“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “You’re a human chastity belt.”
I can tell by his expression that I’ve struck a nerve, maybe emboldened by the alcohol, but it delights me all the same.
“Where’s your date, then? Are all of the usual cheating husbands home with their children this evening?” he asks.
“Actually, I’m working tonight.” I tip my nose in the air. “Otherwise, they’d be out in full force. I’m basically catnip for men who regret their life choices.”
“You’re starting to make me regret mine,” he says, glancing disdainfully around the dance floor. I miss a step, caught off guard by the unintended implication of what he’s just said. His gaze snaps back to mine, and I swear his eyes darken ever so slightly as he realizes it, too.
For a prolonged heartbeat, it feels like we’re the only two people in the room.
Then I get ahold of myself again.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Ryan’s manning the tripod over there, see? And Parker is taking room tone. Which, bless them, because nobody in this room has any self-awareness. Most of this is just b-roll anyway. At least until the speeches.”
I notice Sam standing at the edge of the dance floor, then, and my expression must show it, because Falkenberg’s focus lands on him, too.
“Which one is he?” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t look like the cheating husband type. Too young and naive.”
Falkenberg almost sounds jealous.
Biting back a grin, I say, “I’m starting to think he just wants my father’s money, with the way he refuses to take a hint.”
Falkenberg’s expression darkens as he looks down at me. “They really try to use you like that?”
I laugh at the absurdity of his question. “Of course they do. I can’t tell you how many men I’ve had chase me with the intention of soliciting my dad as an investor, or attaching their name to the family fortune. Luckily, I’ve gotten pretty good at spotting that shit a mile away.”
“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, brows still furrowed. He pauses, then adds, “You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”
Logically, I know this. I’ve said it to myself before, but something about hearing that aloud makes a lump form in my throat.
I’m suddenly all too aware of the heat of his body, radiating out from beneath my palm. The proximity of him. The way I could trace the faint beginnings of crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes if I wanted to. The way his large hand envelopes mine. My heart is a warning drum against my ribs.
“It’s nothing. Besides,” I say, dropping my voice lower. “They don’t know the money’s gone. For me, at least.”
His eyeswiden, and I laugh again. I don’t know why I’ve told him. Maybe because I’ve just been dying to tellsomeoneon the team, given how frustrating it is that they all still treat me like an heiress. I know my father would be furious if this became public knowledge within the Monarchs—if only because he would somehow see it as a reflection of himself, but I’m tired of keeping it to myself. I’ve had a few drinks, and here he is, a sullen listening ear—and for some reason, I feel like my secret’s safe with him. Maybe he’ll keep it, or maybe he’ll tell them all. Maybe I don’t care either way.
Falkenberg looks like he’s about to say something else, but the tempo starts melting into something more intimate. We blink at each other, our bodies frozen, like each of us is waiting for the other to make a move—until he finally steps back. My hand falls from his lapel just as his drops from my hip. Some traitorous part of me wants to ask if he’d like to keep dancing, because I don’t exactly loathe his company and I dread being cornered again, but I know it would be selfish of me to ask. He’s the centerpiece of this banquet. This is his world, not mine, and I shouldn’t keep him.
“There you are, Mattias.” Coach Marshall appears as if summoned by my thoughts. “Come with me, the shareholders want to say hi.” Then, noticing me, Coach Marshall gives me an apologetic look. “Hi there, Freddie. I hope you don’t mind me stealing my Captain, but let me come find you later. I want you to meet my wife.”
“Not at all,” I say quickly. My gaze shifts to Falkenberg’s. His expression is shuttered again. For a moment there, it’d felt like he was letting me in. For a moment, I’d wanted him to.
“Enjoy the party,” Coach Marshall adds. I watch as he claps a hand on Falkenberg’s shoulder and steers him away. Falkenberg doesn’t look back as they disappear into the crowd.
It shouldn’t sting, but it does.
Chapter 21
Mattias
Coach pushes us ruthlessly the first morning skate of the preseason. He’s been building up our conditioning, and while it’s paying off, we’re far from where we need to be. It doesn’t help that Hearst has been eating up our time, stealing players for short interviews and clips. I glance at her, standing there behind the boards in a cropped shirt and denims, throwing her head back to laugh at something Bell’s just said. I grind my teeth against my mouthguard.
We don’t have time for this.
