Tank grinned, because it had been great. Last night, the Rays had pulled off an upset, kicking number-one ranked Edmonton’s ass to the curb in a four-zero shutout. Tank had contributed one of those goals, assisting on two of the others.
Though you wouldn’t have known that, given the way Coach Fields continued to ride his ass. The man had been holding some sort of fucking grudge against him for the past couple of weeks. The other guys had even noticed, Victor pulling him aside a couple days ago to ask what the fuck he’d done to piss Dean off.
Tank didn’t have a clue, unless Coach Fields wasn’t as chill about the video as Tank had initially thought. But that didn’t make a lot of sense, when Coach had admitted to him shortly after summer that he’d been just as wild as Tank in his younger days.
He wrapped his arm around McKenna’s shoulders as they walked down the sidewalk. He’d spotted the paparazzi the second they left the pub. He wasn’t surprised to find them there. No doubt word had gotten out that Hunter would be performing, so they’d swarmed.
Pat’s Pub was no stranger to the press, however, so they’d enlisted the help of the police, who’d set up a perimeter, and also hired security to help maintain it.
“Hey, Tank!” one of the cameramen yelled.
Tank didn’t acknowledge the guy but decided to take advantage of the free publicity. He pressed an affectionate kiss to the top of McKenna’s head. She glanced at him, and he winked. “Smile at me like I hang the moon, Mouse, and we’ll make the front page tomorrow.”
It proved just how happy McKenna was that she laughed at his joke rather than remind him again that this relationship of theirs was just pretend.
Benny’s suggestion that the two of them “fake date” proved just how much of a lucky star Tank lived under. Because he’d gone to her office with the Thai food last week with the intention of asking her out on a real date.
Maybe he should have confessed that to her, but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. There’d been a chance—probably a very good chance—that McKenna would have rejected his invitation. After all, she’d told him early on that she would never date a hockey player or someone from work, so he was a double whammy.
This way, he got to take her out whenever he wanted to, all under the guise of work.
As far as he was concerned, it was the perfect opportunity for him to show her just how good dating him for real could be. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take long for her to drop the word “fake” and agree to be his girlfriend.
Tonight was the first time they’d gone out in public together, though they’d planted the seeds of a budding relationship in other ways. Like her sitting in the team’s box, front and center with the other girlfriends and wives, wearing his jersey. They’d also continued eating together—alone—whenever they were on the road. And he’d picked her up this past weekend to take her to the game night that Blake and Erika hosted at their apartment. He sat beside her the entire evening, arm loosely draped across the back of the couch so he could play with her ponytail.
Tank had gotten McKenna to agree to keep the true nature of their fake relationship a secret from their friends, convincing her there was a higher chance of discovery if too many people were let in on the ruse. Or at least, that’s what he told her. In truth, he wanted everyone to think they were an item because if he got his way, they would be soon enough. As such, he figured there was no reason to confuse their friends.
When they reached his car, Tank opened the passenger door for her, the sound of cameras clicking in the background. The paparazzi were taking full advantage of tonight’s A-list of Baltimore’s who’s who. He suspected Blake and Erika, along with Preston and Chelsea, who’d all left earlier, had also been photographed.
Unable to resist, Tank cupped her cheek, giving her a quick kiss before she climbed into the car.
“Milking it, aren’t you?” she murmured, though the twinkle in her eyes told him that wasn’t a complaint.
“Gotta strike while the iron’s hot.”
Closing her door, he crossed in front of the hood, giving the paparazzi a quick wave before sliding behind the steering wheel and heading off in the direction of her townhouse.
Dark clouds had rolled in during the time they were in the pub, the forecast warning of some nasty storms tonight. When he arrived on McKenna’s street, he drove two full blocks away from her place before finding a spot. Once again, McKenna had insisted he could just drop her off, but he refused. He wanted to walk her to the door. Not only to ensure she got in safely but also because he fully intended to steal another kiss.
However, they’d only made it ten feet from his car before the skies opened up.
“Holy shit!” McKenna exclaimed, as the two of them took off running toward her house.
By the time, she got the door unlocked and they raced inside, they were both soaked to the skin and laughing their asses off.
“I knew it was going to rain, but that escalated fast,” she said, gasping for breath as she pushed wet strands of hair from her eyes.
“You’re not kidding. I figured I could at least get home before it unleashed.” Tank pulled his wet shirt away from his skin. “That was an insane amount of rain. I don’t get this wet in my shower,” he joked.
McKenna laughed. “Seriously.”
They looked down at the same time when the sound of dripping became evident.
“Shit, Mouse. I’m getting your floor all wet.”
“Stay there. I’ll grab us both some towels from the bathroom.” She quickly left the room, racing upstairs and returning in less than a minute with two fluffy bath towels.
“Thanks,” he said, as he took one from her, rubbing his hair before running the towel over his clothing—a fruitless endeavor. Nothing short of wringing his clothes out and putting them in the dryer was going to help.
