“You’re not wearing that to the event. It’s fancy.”
Gwen sits up on my mustard velvet comforter. Her fingers dance across her laptop so fast she risks chipping her beige nail polish. “You look like a seventies flower child, and you need to seem like an Upper East Side socialite if you’re going to be on Rhode Tremblay’s arm.”
“First of all,” I say, sharper than intended. “Rhode’s going to be on my arm.”
She shifts on my bed. “Why are you snapping at me? I didn’t mean it like that. I’m trying to help.”
“I’m not mad,” I counter, pacing my bedroom in my habitual pattern. Curtains. Desk. Closet. Curtains. Desk. Closet. “I’m just nervous. I want this to go well because the sponsorship’s important to him, and I don’t want to fuck it up by embarrassing a professional athlete.”
“How would you even do that?”
By losing control, fainting on the person Rhode’s trying to impress, making him hate me, and then I’ll be stuck thinking about that for the rest of my life.
Gwen wouldn’t understand since she never has to worry about passing out in crowded rooms. Instead of answering, I dig through my closet and pull out a vintage plaid skirt that screams, I-love-the-taste-of-oysters-and-caviar. “What about this? Does this make me look rich?”
Her emerald eyes flicker over the pale pink material. “Yes, but you aren’t meeting the princess of Morocco for tea. You need something sophisticated, but you also want to be a little sexy.”
“Sophisticated? I bought my overalls from a fortune teller who lived at a commune in some Utonian desert.”
“That’s not what you call a desert in Utah.”
I toss the skirt on my bed. “I don’t care. It’s what I call a desert in Utah.”
Gwen shuts her laptop, eyeing my trembling hands. “Okay, clearly, you’re nervous, but you don’t have time for this. He’s picking you up in twenty minutes, and you still need to do your hair.”
“I already did my hair, Gwendolyn,” I huff.
“Oh.” She scans the strands. “Well, it’s too late for highlights, so add some more curls, and put on some lipstick. Burgundy, not rose. That’s better with your skin tone, and fix your eyeliner. It looks like you did it in the middle of an earthquake.”
“That’s because my hands won’t stop shaking.”
“You’ll be fine. I think I have something in my closet for you.”
She strides out of my room like royalty, leaving me alone with my spinning thoughts. The idea of telling Rhode I’m sick crosses my mind, but it matters to me that he thinks I’m dependable because I’m finally in a place to be that for people.
Crowds might make me frazzled, but I refuse to hole up in a dark bedroom. So, I’m going, even though I couldn’t fall asleep last night. I stayed up researching Rhode’s hockey stats over the last half-decade, preparing myself for any career-related questions.
“Calm down, Nina,” I say to the girl in the mirror, watching a flush climb up her neck. “You’re not trapped at the bottom of the ocean in a submarine. It’s one night. You can talk to people.”
Digging through my cabinet, I pull out an orange bottle. Alprazolam Tablets, USP. 1 mg. Rx only. I stare at the label, debating.
I’m always hesitant to pop one since I don’t want to rely on my medication to function. If I take it, my mind will feel foggy for the event, and I don’t want to risk a worse rebound. I need to be on tonight, so I think I’m fine. I shove the bottle back in the drawer.
Gwen floats back into my room, dangling a silk dress on the tip of her finger. “Okay, what do we think of this?”
The ice-blue fabric glimmers like morning light dancing on fresh snow. With a lace V-neck and a slit up the thigh, the dress has the understated elegance of a French slip.
I balk. “Okay, I can’t remember the last time I put on a dress, but that is gorgeous. Look at the details. How much was that? Actually, I don’t want to know. I bet it cost more than my arm.”
She drapes it across my bed. “It did. I ordered it from a boutique in Paris, but you should wear it because it’d make you look beautiful and less like you’re headed to live in the desert for two months.”
“You’re the queen of the backhanded compliment.”
“I’m nothing if not consistent.”
I nibble my thumbnail, my eyes fixated on the gentle shine. That fabric is going to show so much sweat if I spiral out of control, but the dress really is gorgeous.
I could use a boost of confidence if I’m going to be stuck in a room making small talk about stocks and yachts all evening. “Okay, it’s perfect. Thanks, Gwen.”
She smiles. “Of course. Now, let’s fix your hair, so you don’t look like you’ve been electrocuted.”
Gwen spends the next twenty minutes re-curling my hair while I focus on not sweating through this dress. It’s been two weeks since I walked out of Rhode’s apartment, and other than me sending him a text to thank him for the box seats for The Peaceful Mind Project, we haven’t talked much.
He’s the opposite of Micah, who sends random memes almost daily to try and convince me to come to their hockey games. He’s the clingiest guy I’ve met, but I don’t mind it because it makes me feel needed when all I’ve ever felt like is someone’s accessory.
Micah’s also been teaching me Spanish slang words since that’s all he knows. Thanks to him, I know exactly how to ask an Argentinian for a one-night stand.
I’m trying not to let Rhode’s silence bother me, but I’m second guessing everything I said at his apartment. I have no idea what I did to piss him off, but if we’re going to be at this event tonight, he better flip on his charming switch because he can’t be his new brooding self.
The doorbell rings. “Okay, we’re leaving. Bye, Gwen!”
“Don’t eat any shellfish,” she calls back. “You got that weird rash last time you tried them and used all the aloe vera!”
“I told you never to bring that up again!”
I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror, and the woman staring back looks ready to walk a red carpet. The only sign of the battle raging beneath her made-up face is the flush on her cheeks.
I swing open the door to find Rhode leaning against the porch step railing, bathing in the sunset glow of the early March chill.
My breath stutters.
Damn him for looking like the definition of seductive in his classic black tux and tousled dark curls. The fabric barely fits over the span of his shoulders. I’m shocked his biceps aren’t splitting the sleeves.
He’s wearing a tie with tiny cats all over it, and that one little quirk that’s so undeniably him has my lips lifting to the tangerine sky. I’ve never seen him do an interview without one of those patterned ties, and it makes him feel less like Nashville’s Naughtiest Bachelor and more like a normal man.
Looking at him, I’m tempted to squint.
His eyes travel down my body, pausing on where my nipple piercing is poking out through the delicate silk, and his fists ball up at his sides before he rips his gaze away. A muscle quivers in his jaw.
Okay, he’s still pissed then.
I wait, but when he doesn’t say anything, I hold out my arms. “How’s this for tonight?”
The slowest swallow in the history of swallows makes its way down his throat. “It’s fine.”
My arms drop. “I didn’t spend two hours getting ready for fine.”
Rhode dives a hand through his hair and then seems to remember it’s styled in messy perfection, so he shoves it into his suit pocket.
He pinches his eyes closed. “You look good, but we better head out so we’re late, but not asshole late,” he says, changing the subject with a sharp turn.
Annoyance flickers through me at his flaccid compliment. The least he could do is tell me I look nice after dragging me to this event, but I’m not going to start a fight over my clothing, so I go with his subject change. “I like being asshole late, though. The later we arrive, the less time I have to spend making small talk.”
“Yeah, same here, but not for this. It’s important. I really want to secure a sponsorship so everyone stops bringing up my retirement.”
“I know it’s important. You’ll be great.”
“Thanks,” he grunts. He doesn’t add anything else.
This is going to be a long night.
He leads us to his Range Rover and opens the door for me. As I climb inside, he picks up the hem of my dress, so it doesn’t drag on the asphalt, and it almost looks like his fingers tighten around the material for a second.
It’s at that moment that I realize I’ve never dated a gentleman, and Rhode might be the blueprint, but I’m not going to mistake it for something deeper. I refuse to be the foolish, naive college student who fantasizes about the hockey player falling for her.
I want to be someone’s exception, not their cliche.
He puts the car in drive and turns on a classical music station. I grin when I recognize the melody. “I didn’t realize other people still listened to the radio.”
“You were playing it when you first picked me up in your car.”
The admission feels like a secret, so I keep my voice to a whisper. “I didn’t know you were paying attention.”
“Like I said, it’s my job.” His grip tightens on the steering wheel as he navigates the downtown streets.
Despite the gentle tune drifting through the air, we drive in stifling silence. The closer we get to the hotel, the more suffocating it grows.
He keeps his focus on the blurring street lights until suddenly, he blurts, “Thanks for coming. I know you didn’t have to, and it means a lot. I thought you might back out, so I’m glad you didn’t, but I want to make sure you know this is only for tonight.”
It’s like he’s worried I’m going to fall madly in love with him during this car ride. “Oh, really? I thought you were driving me to our surprise engagement party right now.”
That lonesome dimple flickers on his right cheek. “Guess I ruined that surprise then.”
I give him a flat look. “Yes, Rhode. I know this is fake. You don’t need to keep reminding me. Did you change your mind about me lying? Should I look up some brain facts to prepare for small talk?”
“Of course not. No one at the event thinks you’re a neurosurgeon. I didn’t want to put you in the position of having to lie about yourself, so you don’t have to hide. You should tell them about your fellowship.”
A tightness grips my throat. More often than not, it feels like I’m putting on masks to cover fragments of myself. Relentless authenticity is difficult for anyone to achieve, but I like that Rhode doesn’t expect me to hide behind some white lie.
We pull up to the downtown hotel. He hands the car keys to the valet, along with a twenty, and I’m shocked he still carries cash, but it’s also kind of hot.
We stride through golden doors into a ballroom twinkling with chandeliers. The soft melodies of a string quartet weave through the chatter, and waiters dance around the elegant bodies, precariously balancing trays of champagne flutes.
Rhode hands me a glass. “Thanks,” I say, clutching the stem. I’ll dump this in a nearby plant later. They’re all fake, anyway. I checked.
His warm touch brands my lower back, and I pretend to take a sip, glancing around the ballroom.
Rhode’s so magnetic he doesn’t part the crowd. He absorbs their attention.
Every eye gravitates toward us, making it feel like I’m under a heat lamp. People drift closer as if tugged by some invisible pull. I take a deep breath, trying to stop my quivering heart.
Rhode looks young, thanks to all the workouts, so I’ve never thought much about our age difference, but tonight, I feel every bit the college student. The salt-and-pepper dusting his jawline makes him look distinguished, so I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose as if that will make me feel less like I’m playing dress up.
I trace a pattern around the room, counting the exits just in case I need to make a getaway.
Calm down, Nina. You’re fine. There’s not an assassin lurking in the crowd who’s going to shoot you, and even if there was, Rhode’s biceps are big enough to block a bullet.
“Hey, look at me. Are you alright, Nina?” Rhode whispers in my ear like he can feel the nerves humming beneath my skin.
“I’m fine.” I suck in a thick breath of perfumed air. “Just… don’t leave me alone, please? Crowds are a little overwhelming for me.”
He presses the softest kiss to my temple, and if he hadn’t been adamant about this night meaning nothing, I’d think that meant something. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s you and me tonight.”
Some guy in a tux with slicked back hair struts up to us. His gaze roams over my dress, and he whispers something in Rhode’s ear. His jaw hardens in an instant, and he gives the guy a menacing scowl before leading me away.
I clutch my champagne stem. “You look pissed. What’d he say to you?”
“Nothing,” Rhode grits out, and he seems to force his jaw to visibly relax. “It doesn’t matter.”
Curiosity fizzes through me, but I don’t have much time to contemplate that interaction as more people crowd us. For the next thirty minutes, Rhode never once looks my way again, but his hands don’t leave my waist.
My heart rate throbs behind my ribcage. Rhode’s fingers tighten in the silk on my lower back, tethering me to reality. Even when a pretty redhead saunters up to him, he keeps his firm hand around me, but his eyes on her.
I try not to let that bother me, except it does.
As he makes polite small talk, I get sucked into my own little world, trying to calm the frantic pounding in my chest through futile breathing techniques.
Anytime we drift to a nearby faux fern, I stealthily dump the champagne in the soil, but it’s like the waiter’s got a radar for empty glasses. He keeps handing me refills. At this rate, that fern’s getting wasted tonight.
“Nina.” Rhode’s deep voice punctures my mental cloud, pulling me back to the present.
He gestures toward a woman in a red silk dress that looks tailor-made for boardrooms. “This is Andrea Peña, the CMO of ¡Vamos! energy bars. I was just telling everyone they’re releasing a new Oaxacan Cocoa flavor in the fall.”
“I see you’ve done your research.” Andrea grins broadly. “But yes, it’ll be right in time for Día de los Muertos, but I can’t thank you enough for what you did for my son. We’re so relieved everything turned out okay, and I wanted to express my sincere apologies for your car.”
I grasp her hand, trying to push past the knot of pressure in my chest to find my voice. “It was the least I could do. I’m just glad Gabriel’s okay. It’s so nice to meet you.”
Rhode’s gaze finds mine, and he pulls me closer into his warmth. “Nina was the real hero of the night.”
Andrea nods. “Absolutely. If there’s anything I can do to extend my gratitude, you let me know.”
They dive into a discussion about sponsorships while I count the exits. One. Two. Three. Four. I thought there were five.
“Let’s talk about you, Tremblay,” Andrea says. “With all those whispers about retirement, I wasn’t sure you’d still be interested in sponsorships. You know, we do take on retired players.”
It’s an innocent comment, but Rhode tenses, every line of his body drawing tight. His easy confidence seems to waver momentarily like he’s at a loss for words.
It’s something I’m familiar with, so I interlace my fingers through his, noticing his palm’s a little sweaty like mine. Rhode jolts, looking down at where our hands are intertwined.
“Rhode can’t retire,” I say, drawing Andrea’s attention off him. “The Guardians wouldn’t survive. Did you not see him in last week’s game? He saved thirty-four of thirty-five shots, so he’s got a zero-point-nine-seven save percentage, and in the third, did you see when he stopped that point-blank one-timer? I thought that was going in the net for sure, and—” I stop when I realize Rhode’s staring at me with an open mouth.
“What?” I say.
His brows climb toward the chandeliers. “I thought you didn’t like hockey?”
“I don’t. I just do my research.”
“Uh-huh.” He salutes me with his full champagne glass. I guess he’s not drinking either. “Clearly.”
We stare at each other for another second, but Andrea booms out a laugh, shattering our reverie. “Looks like I better study up, and what do you do, Nina?”
I wave a hand. “Oh, I’m just in art school.”
A crease forms between Rhode’s brows. “Nina’s not just in art school. She’s doing a pottery fellowship in Argentina after she graduates. They only accept five percent of the applicants, so it’s one of the most competitive fellowships in the world.”
Something molten floods my body, heating me up and ruining me all at once. “How’d you know that?”
Rhode flashes that lethal dimple. “You’re not the only one who does their research.”
My throat tightens, and when the waiter comes by and hands me yet another champagne glass, I’m tempted to take a sip to stop the burning. Isaac never talked about me to his friends, and living in Gwen’s eternal shadow has dimmed a lot of my successes. Rhode’s the first one to celebrate my dreams.
“Um, excuse me?” a woman’s voice interjects. “I don’t mean to bother you, but are you Rhode Tremblay?”
A gorgeous brunette in an emerald gown with a deep V sidles up to Rhode, and an uncomfortable pang hits my heart when his eyes drift over her red lips.
I try to shift out of his grasp, but his hand clenches around my lower back. “Yes, I am, and this is my uh, gi–my Nina.” He winces, but the way he says my Nina is enough to make me glow.
She reaches out to grip Rhode’s forearm, and I glare at her hand. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you, but I’m a big fan. I grew up going to Guardians games with my mom, and I’ve been following your career for a while. I’d love to get a picture.”
He catches my eye. “Do you mind?”
I shrug, feeling anything but nonchalant as I watch the way she’s practically foaming at the mouth over Rhode.
I hold out my hand, smiling tightly, like if I’m nice enough, that’ll make the jealousy disappear. “I can take the picture if you want.”
Rhode shakes his head. “You don’t need to do th—”
“That’d be amazing.” The woman shoves her phone into my hands. “Thank you so much.”
She all but glues herself to Rhode’s side. He casually drapes his arm around her, a practiced smile lighting up his face for the camera. The dimple doesn’t make an appearance, though, and he keeps his hand on her shoulder.
She snuggles into his chest, and my lips press into a thin line as I take the pictures. This is the type of woman who belongs in Rhode’s life. Not a girl who’s been dumping champagne in ferns all night.
I hand her phone back. “There you go, I took a million for you. Hopefully, there are a few good ones.”
“Thank you!” She scrolls through them with a grin. “I love them. My mom’s going to be so jealous that I got a picture with the Wall of Steel. I’m so glad I got one before you retired.”
“He’s not retiring,” I blurt. “The Guardians wouldn’t survive without him.”
If I have to repeat that phrase all night to keep Rhode smiling, then I will. He flinches, reaching for my hand. On instinct, I interlace my fingers through his. It’s a little moment that feels big.
He leans closer, scratching his stubble against my cheek. “Thanks for standing up for me. I’m not used to people doing that.”
“You’re an easy person to defend.”
He scoffs. “Tell that to my agent, because I bet you’re the only one who thinks that after all the shit I did in my twenties.”
“Well, they should focus on everything you’re doing now instead of the mistakes you made ten years ago. People change.”
He peers at me with such intensity, it feels like he’s dissecting my every thought under a microscope. “You’re kind of smart, you know that?”
“Kind of smart and my dress looks fine?” I playfully nudge his shoulder. “If you’re looking for a life partner, we need to work on your compliments.”
He mumbles something under his breath, running a hand through his hair, but he doesn’t get the chance to respond because the photo draws the attention of another woman in a gown that looks like it’s made of peacock feathers. Her eyes widen when she takes in Rhode’s massive form. Beside her, a man in a pink bow tie freezes, his whiskey paused halfway to his lips.
One by one, heads turn like Rhode’s a captivating force. The ballroom condenses until a bigger crowd forms around us, and my vision narrows like I’m squinting through a keyhole.
Shit.
It’s happening again.
Digging through my purse, I shove a piece of cinnamon gum into my mouth, focusing on the flavor.
You’re okay, Nina. You’re not getting chased by a bear.
A sneaky bead of sweat snakes its way down my neck. I clamp my arms to my sides, hoping to shield any potential pit stains. Inhaling, I nearly choke on the scent of vanilla perfume. The sea of glittering gowns tightens around us, trapping me in a circle of overpowering fragrances.
You’re not dying. You’re fine, Nina. You can’t die from perfume asphyxiation.
“You’re Rhode Tremblay, right?”
“That save you made was amazing!”
“Did you really set a yacht on fire?”
I dart my eyes around the ballroom, searching for the red glow of an exit sign, but I can’t see over the crowd. Black spots dot my vision as the ground crumbles beneath my feet, but it’s not the floor that’s vibrating. I look down at shaking hands.
My hands.
My hands are shaking.
Someone keeps saying my name, but it sounds like it’s being shouted at the end of a tunnel. “Nina, look at me.”
A gentle touch settles at the nape of my neck, breaking through my whirring thoughts. Rhode’s deep blue gaze ensnares mine, anchoring me to their depths. The rhythmic circles of his thumb moving beneath my hair soothes me, but I can’t trust his touch since this means nothing.
“Nina. Are you alright?” he asks. “Talk to me.”
I focus on Rhode’s face, memorizing the contours of him. Navy eyes like glittering sapphires. Curly lashes framing them like little tendrils. Full lips that look inviting even when turned in a pout.
“I’m alright,” I pant, more to convince myself. “I’m okay. I just need to breathe.”
His thick brows pinch. Maybe he’s worried. Maybe he’s not. He lifts his arm, and then he does something that stuns me—he slides his thumb right between my lips, just far enough that the wet tip touches my tongue. It shocks me enough that I forget about my racing heart for a second.
“If you want to breathe, you have to open your mouth for me,” he murmurs in my ear.
I suck in a breath of his crisp campfire scent, and my teeth accidentally graze his fingers. The sensation gives me something to focus on, so I swirl my tongue around him to distract myself from my thrumming heart. The thick veins in his neck pulse as Rhode’s throat moves in a silent bob.
“Good gi—” He pauses. “Good, Nina. Just like that. Keep breathing.”
He slides his thumb from between my lips, trailing a slippery pathway across my cheek to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and I’m tempted, so tempted, to wrap myself in his solid embrace.
We stand in the middle of the ballroom, breathing in sync for what could be ten seconds or ten hours, but despite the comfort of his protective cocoon, the nausea still swells because no one can control my body—not even me.
Without warning, chaos erupts inside me. The familiar feeling of impending doom overtakes my mind, and a rush of heat surges over my skin, but it feels like this isn’t really my skin.
The chandeliers grow fuzzy.
The ballroom tilts on its axis.
I can’t let Rhode witness my shattering, not here, not in front of all these people. Not when he’s trying to impress his sponsor. My fingers tighten into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms as if the pain will stop my body from spiraling.
I’m used to relying on myself, so I’ll be fine because I always am, but I fucking hate my brain sometimes.
I whirl around, desperate to find an escape route through the sea of faces, but crash into a waiter balancing a tray of champagne. The flutes tip over, and glass cascades down on the marble, shattering like a spray of diamonds.
A chorus of gasps fills the ballroom.
“Shit!”
“Oh my,” someone whispers.
Every eye in the room locks on me.
My chest feels like a prison for my pounding heart. I’m paralyzed, trapped by mortification. For a split second, I imagine throwing myself off a skyscraper, but even when I want to die of embarrassment, I want to live even more.
I bolt to the closest of the five exits.
“Nina, wait!”
I don’t wait—I run.
