Page 20 of He Has Game (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“Lay it on me. How much?”
“Five thousand.”
I whistle, then I grin and pick up the stylus to fill in my bid and my information.
“You’re really doing it? Maybe you should wait until later in case someone comes along and outbids you.”
“You’re pretty excited about this aren’t you?” She nods like a bobblehead, making me laugh. She’s infectious. “Don’t worry, I’ll swing by later to make sure I get it.”
Her eyes widen. “You’d go even higher?”
“Whatever it takes, baby.”
“Unbelievable. This is so darn exciting.”
She cracks me up. “Darn exciting,” I say. She knows I’m teasing and swats my arm.
“Let’s get to our table. They’re starting to serve dinner.”
Her enthusiasm dims substantially. “Sure. I get to meet your teammates.”
“Don’t overdo your darn excitement over it.”
She gives me one of those apologetic looks and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone pull off one of those looks so genuinely before.
“Don’t worry. They’ll love you. In fact, I’m a little worried they’re going to drool over you.”
And there it is, the money. The pretty pink blush with the pretty little smile. She has to be the last woman on the planet who doesn’t know how beautiful she really is, how powerfully sexy she is. And it’s a fucking good thing or I’d been in deeper shit than I already am.
We take our seats and I introduce her to Aiden, who came solo, Ryan O’Rourke and his fiancée, Chelsea, and Brady Mack and his wife, Angela. Ham’s the only one at our table who’s drinking. But I’m willing to put money on Aiden to join him soon.
Aiden makes a big flashy bid during the live auction and Chelsea bids against him, running the amount up and getting them both a lot of attention. The auction item is a weekend for two on Nantucket and Chelsea explains that Nantucket holds sentimental value for her and Ryan and even though the weekend was donated by their friends and they could go to the house for free anytime, they want to help the cause.
Aiden swears loud and long when he hears this and vows to get O’Rourke back for siccing his fiancée on him. We laugh.
Chelsea, who’s sitting across from Vivvie, asks her how we met. She goes still and speechless and I’m about to jump in when Brady Mack speaks up.
“I’m sorry if we’re prying, but I could have sworn Finn was a confirmed bachelor—or so he’s claimed for the past three years.”
“That’s okay,” Vivvie says. “I’m the one who should apologize for being awestruck into silence. It’s kind of overwhelming to meet you all.”
Chelsea and Angela immediately go into rescue-the-poor-girl action. And that’s how it’s done. Because my girl has completely disarmed the table. No one will dare pry or step anywhere near her toes, or mine by default.
Since I’m playing the attentive, mad-about-my-girl boyfriend, I lean in and kiss her temple as she tells the story of how we met—the creative version. Strictly for support. And miraculously she doesn’t flinch, but she does blush, just a tiny bit, as she peeks at me with a grateful smile. My gut tightens and I command my dick to stay out of this as the idea of doing more—like putting a hand up her skirt under the table—occurs to me. I know it would ruin the mood, startle her. Maybe even provoke a slap. The slap excites me.
I’m such a fucking pervert. I can’t believe Mary let me near this sweet innocent girl. I retreat a bit, sitting back in my chair, and give her some space as she warms up the table with her hockey talk and the genuine stars in her eyes. Somehow she makes it not cheesy and definitely not sleazy.
“So you met at a coffee shop, eh?” Aiden says. “I’ll have to try that hookup—”
I reach out and smack his head. “It wasn’t a hookup, shithead.” His grin goes wider because he’s just as likely to keep pushing my buttons until he instigates a fight, but we’re not in a locker room, so I’m almost sure he’ll leave it alone. I add a menacing look to stick the point.
After dinner we have official media duty and I’m persuaded by Ham to bring Vivvie with me. The only reason I go along with it, Vivvie too, is that we both know Mary will fucking kill us if we don’t make a splash as a couple. So while others are dancing to the live band, I’m with Vivvie and my teammates and a few other celebs posing and answering the standard media questions. Naturally that includes inquiries about Vivvie.
When the first question is asked, I can feel her tense up like she’s been prodded with an electric paddle. I hold my arm around her and introduce her as Vivian Frost.
“What do you do, Ms. Frost? Are you an aspiring actress?”
She laughs, then claps her hand over her mouth while I try not to bust out my grin. I’m about to answer for her when she recovers and speaks up, like she’s practiced. Because fucking Mary Delaney probably had her practice and Vivvie is a regular Girl Scout, always prepared.
