Page 8 of The Fake Husband Play (That Steamy Hockey Romance #1)

Chapter

Five

GRAMMERCY

Walking into the courtyard of Maison Monteleone feels like stepping onto the set of one of those HBO dramas where everyone’s rich and plotting each other’s downfall over champagne.

But in this case, they’re plotting how they can be a part of the Voodoo’s inaugural season.

They’re here because of my team, because of me …

Even with a big brother who made his NHL dreams come true long before I did, and coming off a Stanley Cup-winning season of my own, it still feels surreal.

Three years ago, I was eating ramen for dinner and wondering if I’d ever make it out of the AHL.

Now I’m at a hotel I would have been kicked out of as a kid, primed to charm the pants off potential sponsors while wearing a suit that costs more than my new mortgage.

On a penthouse apartment.

That’s also mine.

Sometimes even our wildest dreams come true. I’m living proof.

I scan the crowd, seeing who beat Parker and me to the party.

The traffic was hell rolling in from his side of town, making me glad I opted for a place in the city limits, closer to the action.

A yard is great and all, but I’d rather have those fifty commute minutes back every day than a place to put my garden.

Who has time to garden right now, anyway?

Ahead of us in the courtyard, Blue stands guard by the bar, a large bowl of nuts in one big hand, munching away with a “leave me in peace” expression likely to keep all but the bravest sponsors at bay.

Jean-Louis, our Quebec boy, is deep in discussion with two impressed-looking men in suits, and Capo has a pretty blonde giggling in a corner.

Meanwhile, Nix holds court with a group of middle-aged women who look like they’ve had loads of very subtle, very expensive work, and is clearly loving every minute of it.

“Looks like Nix is still a cougar magnet,” Parker observes beside me as we collect a glass of champagne from a redhead in a seriously provocative cocktail uniform. I’m no prude, but I didn’t expect so much cleavage on display at a fancy party.

Shows what I know.

Guess the rich and famous like boobs, too.

I mean, I’m absolutely a fan, but situations like this are awkward. It’s strange to be wearing a suit while the person serving you drinks is wrapped up in a postage stamp and a prayer.

I thank the redhead, keeping my gaze on her face in a show of solidarity—we’re both members of the workforce at this party—before responding to Parker beneath my breath, “He’s not a cougar magnet; he’s an enthusiast. Every time we’ve gone to a club on weekends, Nix makes a beeline for a woman old enough to be his mother.

Boy can’t get enough of a sexy Southern lady of a certain age. ”

Parker grunts in amusement. “No lies detected. And I mean, I can see the appeal. Women over forty know things.”

“Yeah?” My lips hook up on one side. “You talkin’ from personal experience, mon frere ?”

Parker chuckles as he gives a slightly self-conscious shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe. There might have been a woman in college who taught me a thing or two that I’ve used to show other ladies a good time.”

“So, cougars are doing God’s work? That’s what you’re saying.”

He laughs. “Totally. Carla will always have a special place in my heart.” He straightens, taking a sip of his champagne as he scans the crowd. “But that’s not what I’m here for tonight. You, either. Women come and go, brother, but an endorsement deal with the right brand could set us up for life.”

He’s right. This isn’t just a party—it’s business masquerading as celebration. “Where you headed first?” I ask over the rim of my glass. “I thought I’d look for the guy from Lava Energy and go from there.”

“Smart,” Parker agrees. “You’re known for speed. Lava would be a good fit. I’m going for that shoe brand from New Zealand, the one with the funny commercials. I can do funny way better than that NFL Chad they’ve got doing spots for them now.”

“Hell yes, you can,” I agree, holding my hand out for a quick dab. “Happy hunting and catch you later.”

“Later,” Parker says with a wink. “Let’s go land something for our future wives to take half of in the divorce. ”

I roll my eyes at the joke—Parker’s parents’ ugly, ongoing split has left a mark on the man—and drain the last of my champagne. But just as I’ve spotted the guy from Lava over by the bar, something else catches my eye.

It’s a woman in the same scandalous cocktail outfit as the redhead, but with legs a supermodel would kill for, and…

Holy fucking shit.

My stomach bottoms out so hard I feel it at the back of my throat.

Because it’s her.

Red Dress. The woman from Magazine Street.

It makes no logical sense—what are the odds, in a city this size?—but my gut already knows. It’s already sure. Same curves, same posture that mixes grace and a guarded way of moving through the world that sets off every protective, possessive instinct I’ve got.

And then she looks up.

Our eyes catch.

And hold.

And the party disappears. It’s a fucking cliché, but it’s true: the world blurs and fades until all I can see is her. Those wide, startled eyes. That pretty mouth parting like she has something to tell me, and fuck, I can’t wait to hear whatever it is.

Longing floods through my chest, and for a heartbeat, I swear she feels it, too.

But then…she bolts.

I’m not talking about a polite “I need to get back to work” disengagement. My girl straight up flees the scene of the crime, doing a dart and weave until she’s completely out of sight .

I’m half a step from chasing after her when Nix shoulders in beside me, jabbing an elbow into my ribs.

“Hey, man, the guy from Lava was looking for you earlier. You should get over there and woo him before Winchester cockblocks you. He’s practically giving the guy a blow job as we speak.”

I tear my eyes off the place where Red Dress was standing a second ago, struggling to force myself back to reality.

“What?”

“Cockblocked. From the Lava deal. What’s thrown you off your game, bro?” He follows my gaze, grinning as he nods to the other side of the courtyard. “Was it the brunette? The one with the legs for miles and the bouncy rack way too big for that shirt? I mean, not that I’m complaining, but I…”

He trails off, lifting his hands in the air in surrender as I glare a hole between his eyes.

“Sorry, man,” he adds, “Not trying to be offensive. Seriously. Just making an observation. I’m sure Rack Girl is super cool and nice and stuff.

And smart. Probably smart. Did she look smart?

I don’t know. Do you know her or something? ”

I fight the irrational urge to tell him to keep her name out of his mouth. That would be over the top…especially considering neither of us knows her name. “No,” I snap. “And I didn’t think you noticed women under forty.”

Nix just grins, obviously feeling no shame. “I don’t. Usually. But I make an exception for especially gorgeous breasts. I prefer them on an older woman, yes, but sometimes a man has to be flexible.”

“Stay away from her,” I rumble, my inner caveman rising to the surface .

He nods, still smiling, “Message received. Loud and clear. Relax, friend. I already have two hotties fighting for the chance to take me home. I’m not after your girl.”

My girl…

She’s not my girl. I’m being crazy. And an asshole to a teammate who’s done nothing to deserve it.

“Sorry,” I say with a sigh. “Guess I’m a little more uptight about the networking shit than I thought.”

“It’s cool,” Nix says, eager to forgive and forget, as always.

He’s a chill guy off the ice, one of the reasons I’ve started to consider him a friend as well as a teammate.

“Want me to introduce you to Simon, the Lava guy? I met him earlier, but I didn’t try too hard.

I’m not what he’s looking for. He’s after established star power, not a rookie on the rise.

” He runs a hand through his sandy blond hair as he adds, “Even if that rookie is exceptionally talented and an amazing lover, who’s probably going to convince both the gorgeous ladies after his cock to come home with him tonight. ”

I huff. “You’re shameless.”

“Damn straight, I am,” he says, grinning. “Come on, dude, let’s go make you an even bigger star.”

But as Nix leads me toward the man in the gray suit and bright red tie with the Lava logo worked discreetly into the fabric pattern, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve made a wrong turn.

That I’m going to look back on this moment and regret the fuck out of not chasing Red Dress down that hallway, no matter where it leads.

Simon Strain turns out to be exactly what you’d expect from an energy drink executive—intensely enthusiastic, too loud, and convinced that his product is going to revolutionize human performance.

He’s got the kind of aggressive handshake that suggests he has something to prove—or did a few too many lines of coke in the restroom—and within thirty seconds of our intro, has launched into a well-rehearsed “We want you, and only you,” pitch.

I would be flattered if I didn’t suspect he’s given Winchester the same speech.

I can’t imagine why my teammate would be smirking at me as Nix joins him at a nearby table if that weren’t the case.

“You see, Grammercy, that’s why you’d be the best fit for Lava,” he says, gesturing toward me with his whiskey as he rattles on.

“We’re looking for a player that has that mixture of speed and laser focus most people only get with a little enhancement, if you know what I’m saying.

Even without our signature formula, you’re a force.

Get a can of Lava in you? Who knows how far you’ll go? ”

“Thanks, Simon, I appreciate that,” I say with a warm smile, slipping into the polished persona that’s gotten me through dozens of these conversations in the past year.