Comments everywhere.
Who is this artist?
Wait, are those NHL players in the front row?
I’m obsessed with this crossover.
My excitement is real. Bright. Electric.
“This is exactly what she needed,” I say. “Visibility. Credibility. Conversation.”
He nods slowly. “That’s amazing.”
“And you benefited too,” I add quickly. “Fans loved it. Your mentions were all positive.”
I tell myself that matters.
Mutual exposure.
Everyone wins.
Colby lifts one shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I don’t really need the publicity. The Outlaws get enough of it. Sometimes too much, especially for a few of the guys.”
Our phones buzz almost simultaneously.
He checks his.
"Shit, more PR crap," he complains.
I check mine.
Mine is from a number I recognize immediately.
PR:Hey Sloane, great energy last night. Social is popping. Seeing Colby Hayes at Raina’s show is getting traction. Any chance you’d both be open to a quick follow-up interview? Fans are already asking questions.
I stare at the screen a second too long.
He notices. “You, too?”
“Apparently,” I say, turning the phone so he can see.
He exhales through his nose. “Figures.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” he adds quickly. “Just… not wild about the spotlight when it’s personal.”
That word lands.
Personal.
“I know,” I say. “And I don’t want it to be weird.”
He leans back against the counter. “For the record, I don’t mind people thinking we had fun together. We did.”
My stomach flips again.
He hesitates, then says it anyway. “And I’d like to see where this goes. With you.”
Honest. Direct. No pressure.
