Page 28 of Tripped Up

“You don’t drink champagne?”

“I have a game tomorrow.” I have to stay sober. If I drink, I won’t be at my best, and I won’t be able to take care of her.

“Oh, yeah. That’s right.”

“You going to come watch?” I glance at her out of the corner of my eye.

“Pass.”

“Really? I’m here with you tonight, and you can’t come to my game tomorrow?”

She makes a face. “If I really have to.”

Turning to face her, I set my hand on her arm. She gives me a withering stare until I remove it. My cock twitches. Why do I love when she’s mean to me? More for my therapist to unravel.

“Do you really not want to go? You don’t have to. I was⁠—”

Elsy looks down, then meets my eyes. Nerves dance over her face. “I don’t know anyone.”

“I can introduce you to the other wives and partners,” I offer. A few of my teammates are queer, though they’re not in public relationships at the moment. Still, I make a point to keep my language inclusive. It’s not my business if someone isn’t ready to come out. The last thing I’d want is to make someone feel unwanted.

I’ve got enough experience with that, thanks.

She shakes her head. “But I’m not a wife or a partner. I’m nobody. I have no relation to the team.”

“You have me. Isn’t that enough?”

Her gaze narrows as she focuses on something behind me. “Is that—what are they doing here?”

“Who?”

She nods behind me. “Did you put them up to this?”

Looking over my shoulder, I find a cluster of hockey players near the hors d’oeuvres table.

“I didn’t tell them about this.” It’s the honest truth.

“So they showed up of their own accord?”

“I… guess so.”

When Henry invited me over to grab dinner and play video games, I told him I was coming to this thing. And Viggy knew because I asked him where the nearest dry cleaner was.

But Puppy and the rest of the guys… I have no idea.

“I didn’t invite them,” I tell her quietly.

Elsy’s baby blues search mine. Finally, she nods. “I believe you.”

“Maybe they’re fans of the arts? They’re patrons?”

Her tinkling laugh is like music to my ears. It’s clear she doesn’t think so. Neither do I, truth be told.

“I’ll get them to clear out,” I promise. Though I don’t know how…

“It’s fine. They’re here. They can be a buffer,” she says. “Hell, maybe they’ll be able to convince more people to donate.”

“Here’s hoping,” I mutter, before the crowd descends upon us.