Page 69 of Power Play

twenty-six

. . .

Riley

The Grizzlies rented out a fancy steakhouse in the Seaport District for the team’s Thanksgiving dinner. It’s two days before the actual day, but the next game is tomorrow night, so it makes sense to do this now.

When I agreed to marry Al, I didn’t know I was signing up for a whole social life revolving around the team. With Vanessa and Audrey dropping by twice a week, plus Bex constantly blowing up my phone, I’m finally finding the social network I thought I’d never have.

This is a baby-free event, so Al corralled Cari into staying with Emmy, and I didn’t even cry when it was time to leave. Partly because I didn’t want to ruin my makeup. I’m wearing a simple burgundy velvet dress. It’s got a high neckline, a cinched waist, and a flirty hem, and even though I’ve added black tights for modesty (and weather), I’ve caught Al looking at my legs more than once.

It’s hard not to preen at the heat in his eyes. But unless I want to sacrifice my kid’s happiness, I have to tamp down the urge to show off for him. Even if I want to.

As we make small talk with his teammates and their partners, his hand splays along the small of my back. The searing heat of his palm against my dress is like a brand, burning me for all eternity. I’m his, and he’s mine, and we belong together.

At least for a year. Maybe two.

I can hold out. No matter how much I want to rip that suit off his thick body and nuzzle my face against his hairy chest like a cat, I must resist. I will resist. I am stronger than my libido.

Jenkins and Mitchell make their way over to us, giving me polite, perfunctory hugs before tapping knuckles with Al.

“Riley, you look gorgeous,” Jenkins says with a smirk. His dazzling green eyes are bright, teasing, as he squeezes my forearm. “You could do so much better than a Muppet like Gonzo.”

Al frowns, shoving his teammate. “Knock it off.”

“Yeah, it’s not his fault he looks like that,” Mitchell adds with a grin.

“Fuck off,” he mutters, scowling.

I pat his chest, appreciating his rock-hard muscles through his suit. “I like the way you look.” Although I try to keep my tone light and even, it comes out breathy, and my face flames. “I mean…”

“Sounds like someone’s got a crush,” Jenkins sing-songs.

“Leave my wife alone,” Al growls. “It’s not like that with us, you know that.”

We aren’t a real couple. He doesn’t actually like me, just the idea of me. But for some reason, his shutting down his friends makes my chest ache.

I do like him. If I wasn’t in such a precarious situation, I’d throw caution to the wind and make a move already. But if the alternative is losing my daughter, the last remaining link to my sister… No. I can’t risk it.

“I need a drink.” Pulling away from Al, I start off toward the open bar. Footsteps fall into place beside me, and I glance over to find Mitchell accompanying me. “I don’t need a babysitter,” I mutter, and he chuckles.

“Hey, I’m only going where you’re going,” he says, raising his hands in innocence.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

Reaching the bar, I make eye contact with the bartender. “Rum and Coke, please.”

She nods, reaching for a glass and the jigger, raising her brows at Mitchell expectantly.

“Whatever IPA you have in a bottle, thanks.”

“We’ve only got cans,” she says.

He frowns. “Okay, then I’ll take tequila and tonic.”

“Going for the hard stuff?” I tease.

“I don’t like the taste of cans. It always tastes metallic,” he says with a shrug.