Dad must’ve noticed our exchange, as he is now also standing—his hand already outstretched for me to shake. I stare at it forthe briefest moment, debating if I should take it or not. I mean, really. A fucking handshake for his own son?
In the end, I take it, but only because I know there’s bound to be plenty of press here tonight, and the last thing they need to catch wind of is infighting between the Reeds.
“And you must be Camden,” Mom says, a cheerful smile on her face before pulling him into a hug.
I wince, clearly having forgotten to make the introduction. “Uh, yeah. Mom, this is Camden. And Dad, I think you might’ve met before? When he and Oakley were teammates.”
“I believe so, but it’s always nice to get reacquainted. Especially with Leighton’s biggest NHL prospect,” my father says, extending his hand to Camden now.
It takes every bit of my self-control to not roll my eyes. But thankfully my pseudo-boyfriend simply aims a charming smile at both of my parents, completely ignoring the comment while he greets them.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Reed. It’s a pleasure to officially meet you.” His gaze shifts to the other men seated at the table before adding, “Good to see you in the flesh, Louis. And you too, Coach. Though I did just see you at practice a couple hours ago.”
Louis, Dad, and Uncle Trevorall laugh, the three of them still as in sync as I remember from my childhood.
“Well, I have to say, you two make quite the handsome couple,” Louis states as he raises his glass of scotch to his lips.
My mother nods, practically beaming at the two of us.
My parents were pleasantly surprised when I mentioned bringing a date for the banquet tonight—almost as if they’d completely forgotten about my relationship with Camden.Fakerelationship, though that distinction is obviously lost on them.
As it should be.
“Why don’t you two grab a seat. Dinner should be starting in a few minutes,” Mom informs both of us.
The two empty settings are beside Louis and my mother, with Dad and Uncle Trevorbeing seated across the table from us. Which, come to think of it, is probably the best option for everyone involved. Especially if Dad and I start going toe-to-toe with one another.
After draping our coats over the seat backs, Camden pulls out the chair beside my mom, allowing me to sit before taking his own next to Louis. I expect him to go straight into conversation with his agent,and all things considered, I wouldn’t blame him. If I were in his shoes, I’d want updates on how things are progressing on the public image front.
Yet, to my surprise, he leans his head toward me and speaks low into my ear. “Tell me if you wanna leave at any point, okay? To get air or get out of here completely.”
A shiver rushes down my spine, and I keep my gaze down when I nod wordlessly.
“Okay. Then I’m gonna kiss the side of your head and put my hand on your leg now.”
I’m grateful for the heads-up about his intentions for PDA. There’s no telling how I’d react if he caught me off guard, seeing as I’m already so high strung by simply being here. God knows I wasn’t expecting to get the chills from himtalkingto me just now.
But like earlier, his touch calms something inside me. Both the heat from his palm seeping through my pants just above my knee, and now the gentle press of his lips to my temple, give more reassurance than anything else. It’s a weird phenomenon I wasn’t expecting, but I don’t have the mental capacity to unpack it at the present moment.
Instead, I just slide my hand to cover his and harness whatever strength I can to make it through this evening.
As my mother said, the first round of food is delivered relatively soon after we’re seated, leaving conversations toa minimum. That is, until we’re between courses, and Dad takes that as an opening to start up on his favorite topic of conversation.
“So, Camden,” he says from across the table, “seems to me like you’re having one hell of a season so far.”
My hand, still resting over Camden’s on my thigh, tightens instinctually.
Fuck.
It’s embarrassing, having this kind of reaction to such a trivial thing like discussing a sport, and I know that’s part of the reason I get so irritated.BecauseI react this way the instant it’s brought up.
I feel my cheeks heat slightly, and I go to pull my hand away, but apparently my date’s quick hands extend off the ice as well, because I don’t make it more than an inch before he snatches it back. Covering the back of my hand with his, he laces our fingers together before resting it back in place on my thigh, all without so much as looking in my direction.
In fact, he’s cool as a cucumber, offering my father a charming smile before answering.
“Ah, yes, sir. I’m grateful the team is doing well in general, but I think that’s more Coach’s doing than mine.”
“Please. Call me Travis. And the team’s success is in no small part to you,” Dad counters. “And let’s be honest, an SV percentage of .939 puts you at the top of the NCAA.”
