Page 57

When we reach the kiosk, Marcus jumps out. He turns and says, “Wait for me to help you out of the car.” His eyes lock on mine and then he adds, “Please.”

I sit as I’m told. It’s showtime. We’re on a date now. Not really, but we have to look like it. I take a deep, steadying breath, paste a congenial smile on my face, and wait until my door is opened and Marcus is standing there, hand outstretched. I place my hand in his and carefully step down in front of him. He places a hand on my back and hands his keys to the young man at the valet stand.

“Have a nice night, Mr. Delaney,” the valet says.

“Thank you, Josh,” Marcus says, reading the name tag.

The guy beams.

Marcus leans down toward me slightly. “Ready?”

“I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

He nods, not taking his hand off my back, and we walk side-by-side up the red carpet. I really wish Winona and Declan were already here. Instead, the flash of cameras and the shouts of reporters and some fans fill my senses, almost making me dizzy. Marcus’s hand remains planted on my back. For now, it’s the only thing keeping me from tipping over or stalling out, so I ignore the burning sensation where his fingers press into me and make my way steadily toward the glass doors, turning along with Marcus to smile at one side of the walkway and then the other.

Once we’re inside the building, the noise diminishes, replaced by the distant sound of music. A crowd of well-dressed, beautiful people is clustered near the bank of elevators at the other side of this expansive space that’s lined with windows along the double-high walls. Every one of them looks as if they grew up in Patrick and Declan’s neighborhood with six garages and house help.

I don’t usually measure people—or myself—by their assets or status in society. As my mom always said, We all get up and we all lie down. Tonight, I feel a little out of place. I don’t know how Winona shows up to these things with such ease, as if she’s been hobnobbing her whole life. Leave it to my sister to wrangle a goat in the morning, pop in on her nursing patients in the afternoon, and then play dress-up and walk down a red carpet that same night.

Marcus presses his hand on my back to steer us toward the elevators.

“You don’t need to do that,” I say in a low voice.

“Do what?” he asks.

“Keep your hand on my back.”

“You're my date,” he says, his expression almost mystified.

“Your fake date.”

“Well then fake that I’m not putting my hand on your back.”

Oh. My. Gosh.

We step onto an elevator and someone presses the button for the VIP Lounge. It doesn’t even have a number. Just a little gold placard with scroll lettering.

I close my eyes briefly when the doors shut, and open them to find Marcus staring at me.

When the doors open, the scene in front of us takes my breath away. The place is all low lights and candles on tables. Twinkle lights from out on the balcony shimmer into the room. A small band is playing background music, and people are standing in clusters, chatting and smiling at one another.

Marcus greets a few of the players. I recognize them on sight, their stats rolling through my head unbidden. Can I talk football here? Or is this one of those places where people discuss the best stock options and their fourth home in Cancun? I guess I’ll read the room to find out.

“Let’s find our table,” Marcus says. “You can set your purse down and I’ll get us some drinks.”

He is acting very date-y and I don’t know what to make of it. Marcus drops me off at our table and I tell him to ask if the bar has lemonade. He smiles for a half second, as if I’m amusing, and then he turns to get our drinks.

I take the opportunity to people-watch until Lincoln Walker approaches our table. “Cass!” He smiles broadly. “Cass, this is my wife, Shanay. Shanay, this is Cass Carter. She’s the one running that charity I told you about.”

Shanay steps forward, extending her hand. I take in the gorgeous woman with the broad smile and big brown eyes. She’s wearing a coral dress that complements the light brown tone of her skin. Her softly coiled hair frames her face. I like her. She instantly puts me at ease as if I’ve known her forever.

“Cass!” Shanay says, “I’ve been dying to meet you. Life’s been full, but I want to pitch in. Don’t leave tonight without giving me your phone number. We need to talk about how we can get the WAGs involved in your project.”

I smile broadly. Lincoln nudges his wife softly. “Get her number now, babe. I don’t plan on keeping you here late when you’re wearing that dress and looking like that.”

I practically blush. Shanay smacks Lincoln on the arm. “You’re going to dance with me. Which means we’re staying for dessert.”

“It was a compliment,” Lincoln says, rubbing his arm in faux pain. “Tell my wife she looks beautiful, Cass.”