Worst of all—Adrian’s mascot gave the journalists a scoop which didn’t include boring statistics, practice footage, or season predictions. The debut training camp was forgotten in lieu of Adrian’s Forge, the biggest scandal in the league.
And so, when the team arrived at Ironfield’s fanciest hotel for the banquet, the conversations lauded Adrian for finally bringing awareness to the fact that yes, Ironfield did have a hockey team, and, yes, the captain was an athlete who possessed a monstrous gift.
This didn’t make Adrian any happier.
A shame, really. We didn’t play dress-up that often, and the change of pace was just the sort of misadventure I could tease him about for the entire season. Especially as a formal banquet with string quartets, champagne, and black ties was not the Forge’s idea of fun.
But what the team lacked in camaraderie it made up for in decadence. Despite the franchise’s attempts to destroy the morale of the players, they presented the Forge with pure elegance. White gloves, red wines, and a whole lot of green. Everyone in Ironfield with the suffix -aire on their net worth had arrived to bid the team good luck in the coming season…
And to ensure their properties and businesses were sufficiently advertised on every square inch of the arena.
Caviars and foie gras passed on trays with linen cloths. Prime rib and lobster awaited us later in the evening. They’d even sprung for a chocolate fountain—the size of a whole SUV. It was the stuff of fantasies—but I decided to keep that desire secret until had a little more privacy and a lot more whipped cream.
Adrian led me through the ballroom, dodging curious glances and muffled laughter from those who no longer needed to imagine what he looked like without the tux. A glass of champagne hid his lips from the party-goers.
“Releasing the photo was intentional,” he whispered. “The so-called journalist didn’t have the right credentials to be in the locker room, and he posted the video unedited, immediately after he was kicked out.”
I hated how paranoid the team had made Adrian, but the knot in my stomach had tangled with my own suspicions as well.
I did my best to smile at the players, the media, and the notable Ironfield celebrities and politicians arriving at the banquet to join the festivities. Normally I would’ve loved that chance to break out my slinky black dress with the gold looped belt—if only because it finally gave me the opportunity to try out my sexiest pair of impractical heels.
But tonight, with all eyes on Adrian, I wished I’d worn something a little more sensible. The backless dress was sexy and stylish—and Adrian couldn’t stop brushing his hand along my bare back—but it wasn’t an easy outfit for a quick getaway.
A passing waiter offered an appetizer of bacon-wrapped scallops. The crowd of uncomfortable, muscle-bound, tuxedo-clad athletes raced to scarf down as much as they could before they starved to death after the tough practice. Cash grabbed a handful of the seafood. Leo requisitioned the entire tray. Orion stole Leo’s date. And that’s when the arguments started.
We seized the chance to reposition ourselves away from the bewildered stares and camera flashes.
I took Adrian’s arm and pretended not to feel a little thrill of pleasure.
“You don’t think the Forge would set you up like that, do you?” I asked.
“It’s an easy way to create controversy.”
“But you didn’t take the picture.”
Adrian wasn’t convinced. “Sports Nation ran a story about my wild and dangerous house party injuring men on the team. It doesn’t matter who took the picture. My reputation is getting destroyed, and every bad piece of press just ruins the goodwill I’ve earned in the league.”
I didn’t buy it.
Sure, Adrian’s scandalous picture was probably saved to the hard drives of every woman in America, but he was still the epitome of class and composure. His tailored black suit fit him perfectly, flattering his best features. His broad shoulders. Barrel chest. His hockey butt.
The man was downright delicious in his jersey and pads, but he was just as heart stopping in the vest and tie as he was in the illicitly filmed video.
The camera had panned over him just as he leaned into the shower. Steaming water drenched his hair and soaked his sweaty body, taut with muscles. His dark features turned to sensual shadows in the haze, and his trimmed beard framed his masculine jaw line. Rivulets of water had trailed low, following every angle of his toned, perfect form.
And then…his cock.
I enjoyed that part of him, but I wasn’t eager to share. I hadn’t expected to see so much of him outside of our bedrooms, let alone plastered over Twitter and Instagram.
But there it was.
He hadn’t been hard, but Adrian was a show-er. And what he showed was supremely impressive. Core-clenchingly big.
Maybe it was a naughty photo, but it silenced anyone doubting the health of his general and battalion.
“Look, there’s a bright side to this.” I hated to raise my voice, but between the screeching violins of the string quartet and the arguing team, I could hardly hear myself think. “If the media covers…you, then they won’t have a chance to report on how few fans showed up to watch training camp.”
Adrian avoided a couple who had danced a little too close to get a look at his trousers. “We had a ton of people at the arena.”
True…but I doubted he could see much from the ice. “Those were the food vendors, radio stations, and activity coordinators.”
Adrian had attempted to slick his hair for a more dignified style in the tux. One frustrated hand later, and he’d returned to bed head.
“Let me guess,” he said. “No fans actually showed?”
“I got there bright and early.”
But I was the only one.
I’d fully expected the arena to be crowded with kids clamoring for autographs, men thrilled to have a professional hockey franchise in the city, and horny puck bunnies all too eager to flash the players a little skin as they passed from the tunnel to the locker room.
Instead, I had an entire row to myself. A few friends of the team and their families showed up, cheering on husbands and daddies. But the rest of the arena had remained empty.
“Okay, so this training camp won’t be like the Marauders’ and their block parties,” I said. “But this banquet is really nice. Lots of music. Food. Alcohol.”
“You’re not supposed to be drinking.”
I sipped my champagne anyway. “We’ve got another week before we worry about that.”
Adrian’s lips thinned. He prepared to speak but seemed to think better of it.
There was once a time I could easily read my best friend.
A frown meant he was hungry.
A smile warned his opponents that he would destroy them on the next faceoff.
The shallow crinkles around his eyes only showed when he was hurting.
But now? I was losing my touch.
Not because I didn’t understand Adrian, but because I no longer understood me.
It was natural for a girl to develop some feelings for a man after sex. The difference was, those other women realized their fluttering hearts and bumbling words were a result of a smitten crush.
But this? What I had wasn’t a fling or passing infatuation.
It was devastating, catastrophic, and uncompromisingly frustrating. And every realization dropped my stomach like a plane in turbulence.