Page 21 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie (Second Chance Hockey Players #2)

Chapter fourteen

Blake

W hitney has been messing with her dress in front of the mirror for the past ten minutes.

First, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. Then, adjust the straps. Now, she’s fixing her hair for the third time.

“Whitney,” I say, leaning against the doorway. “The dress isn’t going to change, no matter how many times you fix it.”

She freezes, her hands hovering near her waist, then slowly drops them. “I know.”

“Then stop fidgeting.”

She exhales. “I can’t help it.”

I step forward, standing behind her. Our eyes meet in the reflection. “You look great. You’re going to walk in there, turn heads, and make your ex realize he made the worst mistake of his life.”

She lets out a weak laugh. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

She sighs. “I don’t know…, I guess I just don’t want to deal with all the eyes on me. The whispers, the fake smiles. The whole thing feels…, unnecessary.”

“Oh, come on, where’s that confident and sassy girl I know?”

“She’s locked inside a jail of nerves at the moment.”

I chuckle. Our eyes meet again in the mirror, hers filled with apprehension. I place my hands on her shoulders, causing her to stiffen, and lower my voice. “Whitney. Relax. Breathe in.” I wait for her to inhale. “And out.” She exhales, slower this time.

A few seconds pass, her fingers finally stilling at her sides. “Better?” I ask.

She nods, but I don’t miss the flicker of doubt crossing her face. “Wait, were you this nervous about seeing me again? After all, I’m kind of like your ex too.”

Whitney scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Please. You’re a different case.”

I smirk. “Oh? How so?”

"Because you don’t matter," she says sweetly, then flashes me an innocent smile.

I let out a low laugh. "Ouch. Brutal."

“You’ll survive. You’re just…, you.” She waves a hand at me like that explains everything.

I arch a brow. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Don’t get too excited.”

That makes me chuckle. I squeeze her shoulders lightly before stepping back. “So, are you ready?”

Whitney turns to the mirror one last time, her eyes scanning her reflection.

And wow, does she look stunning. The emerald-green dress hugs her body in all the right places, the silky fabric draping elegantly down to her ankles.

The color makes her brown skin glow, and with her hair styled in soft waves and makeup that highlights her features perfectly, she looks like she just stepped out of a magazine.

Not exaggerating.

She bites her bottom lip, then releases it. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

She walks over to grab her bag, and I shove my hands into my pockets, watching her.

Today’s her ex’s engagement party. We came in yesterday and checked into a hotel - not too far from the venue, but far enough."

Whitney glances at me. “Why are you staring?”

I smirk. “Just wondering how your ex is gonna handle seeing you looking like that. Pretty sure he’s gonna choke on his champagne.”

She rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Not denying it.” I lean against the wall. “But seriously, you look incredible. If I were your ex, I’d be regretting every life choice that didn’t involve you. Right…, I forget, I am also your ex.”

Her eyes widen, and she lets out a short laugh. “Wow, thanks for the reminder.”

“You know, we can still back out.”

She shoots me a look. “No, we can’t.”

“Sure, we can. We could stay here, order room service, watch a terrible movie, and pretend this whole thing doesn’t exist.”

She exhales sharply. “I can’t do that, Blake. I told you, if I don’t show up, people will say I’m bitter, that I can’t face him. And I refuse to give him that satisfaction.”

I smirk. “That’s the ‘Whitney’ I know.”

She sighs and rubs her temples.

“Let’s make it fun.”

She gives me a skeptical look. “Fun?”

“Yeah. Let’s make him super jealous.”

“Quit playing.”

“I am not playing.”

She exhales through her nose. "God, I already regret this."

"Too late, sweetheart."

She mutters something under her breath before heading for the door. I follow, still grinning.

An hour later, we pull up to the Grand Regency Hotel. The place is exactly what I expected - luxurious, polished, filled with the kind of people who pretend their bank accounts define them. Valets in crisp suits open car doors, and guests step out with perfectly practiced smiles.

Whitney inhales deeply. I watch the subtle movement of her throat as she swallows, then the way her fingers curl slightly in her lap.

I shift, resting my arm along the back of her seat. “Before we go in…”

She turns to me, eyes wary. “What?”

“Just making sure we’re on the same page.” I reach for her hand, playing with her fingers. “From this moment on, you’re mine. Completely. You’re my girlfriend, and I expect you to act like it.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

I smirk. “No weird stiffness, no awkwardness, especially if I call you, babe.”

She folds her arms, lips twitching. “Babe?”

I grin. “You prefer honey? Sweetheart? Love of my life?”

Her face scrunches up. “Oh my God, stop.”

I chuckle. “Just saying. You need to sell this.”

Her lips part like she wants to argue, but then she clamps them shut. She knows I’m right.

“Fine,” she mutters.

I squeeze her hand once before letting go. “Good!”

Then I step out first, walking around to her side to offer my hand. She places hers in mine, and just before we step forward, I lean in slightly and murmur, “Let the show begin.

The ballroom is exactly what I expected - large, luxurious, filled with people, laughter, and the low hum of conversation.

Golden chandeliers hang above, casting a warm glow over the sea of well-dressed guests.

Servers weave through the crowd with trays of champagne, and at the far end of the room, a live band plays soft background music.

Sweeping my gaze across the room, it’s not hard to spot the newly engaged couple.

They’re at the center of attention - him in a sharp suit that probably costs as much as a car and his fiancée in a dress that sparkles a little too hard under the lights.

They’re surrounded by a crowd flashing big smiles.

Grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, I hand one to her before taking a sip from mine. “Here you go,” I say, rolling the taste over my tongue. “Not bad.”

She exhales a soft laugh, taking a sip of her own. “Agreed.”

Whitney walks in beside me, head high, shoulders back.

She moves with the kind of confidence that turns heads effortlessly.

Conversations pause, eyes linger - some filled with admiration, others with curiosity or surprise.

Maybe they didn’t expect her to show up.

Maybe they just can’t help but look. Either way, she commands attention without even trying.

It’s..., impressive. And yeah, kind of distracting.

She steers us toward a middle-aged man in a suit so bright it’s almost offensive to the eyes.

“Mr. Reynolds,” she says smoothly to a middle-aged man in a bright-colored suit, offering a warm smile. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Whitney,” he greets, his tone both pleased and a little surprised. “It’s been a while.”

Whitney tilts her head with a playful smile. "You know me, I pop in and out. Keeps things interesting."

“Yeah, how are you? You look incredible.”

“Thank you,” she says with a light laugh, brushing a curl from her face. “I’m doing amazing. How about you? How are Julianne and the kids?”

“They’re all good,” he says, nodding. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he adds, “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d come, given, you know…, the history.” He gestures vaguely in the direction of her ex.

She laughs. “It’s all in the past,” she says smoothly. Then, without missing a beat, she slides her hand onto mine, her fingers curling around my palm like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Besides, I’m with someone better.”

“Oh,” he says, looking at our hands.

“Yeah,” she lifts her chin slightly, her eyes locking onto Mr. Reynolds’s. “You know what they say - when God closes a door, somehow, He opens a window. This,” she squeezes my hand, “is my window. My boyfriend, Blake.”

I don’t miss the way Mr. Reynolds’s eyebrows lift slightly, nor do I miss the murmurs from nearby guests who are listening in. But all I can focus on is the warmth of her palm against mine, the way she sells it without a single crack in her composure.

Atta girl…!

I extend a hand, offering a polite smile. “Nice to meet you. Blake Carter.”

“Likewise,” he says, shaking my hand. “Blake…, Blake Carter?” His brow furrows. “The hockey goalie for the Avalanche team?”

“That would be me.”

His face lights up. “My son’s a huge fan.”

“Thanks so much. If you want an autograph for your son, I’d be happy to sign something.”

“I’d love that. He’d be over the moon.”

Mr. Reynolds chuckles, giving me an appreciative look. “Well, Whitney, you’ve got someone impressive.”

“She certainly has good taste,” I say lightly, throwing Whitney a teasing glance. Her lips twitch, and I can tell she’s trying not to roll her eyes.

As we move on, Whitney stops a few more times, greeting people like she’s running for office. Each time, she introduced me the same way - her boyfriend, Blake, a hockey player.

One of the women, a tall brunette in an elegant black dress, tilts her head with a knowing smirk. “Ohhh…, an upgrade,” she says playfully, her eyes flicking between Whitney and me. “You certainly know how to get ‘em, Whitney.”

Whitney laughs. “What can I say? I have good taste.”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “So, I’m just a trophy now?”

She gives me an innocent look. “You said it, not me.”

After a few more stops and chit-chats, we move toward the dessert table.

“You know how to work a room,” I say, watching as she scans the selection.

She plucks a chocolate-covered strawberry from a tray and smirks. “It’s called being likable.”

“I don’t know,” I tease, grabbing a small plate. “Some people find me likable.”

She hums as if considering. “Debatable.”