“My cheek’s been cramping for the past half hour,” he said through gritted teeth, that smile still plastered in place.
I bit back a laugh. “Take a sip of your drink when that happens. Gives you a chance to relax and reset. I thought that was common knowledge.”
He fixed me with a deadpan look. “Nothing about this is common for me, and you know it.”
The sponsor grabbed Hunter into a quick talk about power plays and penalties, then made me the photographer for his photo op. When I handed back his phone, Hunter leaned in and whispered, “Poor bastard doesn’t know that’s being deleted right after he posts it.”
“No tags unless they run it by me first,” I said, moving us through the crowd. I pointed to an elderly couple standing next to the ice sculpture. “They’re the ones sponsoring your team’s youth program.”
“Next stop?”
I nodded, and Hunter fell easily into his swag persona for the night, greeting them warmly and thanking them for their contribution. I chimed in with names, anecdotes, a quick mention of his community work to paint a portrait of the Hunter Callahan everyone expected him to be.
He played along, polite and a little wry. At first, it was nothing more than to indulge me. But as the night wore on, he loosened up and actually started enjoying it.
I pressed a glass of water into his hand as he finished yet another meet-and-greet photo op with a reporter. “You’re doing fine.”
“Yeah, I think I’m getting the hang of it.” He took a sip, then looked at the bottle with a frown. “When did we switch to non-alcoholic?”
“When your cheeks started getting rosier than mine.”
We moved on. Another handshake, another photo. I angled myself between him and a man trying to talk about investments and ushered Hunter toward the dessert table for a break.
“This is wild,” he said under his breath. “I feel like a mannequin you’re parading around.”
“You kinda are,” I said, and fixed his shirt collar. “But don’t worry. It’s just another hour or so and then you’ll be home free.”
For a while, we managed a rhythm of me smoothing introductions,him smiling in the right places. Every so often we’d step off to the side under the guise of me briefing him, and I’d catch myself noticing how his bow tie had loosened, or how his laugh rolled under the music. They were little private moments I found myself looking forward to. Like a secret in a crowded room.
I was pulling him aside near the edge of the dance floor to coach him on the next donor when it happened.
A young woman in a glittery silver dress, probably mid-twenties, came up out of nowhere, a champagne napkin in her hand. “I’m a huge fan,” she said breathlessly, eyes on Hunter as she lifted her cell phone. “Could I—?”
He smiled wide, and slid his hand around her waist to pull her closer. “Sure thing, beautiful.”
But I was already stepping in. “Sorry, but we’re not doing unsolicited pictures tonight.”
“We aren’t?” Hunter called me out, but I ignored him so hard it made my eyes burn.
The woman’s smile didn’t falter though, and she pressed the napkin toward him. “My name’s Anna, by the way. Call me.”
Before Hunter could react, I plucked the napkin from her hand and slipped it into my clutch. “Enjoy the gala.”
The woman blinked, then drifted off into the crowd without another word.
“You’re welcome.”
Hunter turned to me slowly. “What was that?”
I tried for nonchalance, but couldn’t be sure I was hitting it with the tension suddenly seizing my shoulders. “Saving you from yourself.”
“From a hot fan who wanted to give me her number?”
“From a PR disaster,” I corrected, shifting my clutch to the other hand.
His eyes stayed on me, sharp as ever. “I’m a hockey player, not amonk. And hot women are part of the benefits package.”
I forced a light laugh. “You really think that would end well? Pictures, gossip columns, angry sponsors dropping you to avoid scandal?”
