I turn on my heel and scurry down the hall. Oh my God, what a crazy night. I’m still flustered and feeling a little wild when I find Trey in the cardio room—talking to my parents. And just like that, the universe has thrown a bucket of cold water on my amazing and crazy night.
My father looks up and smiles as he sees me. “There you are, Shaynie! Trey says you’re running this event, but we’ve been here an hour and haven’t seen you anywhere.”
He leans in and wraps his arms around me, hugging me tightly. I pat his back and wiggle free. My mom then leans in and air kisses both my cheeks before scrutinizing me with her perfectly made-up blue eyes. “Your hair is…Did you style it yourself? I could have gotten you an appointment with my girl Monique, you know.”
I try to smooth the flyaways. I’m sure it looked acceptable pre-Sebastian. Images of our little spin cycle sexcapade fills my head and I feel my face flush. Trey notices and gives me a confused look. “You all right? You’re all red.”
“I was demonstrating the equipment for some potential clients,” I lie and shrug when his face twists into an even more confused expression, because he knows I’m not nutty enough to demonstrate fitness equipment in a cocktail dress and heels.
“Good for you, Shaynie.” My father squeezes my shoulder. “We have to do what we can to help my boy. That’s why I’m here. My celebrity should earn him a few members.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Dear old Dad is a retired hockey player and former Seattle Winterhawk. But it’s been years since he’s done anything really active and it shows. I doubt his presence is going to sell gym memberships for Trey. That’s why my brother invited the current Winterhawks captain and his former college teammate, Avery Westwood.
“Speaking of hockey celebrities, where is that douchebag from the Winterhawks?” I ask Trey, which gets me a scowl.
“Avery is…” Trey’s eyes scan the room. “He’s here somewhere. I was talking to him a few minutes ago.”
“Westwood is here?” My father perks up. “That’ll make a great photo opportunity. Two Winterhawk legends. I’m going to track him down and get the girl from the paper to take a photo.”
My father turns and walks into the crowd. I finally roll my eyes. My mother sighs because she catches me, and that almost makes me want to roll them again. But Trey intervenes. “Shayne, why don’t you go get Mom some of the champagne?”
“Sure thing,” I mutter, and ignore her comment asking if it’s Veuve Cliquot or Ruinart because she prefers Ruinart. Of course she does. It costs more and she prefers anything that spends more of my dad’s money. I can’t blame her for that, though. She earned that money through pain and suffering—and denial.
As I make my way back over to the bar, my eyes scan the room for Sebastian, but I don’t see him anywhere. Sara eyes me suspiciously as she pours the champagne. “Were you fooling around with Sebastian? In the laundry room? During the party?”
“I was giving him a tour of the facilities.”
“Yourfacilities?” Sara asks and adds, “I don’t think that’s allowed. Trey would be pissed.”
“Sara, are you a Pilates instructor or the HR department?” I snap as I grab the champagne and storm back into the crowd. As I make my way over toward my mom, who is chatting with Trey’s wife, Sasha, I catch my father making his way down the hallway toward the changing rooms. He’s got his hand on the small of someone’s back. Someone in a red dress.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up and my gut twists uncomfortably. And then my feet start to follow him. I make it to the hallway just as he places a big palm on the men’s changing room door and the hand on the small of this lady’s back slips to her ass.
“Dad!” I holler sharply.
He spins, his hand falling to his side, and a placating smile fills his face. “Shayne, honey, I was just showing our old friend Elsa the state-of-the-art facilities. Do you remember Elsa? She used to do PR for the Winterhawks when I played.”
Elsa smiles, but it’s forced and tinged with panic. “Shayne? Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen you since you were this high.”
I glance at her hand hovering around her waist to indicate how tall I used to be. I tighten my grip on the champagne and debate throwing it at both of them. But then, as I’ve learned from catching my dad being a cheating bastard more than once, that only makesmelook bad. So instead I smile and say, “Well, other than my height, not much has changed. I still love gummy bears, hate hockey, and my parents are still married.”
She turns the color of her dress and then, with nothing more than a nod, she excuses herself and walks past me back into the main room. My father glares at me. “What the hell was that about?”
“We both know what that was about,” I reply tersely and turn to leave, but he puts his hand on my shoulder and walks with me.
“Shayne, Elsa is now a writer withSeattle Livingand I was trying to charm her into a feature on this place. That’s why I had Trey invite her,” he informs me, his voice low.
“Your hand was on her ass, Dad.”
“We’re old friends.”
I stop and glare up at him. Did he really just say that? Does he really think that’s a reasonable excuse? I open my mouth to say something, but I have no idea what a child should say to a parent in this situation. I shouldn’t have to know!
My mother walks up to us and reaches for the glass in my hand. “It may only be Veuve but I’m parched, so it’ll have to do.”
“I need to track down Elsa,” my father mutters before he walks away.
“Elsa?” my mother repeats, but he’s already gone.
