It’s just that you usually bring a puck bunny—or two—to these kinds of things.”
“Speaking of,” Blake said, leaning closer. “Lara is sitting at her uncle’s table tonight.”
Tank groaned. He should have anticipated Lara’s presence here, as Charles Steele was one of the Rays’ biggest sponsors, but since embarking on “Project Tank” with McKenna, he’d pretty much forgotten all about the woman.
Which was surprising for two reasons.
One, she was part of the reason he was in trouble at work to begin with; and two, she was constantly texting him.
He’d gotten to the point that whenever her name popped up on his phone, he deleted the message without even reading it.
He kept telling himself to just block her damn number, but there was a tiny part of him waiting to snap out of…
whatever this thing he had going with McKenna was.
“Thanks for the warning,” he murmured to his best friend.
Tank glanced around the room. He told himself he was just curious who else was in attendance, but the truth was he was looking for McKenna. They’d been apart all of five freaking minutes and yet, he felt the strong need to check on her, see her.
He spotted her in the far corner, talking to Coach Fields. He didn’t have a clue what they were talking about, but it looked like a serious conversation.
Probably about him and his reform, he thought begrudgingly.
Dean Fields had come on as the Stingrays’ head coach at the end of last season.
It had been a return home for the guy, as he’d ended his hockey career as a Stingray thirteen years earlier, after several injuries sidelined him for good.
He’d played with Victor and Preston back in the day, and they were delighted to have their old teammate back as their coach.
Dean had become an assistant coach in Vancouver a couple years after hanging up his skates, where he’d been until Baltimore hired him for the head coach job. They’d announced Dean in January, a few months after their former coach decided to retire, and he’d taken over in late April.
There was always an adjustment period whenever a new coach came into a program and tried to make it his own.
Tank had decided to withhold judgment—as he’d really liked their previous coach—and give Coach Fields a chance to prove himself.
So far, he was impressed with most of the changes the man had brought to the team.
Coach had been cool about Tank’s after-hours shenanigans, alluding to the fact he’d gotten into more than his fair share of trouble back in his player days, as well.
So he was surprised to see the coach looking so serious right now. Tank knew Benny, Hugh, and James were at the end of their ropes with him, but he really thought Coach Fields was more chill and understanding about it all.
When he finally got to the head of the bar line, he ordered McKenna’s wine and a beer for himself, surprised to discover her still deep in discussion with Coach Fields.
He started across the large event space, intent on joining them, but was waylaid several times by sponsors and fans, all wanting to meet him or snap selfies or grab autographs.
Since tonight was all about promotion, he plastered on a smile and laid on the charm.