Finally, she finds me in the crowd, the smile spreading across her face bringing one to mine. She nudges Gracie and points in my direction. Gracie nods as Sam steps farther into the house, weaving through the sea of people. From the corner of my eye, I notice Kane and Alex watching, their muscles tensing at the sight of her. Then I catch Jackson tipping his head in her direction, while Christina and her friends stare in disbelief. It’s obvious they didn’t expect to see her here, and they probably hate that she looks more like she belongs here than they do.
It’s funny how heavy she stays on their minds, while she couldn’t care less that they exist. She glides gracefully toward me, that smile of hers getting wider.
“Well, well. Someone cleans up nice?” she says once she’s within earshot. “I love the outfit.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and I bite back a grin.
“Thanks,” I respond and lick my lips. “You look stunning.”
She stares down at her dress then back at me. “I tried.”
I don’t respond and just fully take her in.
“Where are the others?” she asks.
I point to Alex. “Alex is talking to his father.”
Sam follows my finger, her eyes lighting up when she spots him. He raises his glass, tipping his head in acknowledgment.
“Kane’s over there, talking with one of our sponsors.”
She finds him standing all the way on the other side of the floor. We’re separated by an oversize fixture in the center of the foyer. It never ceases to amaze me how massive Alex’s childhood home is. The living room area is one open floor plan that spans the width of the house, two enclaves of space on both ends. It’s like it was made for hosting.
I get why Alex despises this life; it’s flashy and fake. Always having to perform for a bunch of people you couldn’t care less about has to be exhausting.
Sam’s spine straightens when Kane peers back at her. I suck in a breath, watching her interaction with the guys who are like brothers to me. I roll my shoulder and tug on my collar. She focuses on me again, slipping her arm through mine. A tingle races up my spine, but I push it down to play it cool.
She doesn’t even realize what she’s doing to us. She’s turned us into a bunch of guys who can’t breathe properly in her presence. Heartbeats race; words get jumbled in our minds.
“Hey,” someone says behind us.
We glance back to Gracie, and Sam scoots over to make space for her. I instantly miss the closeness.
“When are we going to do this?” Gracie asks quietly.
“After his speech. He’ll be expecting to see our faces—Alex and all the players. And, given the circumstances, maybe even Sam’s.”
“Okay.” Gracie shimmies. “I’m nervous.”
“Me too,” Sam admits.
We throw our gazes around, observing our surroundings. When Gracie stares ahead, she tenses—her posture shifting from squirmy to iron rod straight. Sam notices, following her line of sight.
“Who’s that?” she asks.
Gracie swallows. “My dad.”
Senator Martinez crosses the floor, heading in our direction. Gracie exhales deeply, almost like she’s bracing herself.
“Gracie?” he says with his hands in his pockets.
“Hi, Father.”
The moment is awkward.
Sam frowns, and we discreetly peer at one another.
“Mr. Montour. You’re going to help bring us another championship home?” He holds out a hand for me to shake.
