I’ll analyze that comment like game tape later when I’m alone because that’s my station in life—best friend. Not girlfriend material.
The celebration moves to the after-party in the large club room. Margo outdid herself—everything is draped in Knights colors, silver, black, and red. A massive ice sculpture of the team logo features prominently, along with themed drinks and a food spread that could feed both hockey teams and their entourages.
I drift toward a group of players gathered near the big bank of windows, hoping for a private moment to make sure Clark doesn’t think the kiss was meant to interfere with his dating life. I’m afraid of how this might play out now that Posh is in the picture. Then again, it was a different girl last month and I didn’t see an uproar about that.
“If we win the Cup,” Mikey says, “I’m taking it to get a spa day. Full treatment—lord Stanley deserves it.”
“You’re going to take the Stanley Cup to a spa?” Clark, standing on the opposite side of the circle, looks incredulous. His gaze drifts to me, but the guys are in full repartee mode and it would take a tank to interrupt or get a word in.
“It’s been through a lot! It needs pampering!”
“I’m taking it fishing,” Hayden announces. “Gonna let it catch the big one.”
“You’re going to let a trophy fish?” Grady shakes his head. “That’s not howfishing works.”
“I’ll make it work.”
Redd grins. “It’ll be the special guest at my little sister’s birthday party.”
“Wouldn’t she rather have a pony?” Clark asks, breaking from his spot in the circle.
“She has three.”
“Bold of you all to assume we’re winning,” Liam says, ever the pragmatist.
“Captain Seriously Superstitious strikes again,” Pierre teases.
“I’m not superstitious, I’m?—”
“Superstitious,” Beau finishes.
I’m smiling at their banter when I feel someone approach. I turn, expecting Clark, but instead find Whitaker Finch—wearing an expensive suit because the guy’s aim is high.
“April,” he says smoothly. “We need to talk.”
My stomach tightens. “About what?”
“About you and Clark.” He gestures to a quieter corner, and I follow reluctantly. Clark joins us, looking confused.
“What’s going on?” Clark asks.
“There has been a development.” Whitaker pulls out his phone and opens a social media app. I’m afraid he’s going to show Posh having a meltdown about the kiss cam. I’m not sure of their status because I know better than to ask and subject myself to the heartbreak, but they did go on a date.
Instead, Whitaker reveals photos of us from tonight.
On the ice.
Spinning in celebration.
The kiss cam.
The way Clark held me.
How I looked at him.
Whitaker says, “They’ve gone viral.”
“Viral?” Clark and I say in unison.
