Page 7 of The Fake Husband Play (That Steamy Hockey Romance #1)

I may need to run to the restroom and be violently ill because Grammercy Graves could walk into the next room any second.

Grammercy Graves.

Here.

In real life, and I have no idea how to process the intensity of that at this point and time.

But I can’t say any of that. Makena doesn’t know about my podcast. I keep Love on Ice completely to myself. It’s my guilty little hockey fangirl secret.

At least, I hope it is…

Because if Grammercy does know about the podcast and somehow connects my voice to Luvvy Puck’s, he’ll think I arranged to be here on purpose. He’ll never believe it was a coincidence. No, he’ll probably decide I’m an unhinged weirdo, here to take my online stalking into the real world.

He might even call the police! I could get arrested! And then Mimi will be put in foster care, just like I was, and I’ll never see her again.

This could be it!

The day I pay the ultimate price for crushing on a pro athlete in public like a teenage girl.

“Elly?” Makena says again, laying a hand on my arm. “Seriously, are you?—”

“I’m fine. I just… Hockey players aren’t really my thing,” I force out.

Great, now I can add lying to a friend to my list of sins.

Makena frowns. “Really? Since when? I thought you were excited that we were getting a pro team?”

Well, I was, Mack, but that was before I suddenly woke up to the fact that being obsessed with a man I’ve never met is probably a form of mental illness.

Or at least a sign that I’m deeply immature and pathetic.

And embarrassing.

So, so embarrassing…

Aloud, I say, “I mean, sure, watching a game is cool, but in person, they seem so jocky. I don’t know,” I finish lamely. “But whatever. I’m sure they’ll tip well. See you out there! ”

I grab my tray of red and white wine, leaving Makena the bubbly.

As I follow the other servers out of the kitchen, I give myself a mental pep talk, struggling to banish the anxiety making my hands shake.

Maybe Grammercy won’t even be here tonight. Maybe he has other plans or a hot date or is allergic to cocktail parties. Or maybe he’ll stick to one area of the courtyard, and I can just…avoid that section.

If I can just refrain from any up-close-and-personal interactions, I might be able to make it through the evening without having a meltdown.

Soon, the guests begin to arrive. I position myself near the dessert buffet at the back, fairly confident that people won’t rush straight to the cake and gourmet donuts.

I fix my “bland, but friendly” server smile in place, fighting to ignore the fact that my heart is about to punch a hole through my chest.

And for several moments, my anxiety is completely unfounded.

The first wave of guests consists of old people, mostly men, who I’m guessing are investors or members of team management.

Aside from a few overly appreciative glances at my cleavage on their way to donuts—a bigger draw than I expected—they seem harmless, and I manage to hand out wine and make polite conversation without incident.

The players arrive next, but Grammercy isn’t among them.

Maybe he really does have other plans.

Ten minutes pass, then fifteen, and I’m starting to think I might be out of the woods, when an older woman fetching her second glass of Chardonnay hisses to her husband, “Oh, look, Jeff, there he is! Our local boy.” She hums appreciatively as her gaze locks on someone over my shoulder.

“Goodness, Jeffrey, he’s even more handsome in person.

We have to get that face on a bottle of hot sauce. Stat.”

And just like that, my blood turns to ice water in my veins.

Because I know.

I just know …

I don’t need to look. I know who our “local boy” is. And the second he stepped into the courtyard, I swear I could sense it. The space suddenly felt smaller, more charged, like someone just turned up the voltage on the world.

I should run, hide, or at the very least keep my back turned so Grammercy Graves can’t get a good look at his stalker’s face. Instead, as if compelled by a fangirl force outside my control, I turn to look over my shoulder.

And God…there he is.

Grammercy Graves, in the flesh, looking like he just stepped out of one of my most elaborate fantasies.

He’s wearing a bespoke navy suit that does incredible things for his shoulders, and his dark hair is mussed on top, like he’s been running his fingers through it.

That smile—the one I’ve swooned over in countless photos and videos—is even more devastating in person.

And when he laughs at something the man beside him is saying, the sound hits me right between the thighs.

Damn.

He’s so beautiful. Absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful in a way that makes my chest tight and my head spin.

And then, as if he can sense that someone is drooling over him from afar, he jerks his head to the left and looks directly at me.

Directly!

At me!

The eyeball-on-eyeball contact is instant and intense, and as our gazes lock and hold across the courtyard, I have no idea what to do with myself. My whole body goes hot, then cold, then hot again, as shame and desire splash over me in alternating waves.

Time slows, the noise of the party fades to a background hum, and all I can see are his dark eyes staring through me like he knows all my secrets…

The moment is a dream come true and a nightmare all at once.

Because obviously, I’m losing it. There is no way on earth that Grammercy Graves is feeling the connection I’m feeling right now. That would be crazy, and he’s not crazy. I’m the only crazy one around here.

So, I do make the only sensible decision available to me at this point.

I turn and run.

Okay, fine, I speed walk because I’m in heels, but I still haul serious ass as I weave around the closest tree, slip into a hallway, and take a detour to the kitchen. And once I get there, I take my sweet time pouring my next tray of wine, while planning ways to stay under his radar.

I’ll run from that man all night if I have to.

Sometimes the only smart thing to do is run from your dreams before they have a chance to disappoint you. I can’t take any more disappointment right now, especially not from the most stunning man on earth.

So stunning and talented and cool and generous …

And now I’ve ruined my chance to meet him in real life.

I tear up a bit as I fetch clean glasses.

If only this had happened some other time, some other place, when I wasn’t beaten down and exhausted, I might have had the courage to introduce myself. But I’m all out of courage right now.

And people always say you shouldn’t meet your heroes.

Right now, it sounds like good advice.