Page 90 of Puck Prince

“Don’t worry about it. Lance Craven isn’t worth your breath or mine.”

The moment we walk outside, we are bombarded by flashing cameras. I don’t know why, but I wasn’t expecting so much press. Kennedy marches through it like a one-woman army, pretending to be annoyed while simultaneously aiming her best angles at the photographers.

I slink back and immediately feel Owen’s arm around me. “Just ignore them,” he advises as we make our way to the blacked-out Escalade.

I try, but it’s kind of hard with everyone calling our names and lights going off like fireworks in our faces. But Owen seems calm, so I follow his lead.

Once we are inside the car, I think I might be able to relax, but people are literally pounding on the windows.

“Is this normal?” I ask, wondering if the people pressing themselves against the car can see me as well as I can see up their nostrils.

“Totally,” Kennedy answers while scrolling through her phone. “It’s obnoxious. You get used to it, though.”

I nod, though I don't really see how anyone just gets used to it. I feel Owen hug me against him and it’s only then that I realize he still has his arm around me.

The way he’s holding me, I don’t think he intends to let go anytime soon.

Can’t say I mind as much as I should.

The ball is being held at a convention center downtown. Everything is very suit-and-tie with white tablecloths, champagne bottles in silver ice buckets, and fairy lights and tulle draping from the ceiling. There is also a charcuterie-board-style grazing table and an open bar. A live band plays jazz music in the corner while couples dance.

“This is swanky,” Kennedy comments as we make our way inside. “The team upped their game this year.”

It’s enchanting. But I’m obviously not going to say that out loud. With Owen’s arm firmly wrapped around me since the second we stepped out of our apartment, I’ve had to remind myself several times already that this isn’t real.

I mean, the charity event is real, obviously.

But the relationship isn’t.

“I need a drink,” Kennedy announces for the second time, eying the bar.

“Would you like me to get one for you?” Lance offers. “Whiskey sour, to match your face, maybe?”

“I’m sorry—why are you still here?”

“Ken!” I give her a look, but Lance just brushes it off, sauntering over to join the rest of the team.

“Do you want anything?” Owen asks me.

“I’m alright right now. But thank you.”

We make our rounds, saying hello to all the players. Several of them have dates; others have their sights locked on Kennedy, considering she’s a free agent. It’s wild to me how ballsy they are considering Uncle Randy is nearby. It’s one thing for one of his players to go out with his niece, but they’d have to be flat-out idiotic to hit on his daughter.

And yet, wonders never cease.

“You hungry?” Owen asks. I’m about to tell him that I will eat almost anything he puts in front of me when we are interrupted by a male voice. I’d say it’s a good thing considering the many inappropriate jokes that would’ve probably followed, but it’s a voice I know.

A voice that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and my skin crawl.

A voice that makes me lose my appetite.

“Sharpe. You thought you could just walk right by without saying hello?” It’s Miles and his fiancé. I think fast and plaster on a smile, a smile that says,This is no different than greetinganyone else on the team. He’s just another guy. She’s just another woman. No reason to be tense.

“My bad.” Owen grins and they do a man-shake hug. “Lookin’ good, bro. Who told you about Tom ford?”

“What can I say? My taste has evolved.”

“Not that you had anything to do with that.” Owen winks and nods towards Miles’ fiancée. With her fire truck red hair, perfect lips, and black evening dress that might as well have been painted on, she is Scarlett Johansson:Black WidowEdition ™.

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