Unshaken

1. Mimi

Mimi

I wanted to abandon the party the moment I walked in and my glass of champagne after the first sip. Not that I was opposed to sparkling wine, but tonight I should be writing my midterm, not hanging out in a room full of beautiful people with whom I had only my sister in common.

The hotel’s ballroom glittered with chandeliers and money. Unlike the stationary older men, professional hockey players, also in suits, moved through the crowd, big and broad and unfairly good-looking.

I averted my gaze, unwilling to make the professional athletes feel the same way I did—like they were on display.

“You sure you don’t want to stay at our place?” Naomi asked.

I shook my head. Much as I loved Naomi, I didn’t want her to have to mother me any longer. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure they’ll have the repairs done when I return.”

“I’m worried about you,” she said.

“Don’t. I’m good. Promise.” I crossed my heart with my index finger, wishing I could give her more. Naomi had raised me when my mother couldn’t and wouldn’t. She’d worked hard to get where she is, and I worried I was holding her back from being successful and happy.

Still, I’d let her talk me into attending tonight once she heard the air conditioning unit at my place was fritzing, saying I could get ready at her place and enjoy a climate-controlled evening before sweating out the night.

She’d offered to stay at her place, but I’d declined.

She and Adam were supposed to be on a weeklong staycation for their anniversary—the first time they had been apart from their son.

Much as they’d wanted to get away, Adam had hockey obligations, and her boutique’s soft launch was coming soon.

Their success was impeding their romance, and from what I’d seen in my life, that wasn’t the only way relationships crashed and burned. In fact, most partnerships ended—or should.

“Ooh, I need to talk to him.” Naomi spotted the person she’d wanted to meet across the ballroom and dragged her husband, Adam, with her. That left me with a glass of overpriced wine, a headache, and a strong desire to bolt.

The whole gala thing baffled me. Why not just hand over a nice check and forego the hours-long torture of small talk? Sure, people were only there to see and be seen but preparing for the event took longer than the event itself.

Tugging at the hem of my dress, I wished I’d picked something longer so that the older men would stop eye-fucking my legs.

Gross.

I took a sip, then made a face. Also gross.

“First one?” a deep voice asked beside me.

I turned and craned my neck. Way up.

He was enormous. Not in a scary way, thanks to the smile and the two deep dimples.

No, this man’s expression was much more golden-retriever-who-could-bench-press-me-one-handed vibe.

His navy suit stretched across shoulders that had spent time with a lot of gym equipment.

His dark blond hair was a little too long on top, like he’d tried to style it but given up halfway through, and he had blue-green eyes.

His grin tilted toward nervous but was trying not to be.

“Is it that obvious?” I asked.

He glanced at my glass. “You stared at the roulette table for a long time, and now, after sipping your drink, you looked betrayed.”

With a grimace, I admitted, “It tastes like carbonated regret, and I don’t understand the rules of that game. It seems like it’s designed to steal my money.” Well, in this case, it was my sister’s money since she’d given me the chips that I clasped in my free hand.

He choked on a laugh, then covered it with a cough. “Okay, yeah. That’s accurate.”

We stood there a second, both holding drinks we didn’t want.

“I’m Mimi.”

His eyes flicked to my face, then to somewhere over my shoulder. His posture straightened. “Oh. Oh no.”

I blinked. “What?”

“That’s—” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “That’s your sister, right? Naomi Kramer?”

I turned. Naomi stood across the room, mid-conversation, laughing at something Adam had said. Even from a distance, she had that calm, observant expression that suggested she already knew everything happening in a ten-foot radius.

“Yes,” I said.

He inhaled like a man about to jump into icy water. “Okay. Cool. Great. Good to know.”

“Why?”

“Because I may have introduced myself to the captain as ‘Evan Pelletier, future franchise legend,’ and she heard it.”

I stared at him. “You did not.” I couldn’t help it; I giggled.

“I was trying to be funny,” he said, even as he shifted from foot to foot. “But then I panicked halfway through and committed to it.”

I pressed my lips together, but a full belly laugh burst out past them.

He looked relieved. “Okay, good. You’re laughing. That’s better than the face she made.”

“What face?”

“The one moms make right before they say, ‘We’ll talk about this later.’”

I dissolved into wheezing peals of laughter. “She practically raised me, so I totally know that look.”

“Naomi Kramer has strong ‘disappointed but composed authority figure’ energy,” Evan said.

“True.”

He nodded, expression grim. “She’s going to tell Adam, and then I’m really in trouble.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m the new goalie. They brought me up because the other two guys are injured. I hope I don’t follow their fate because nothing sucks more than pain in that region…er…I guess I’m a professional foot-in-mouth specialist.”

I grinned up at Evan as I shook his hand. His palm was warm, grip careful, as if he were afraid of accidentally crushing my bones.

“Mimi. College senior. Professional observer of other people’s poor decisions. And while the injuries to both goalies are unfortunate, Adam explained to me that they caused their injuries themselves. I mean, you should know better than to block a puck without warming up.”

“Good point.” Evan nodded, and his blond hair tumbled onto his forehead. Such a cutie. “All right. I’m calmer. Focused. Now, I owe you for that. Big time.”

I laughed again, enjoying myself much more now that Evan had joined me.

Behind us, someone at the roulette table cheered. Chips clattered as the band shifted into a louder song.

“So,” he rocked back on his heels. “Are you here voluntarily, or were you emotionally blackmailed?”

“Naomi said, ‘It’ll be fun,’” I said.

He winced. “Ah. The classic lie.”

“You?”

“Team said, ‘Mandatory but festive.’ Since it’s the end of October.”

“Oof.”

“Yeah.”

We both took reluctant sips of our drinks at the same time. Both made the same face. We looked at each other and burst out laughing.

And that’s when Naomi glanced over from across the room. Her eyes landed on me, then slid to Evan, who followed my gaze and went rigid.

“Why is your sister looking at me like I just asked you to join a gang?”

I patted his arm. “Relax, rookie.”

His head snapped toward me. “How do you know I’m a rookie?”

“You have the posture of a man trying very hard not to embarrass himself.” I took a sip of my champagne to cover my constant smile. I wrinkled my nose as the taste coated my tongue.

“That feels targeted.”

I shrugged. “Well, I used my deductive skills. You told me you’re a goalie. I know most of the players, and I don’t know your name, which tells me you haven’t been in the league long. Your tag’s crooked, by the way.”

He looked down. “Oh, my god.” He tried to fix it but somehow made it worse.

I reached out without thinking and straightened it for him, fingers brushing his lapel.

He froze, and when I stepped back, his expression had softened into something warm and surprised.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Don’t make me regret it, Future Franchise Legend.”

He grinned, slow and boyish and a little crooked. “No promises.”

Across the room, Naomi started walking toward us.

Evan whispered, “I think I’m about to be evaluated as a life choice.”

I took another sip of the terrible champagne. “Yep.” Why was I drinking this?

“Any advice?”

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing again. “Say nothing about being a legend.”

“Right. Cool, cool, cool. I’m doomed.”

His puppy-dog eyes got to me. Naomi approached with that polite, assessing smile, and I said, “Let’s go play some roulette.”

“I don’t understand this game. Why it’s fun. Everyone around the table is yelling like they invented math. And…they lost again. Of course they did.” Evan muttered.

“And why is a small white ball controlling the emotional stability of forty adults in formalwear?”

Evan snorted before he turned it into a cough.

“Just pick a number,” the woman next to me urged.

I leaned forward to place a chip…and my heel caught in…something that made me slide. The world tilted as my chips flew. But worst still, my half-full champagne glass flew from my hand as I collided with Evan’s chest.

His arms wrapped around me, and while I bounced once against his broad chest that smelled like soap and adrenaline, my champagne glass arced through the air…then disappeared behind a velvet curtain near the stage.

A server gasped. “The glass!”

Someone in black dress pants and the hotel logo on their black shirt cried out, “The tapestry!”

I was half-lifted, half-draped across Evan, who’d prevented my fall. Everyone turned to stare at us because we were directly in front of the curtain where the server pointed…where my champagne had just vanished.

“Oh my god,” I whispered.

“You’re okay. I think. Are you okay?” Evan asked.

“I attacked you,” I said.

“You fell,” he corrected. “After you stepped into the open plug on the floor. Why is there a plug on the floor?”

“Is that what I stepped in?” I looked down at the same time Evan did. Our cheeks brushed.

From behind the curtain came a crash. I lifted my head to find Naomi moving toward me, eyes wide. Adam followed.

A woman in black, hair pulled back in a no-nonsense bun, shrieked, “Why are people throwing glasses at my silk tapestry? That is on loan from the museum. This is not okay.”

And that was the exact moment a photographer turned and snapped the photo that changed my life. With me, Emilia Hutton, sprawled against a tall, gorgeous man. His arms wound around my waist, and my hands gripped his lapels, and our faces were inches apart.

“Ma’am, did you throw—” The event staffer stopped dead at the sight of us tangled together, my heel stuck in the light socket. Another camera flashed as the woman in black gawked, then she paled.

“That champagne disaster happening behind us is like romantic comedy gold.” I tried to disengage from Evan only to step back into the damn light socket and collapse against him for a second time. He grabbed me again and this time pulled me entirely against him to keep me from face-planting.

Now we were really close. Like…accidentally-in-a-rom-com-trailer close. The very thing I’d wanted to avoid. Because rom-coms didn’t happen in real life.

“You smell like cookies,” he blurted.

“Why are you talking?” I squeaked.

“I panic-talk.”

Somewhere, a guest stage-whispered, “Is that Pelletier? The rookie goalie?”

“Who’s the girl?”

“Are they dating?”

“Ooh, this boring event’s turning out to be so fun.”

I kicked off the second heel and finally got my feet under me. Evan released me, hands lingering a second too long at my waist before jerking back like he’d touched a live wire.

“I am so sorry,” I rushed out. “I ruined the…everything.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said. “I mean—except maybe the…er, tapestry situation. But that was impressive. Very athletic toss.”

Behind them, staff dragged a dripping curtain panel away.

Someone muttered, “Champagne and glass shards. Fantastic.”

A woman from the charity committee rushed over. “We need names. For the incident report.”

We froze.

“Incident report?” I squeaked.

“Evan Pelletier,” he said. “It was my fault.”

“How can you say that?” I said. “I stepped into a light socket. Why is it on the ground?”

Naomi’s eyes narrowed as she closed the distance. “An open light socket?” Her nostrils flared. Adam wrapped an arm around Naomi as she reared toward the woman. “You left an open light socket on the floor where women—some pregnant—are in high heels? Do you understand how dangerous that is?”

“Babe,” Adam said. “I need you to take a breath.”

Naomi did, but her teeth ground together so loudly I flinched. Evan looked at Naomi, his eyes widening further as they bounced between the photographers and Naomi’s angry visage.

I groaned. “I think I just became a headline. I do not need this in my life.”

Evan whispered, “Is Naomi going to kill me?”

“Not you,” I whispered out of the side of my mouth, then gave a pointed look at the bun lady.