I fan my face. My skin is an inferno, and I think I’m burning alive.
Me
And when is this happening?
Liam
Eager?
Me
No. Just want to check the calendar and make sure I’m free.
Liam
Busy next few weeks. Charity gala. Christmas.
How about before our road trip to Vegas?
Me
You’re making me wait until the end of December?
You’re cruel.
Liam
Patience, virtue, etc.
Me
Hate you, etc.
Liam
No, you don’t.
No, I decide, holding my phone to my chest, a giddy smile on my face and my heart thumping under my hand.I don’t.
TWENTY-ONE
LIAM
I’ve always hatedthe holiday charity gala the Stars put on.
Every year, two and a half weeks before Christmas, I’m stuck standing at the bar in a fancy hotel, miserable as I sip a seltzer with lime because I have a game the next day.
There are too many people. Too many handshakes and conversations about what I could’ve done better in the last game, as if Joe Robertson, the season ticket holder with the beer belly who has never stepped foot on the ice, is someone I should take advice from.
It’s also loud as fuck in here.
“Hey.” Hudson nudges my side and I blink at him. “Are you ready for the auction?”
“No.”
“Same. I really hate this part of the night.”
“So do I,” I grumble under my breath. “Can’t I write a fucking check instead? I don’t need soccer moms fighting over me.”