Sawyer nearly choked on his breath then cleared his throat like he was trying to play it cool. “Yeah? That so?”
“Mhm.”
He turned to face me, his eyes narrowing into a familiar blend of playful and dangerous that always made my heart kick up a notch.
Ben pulled the SUV into the circular drive, headlights sweeping over the stone fountain, the velvet ropes, and the wall of photographers already jostling for the best shots. Gold streamers framed the entryway.
“You good?” Sawyer asked, his voice low and rough.
I smoothed the front of my dress calmly, as if I wasn’t shaking from the inside out. “Why wouldn’t I be? Just a little black-tie fundraiser, a red carpet, and three separate tabloids waiting to catch me tripping in heels I can’t feel my toes in.”
He arched a brow. “So...super chill night.”
“Exactly.”
Ben stopped the SUV and stepped out to scope the scene. Sawyer circled the car, opened my door, and held out his hand. I hesitated for a flicker of a second and slipped my fingers into his.
The moment my feet hit the pavement, the world exploded around us. Flashes lit up the night, blinding, relentless.
Sawyer glanced at Ben and said, “I’ve got her tonight.”
I nodded to Ben, giving him my approval.
“Yes, sir,” he replied.
Sawyer’s hand settled on my back.
“Smile,” he murmured.
“Iamsmiling,” I snapped, my attention fixed past the photographers.
We moved up the steps. I let myself lean into him—not because I wanted the press of his palm or the heat radiating from his body, but because it was part of the show.
Inside, I blinked past the aftermath of camera flashes and took in the room. High ceilings dripped with chandeliers, every inch polished to remind you how small you actually were. The crowd was a river of faces, all pretending not to watch us, as if we were another couple of guests.
Sawyer's elbow brushed mine.
“Coach incoming,” he murmured, his breath ghosting near my ear as he tilted his head toward him.
My stomach dropped. This was the man behind the charade, the reason Sawyer needed me on his arm tonight to play the role of devoted girlfriend. No pressure.
I slid my hand around Sawyer's waist, stepping into him before I could overthink it. His body tensed for half a second and then melted into the touch—or maybe I imagined the hesitation. His heat bled through his shirt, and I told myself the flutter in my chest was nerves.
“Well, if it isn't Sawyer James.” Anderson Martinez had the kind of voice that commanded locker rooms—deep, authoritative, with an edge of amusement.
“Coach.” Sawyer's smile was easy. “Good to see you.”
Anderson turned to me. He extended his hand, and I took it. “Anderson Martinez. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Ellie Miles.” I let my hand drift to Sawyer's chest as I spoke. “Likewise.”
His gaze dropped to me, head tilting slightly. Something flickered in his eyes—surprise? Warning? I couldn't tell, but the look made my skin prickle.
“I see you're keeping this guy in check tonight,” Anderson said.
“Doing my best.” I gave him a smile and turned to Sawyer, letting my expression soften, hoping my eyes conveyed what they were supposed to—affection, devotion, the kind of look that made strangers believe in love at first sight. “He's something else.”
Sawyer’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and his hand found the small of my back, his thumb tracing a slow, absent circle that felt far too natural.
