Page 18 of He Has Game (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Chapter 5
Finn
My agent, Ham Jett--I’m lucky enough to have him rep me courtesy of O’Rourke--arranges for a limo to take me and Vivvie to the St. Jude’s benefit because, he argues, it’s outside of Boston and he doesn’t want me driving or getting my picture taken getting out of an Uber while wearing a tux.
The last thing I expect is for him to arrive in said limo.
“What the fuck, Ham?” Now I’m thinking Mary put him up to this. I get in the conspicuous car in front of my building and sit diagonal from him on the long plush seat facing the door.
“What?” he says. “Limo not big enough for you?”
“There’s not a limo in existence big enough to make it comfortable for you to ride along. What are you doing here?”
“Truthfully, I’m dying of curiosity. I have a driving need to meet your date. Aiden told me she’s someone special and she must be—”
“It’s none of your fucking business.”
He puts up a finger—not his middle one because he’s not making that kind of point.
“That’s where you’re wrong. It makes all the difference in the world to your promotional efforts what kind of girl we have.”
“We?” For some reason his inclusion of ownership of Vivvie somehow makes my gut ball up in anger more than anything else he’s said or done so far. My shrinking sense of reason recognizes it’s partly nerves, as humiliating as that knowledge is. I can’t kid myself. I’m not used to being on a date. Especially when I’m being watched and graded by someone other than my date. Having Mary scrutinize my behavior is bad enough. Now Ham, who should be a hundred percent on my side, is judging. What’s worse—he’s judging Vivvie.
Why that should upset me so much is a mystery. But there it is.
“Give me a fucking break, Finn. I need to know what kind of promo opportunities will work. Some companies want you to be a bachelor. Others want a family man type. I need to know which kind she’ll . . . tolerate.”
“What the fuck?” I hate to sound like a broken record, but seriously. Since when does a date get a vote on my promotional opportunities?
He shrugs and lifts a glass to me. “Mary told me it might be serious between you two.”
“I knew it.” Fucking Mary. “She doesn’t know everything,” I say. Except she does. Fuck. How can I argue when he’s right, even if it is for all the wrong reasons. I clearly haven’t thought this fake engagement fiasco through seriously enough. There are consequences popping up all over the place I never anticipated. Because how the fuck would I know about the consequences of a serious fucking relationship since I’ve never had one?
Ham laughs and pours a drink then hands it to me. I don’t know what it is, but I take it. Forget about ice water tonight. Though I badly need to keep my wits about me, I also need some loosening up before I face Vivvie. The last thing I want to do is take out my unfortunate lack of foresight on her. She’s an innocent through and through.
My bunched muscles loosen, either from a gulp of the drink or the thought of Vivvie, I’m not sure. But when the limo stops at her door two minutes later—only because we had to circle around to squeeze down the narrow streets—I’m ready.
“I’ll wait in the car,” Ham says. I give him the finger.
Vivvie comes downstairs as soon as I buzz her door, not giving me a chance to come up. It’s cool and exactly what I’d expect from her, being the good girl that she is. She’s on time. I’ve seen other women keep my friends waiting for upwards of a half hour and it pisses me off.
I take a step back and let out a whistle, reverting to my normal self. Hell, if she were two hours late, she’d have been worth the wait.
Beaming a smile, she steps down, almost slips until I grab her and hold onto her as the driver opens the door to the car.
“Not used to wearing heels like that, are you?” I whisper, sympathetic. They must be fucking four inches high and they’re killer.
She shakes her head.
“If it’s any consolation, they’re worth it because they make your legs look hotter than the rockets.”
“Thank you for that,” she murmurs.
I help her inside and Ham has the good grace to move aside so we can sit on the seat near the door. She freezes when she sees Ham and I pull her inside and sit as close to her as I can, arm around her in protection as if Ham is a serious threat. Maybe I’m still worried he is.
“Vivvie, this is Hamish Jett, my agent. He has just enough bad manners to invite himself on our date.”
“Call me Ham,” he says, leaning forward to take her hand. “Enchanted. I can see why Finn has made an exception for you.”
