Peyton clears her throat. “I don’t want to speak for Julius.”
“I know, but why does he hate me so much?”
She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t know. It’s so unlike him.”
Our server brings our breakfast, and we focus on our food for a bit. Peyton sets her fork down and asks what I’m doing over the weekend.
“Nothing, why?”
“There’s a fundraiser for the Children’s Museum on Saturday. The team is going because Alex Moore’s girlfriend conned them all into volunteering. There’s a silent auction, some raffles, dinner, drinks, and dancing. Noah and I will be there. Aiden will likely be there. You should come, hang out, and meet a ton more people.”
“Don’t you guys have a game on Sunday?”
She shakes her head. “It’s a bye week, which works out because our GM is big on social events. Anything to put the team in a good light.”
“Sounds like fun. I’ll be there.”
When the driver of my rideshare pulls up in front of the Benson Hotel, my stomach flip flops. I press my hand over it to quell the unease I feel. “What did I agree to?” I mutter in the backseat. There are photographers, bright lights, and a freaking red carpet.
“Ma’am,” the driver says to get my attention.
“Thanks for the ride.”
This is the last place I want to be right now. Peyton never said anything about a dress code, but the people walking in—the ones who are having their pictures taken—are dressed like they’re at a Hollywood Premiere while I’m dressed like I’m going on a date. “Oh, why did I agree to this?”
“Autumn!”
I turn at the sound of my name and see Leon coming toward me. “It’s nice to see you here tonight.”
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” I tell him. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
“Yes, well, we are among celebrities tonight.”
What the hell is he talking about?
“Wait, I thought this was a team event?”
Leon chuckles. “It is, but mostly a fundraiser, and from what I hear, her father and his band are coming.”
Just then, a roar deafens my eardrums. A long, black limo stops in the middle of the road. Security guards, who have appeared out of nowhere, work to hold the crowd back. Within seconds, chants start. Names shouted. Squeals emitted. And I stand there, dumbfounded.
The door to the limo opens, and a woman steps out first. She looks identical to Peyton, and I’m going to assume it’s her sister, followed by three men in tuxedos. More names shouted, screamed actually, and the camera flashes are going wild.
“Holy shit, that’s Liam Page,” I mutter. Leon laughs.
“I take it you’re a fan?”
“I’m actually not a fan. My mother is die-hard though. She’s going to be so mad I didn’t invite her.”
“Come on, let’s go in.”
Thankfully, Leon guides me to the door where we run into Peyton. She smiles when she sees me, and we hug. “You didn’t tell me you invited your dad and his band.”
“I’m a great keeper of secrets,” she whispers. Before I can respond, she calls out for her dad. I stand there, in awe of watching a celebrity interact with his daughter. It amazes me the pedestal we put people on when they’re just as ordinary as the rest of us.
“Daddy, I want you to meet my friend, Autumn.” Her father sticks his hand out to shake mine.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m Harrison, this is Liam, and that’s JD. Peyton has told me a lot about you.”
“Same,” I say stupidly. “I feel like I already know everyone.”
He laughs and steps aside. Did he seriously laugh? Was it a good laugh or an I-think-she’s-bat-shit-crazy-laugh? Aw crap. There isn’t a doubt in my mind I’m going to embarrass myself tonight. In fact, I’m willing to bet I do so in a colossal way.
Bring it on.
The elegantly decorated ballroom is booming with people when I finally walk in. If I had any hope of hanging out with Peyton tonight, that notion is long gone. I stick to Leon until I find Aiden and his wife, and then I attach myself to them. We mingle, introductions are made, and careers talked about. Every so often, I zero in on one of the guys from the band, curious to see how they handle their fans, and each time I see them, they’re walking around, talking to whoever stops and talks to them. Like I said, ordinary.
As the night goes on, I have minor run-ins with Julius. This game he’s playing, the “let’s-make-sure-Autumn-knows-I-don’t-like-her” game, is getting on my nerves. I don’t understand it. Besides Peyton, we have nothing in common, and he’s just butthurt that she’s my friend. It’s almost like he wanted her to get his permission or something. None of it makes sense. Yet, wherever I go, he’s there, watching me like a hawk.
When it’s time to sit for dinner, I’m surprised to find I’m at Peyton’s table and sitting next to her. She introduces me to her sister, who asks me tons of questions about the weather. Their father asks a few as well, but it’s JD and his British accent that has me in stitches. I could spend hours talking to him about nothing, as long as he’s the one talking. According to Peyton, JD is laying it on thick tonight because I’m infatuated. I don’t care, either way, as long as his words continue to flow in my direction.
When dinner is over, Noah whisks Peyton off to the dance floor. Harrison follows with Elle, leaving me sitting with two of the hottest older men I’ve ever been around. I’ve always been a date near my age type of woman, but damn it, this older gentleman vibe is definitely something I might want to try.
If I was expecting either of them to talk to me, I was sorely mistaken. Within minutes of everyone getting up, they did as well. I knew any fantasy I conjured in my mind would have to stay there for a lifetime. I do, however, follow their lead and decide to head toward the auction room. I see Julius’s name down on a bid form—something about a handyman, jack of all trade sort of thing—and put down a bid. I’m sure I’ll never win, but it’s for the kids. If I do win, I think he could wash my windows, or maybe I’ll tie him to a chair and keep him there until he tells me why he hates me so much. The latter is very unlike me, so windows it is.
I bid on a few other things before making my way back to the table. A crowd has formed, and the conversation seems lighthearted. I hear “weather girl” and groan. I’ve never hated a nickname more in my life than I do that one. I ignore Julius because flipping him off in public could be a bad career move.
“Gentlemen, if you are up for auction, please come to the stage.”
“I hate this shit,” Julius mumbles as he sets his drink down. He hates it, yet volunteers? I don’t get him at all. I do, however, keep my eyes focused on him as he walks to the stage. His black pants are form fitting, hugging his tight muscles and firm . . . I clear my thoughts. There is no need for my mind to go into the gutter where this man is concerned.
Each player has their name called, and each winner comes forward. When Julius steps up to the front of the stage, I smirk and take a sip of my gin and tonic. Some unlucky person is going to have to spend the day with him, and I’m thankful—