Page 91 of Not Just a Trick Play

Under his beady stare, she stiffens. My blood stirs into a slow boil, kept in check by sheer will. Casually, I settle a hand on the small of Amelia’s back and cut him a predatory look of my own.

“If only my luck—and my fantasies—were that good,” I retort, the edge in my voice wrapped in velvet. “But then you’d know all about fantasies, wouldn’t you? Like the one where you win a Pulitzer. But hey, people say you gotta dream big, hmm?”

The jab finds its mark, and his smug façade cracks, but he’s quick to glue it back together. “Just doing my job.”

“Of course,” I agree, my smile frosty enough to skate on. “Creative writing’s quite the craft, hmmm?”

He gives me one more hateful look but knows better than to engage further. The moment he retreats into the crowd, I whisk Amelia through the doors, navigating us to a secluded alcove past the coat check. Once we’re alone, I gently nudge her chin up, searching her for any lingering distress.

“You okay?” I ask softly. If she’s anything but fine, his days of Titans exclusives are as good as over.

“The audacity of that man!” she fumes.

A chuckle escapes me at her fierce expression, and the last of my irritation scatters. “But did you see his face?”

Amelia now directs her annoyance solely at me. “And you! I can’t believe you brought up my tours!”

“Anything for my best girl.”

The mild reproach on her face thaws into a soft, exasperated warmth. She wraps her arms around my neck and tugs me down, murmuring, “You’re impossible,” before pressing her lips to mine. Soft, light, at first. But then she dives in again, as if she needs more. She kisses me as if I’m the best thing she’s ever tasted. And, damn, does it go to my head.

My balls draw tight, my dick pulsing. Angling my head, I open my mouth wider for her, meeting her tongue with mine. I kiss her until I can’t breathe, get fucking dizzy on her. Heat licks down my back, up my thighs. I crush her to me, feeling those sweet-as-fuck tits against my chest. Right before things blaze out of control, the distant clink of glasses a cruel reminder of the gala calling us back. Aftershocks skitter over my skin, little tremors of need.

With a groan, I draw back. “Later,” I whisper, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The sight of her, lip plump and kiss-swollen and that extra glitter in her eyes makes my breathhitch, and my gut clench. It takes everything in me not to press my hips against her and forget about all else.

Her thumb grazes my lips, coming away with the red smear of her lipstick. I capture her finger between my teeth, a playful warning bite. She lets out a startled squeak, followed by a throaty laugh that sends another rush of heat through my balls. Fuck, what’s the runtime on this thing again? I shake my head. Months of grinding to pull it off, and now I’m counting down minutes till we can bail.

The party is well underway when we finally enter the grand ballroom. I’m hit with a familiar scene, a sea of tailored suits, silky gowns, and a parade of servers zigzagging through the crowd. Beyond, the terrace is abuzz, visible through the glass doors that make up one wall of the room, acting as an extension of the cocktail area. Jazzy tunes sound in the background and there is the hum of conversation.

Amelia’s taking it all in, her eyes a little wider than the rest, her grip on my arm a tell that she’s new to this circus. “It’s something, huh?” I lean in and murmur, enjoying her reaction.

“It’s like a movie,” she whispers back, her gaze darting around.

We navigate our way through the clusters of guests, exchanging pleasantries and the occasional “Nice to see you again.” Over by the large dividers that form another wall of the ballroom, I spot my family. Mom’s holding court, as usual, chatting away with the bigwigs from Nurture NYC, so engrossed, our arrival doesn’t even register.

She loves coming to these events and catching up with people from the different foster homes. Not far off, Beatrice and Rick are in the thick of it, laughing with some friends.

Amelia and I float from group to group. I offer up hellos and handshakes, nods and smiles, all while showing her off, not at all surprised that she charms everyone without effort.

Then, slicing through the wealthy and well-dressed, Hunter appears and thumps me on the back. “Jake, man, you clean up good!”

“Yeah, well, I have to keep up with Amelia here,” I quip, the corner of my mouth ticking up as her cheeks catch a soft pink glow.

He flicks a look at Amelia, a mischievous lift to his brow. “You’re really gonna leave us? Jake’s ego might just float away without your grounding presence at the games. You sure you don’t wanna stick it out?”

Amelia’s laughter spills over, light and easy. “While I’ve picked up a thing or two about the game, and appreciate the spectacle of it all, I still can’t convince myself it’s all that logical,” she counters.

“Well, if it’s between music and mayhem, I bet the tunes will win every time,” Hunter agrees, tipping an imaginary hat her way. “RhythmRoutes is gonna be a hit.”

“Thank you. That’s so lovely to hear.”

Connor’s girlfriend, Ella, pipes up from behind us, her excitement palpable. “I’m already eyeing the tour dates for after New Year’s!”

Her words set off a chain reaction, and everyone chimes in with plans to catch one of the walking music tours, too. Amelia’s bashful about the fuss, but this spotlight shining on her? It’s exactly what she deserves.

The conversation shifts to the upcoming game against the Sabretooths as a widely recognized sports commentator eases into the circle. He’s a mix of curiosity and sly grins, clearly on the hunt for a juicy tidbit. We feed him morsels of optimism wrapped in ambiguity.

Amidst the back-and-forth, a discreet wave from Amelia draws my attention. My gaze follows hers across the hall to where Yvonne hangs with some dude in a dark blue suit wholooks like he’s hunched over from the weight of the gold chains around his neck. That much bling can’t be healthy.

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