Page 49 of Score on You

A piercing whistle interrupts us. “Woot, woot. Crusher is in the house!”

His nostrils flare as he assesses those fascinated by his presence. “Fuck, maybe this was a bad idea.”

A gasp rattles me. “How can you say that?”

“People aren’t respecting you.” He signals to a girl who’s probably recording our exchange.

I squeeze his hand, which is securely fastened against mine again. “Would it put you at ease to know I feel very well protected while I’m with you?”

Ridge’s eyes heat and there’s a noticeable upward curve to his mouth that betrays his neutral expression. He tugs me forward before anyone else can witness the crack in his armor. “C’mon, sweetness. Let’s get to the suite before another dumbass decides to test your personal space.”

Staying true to his promise, I’m tucked safely into his side as we wade into the sea of bodies. An impenetrable barrier encircles us. He might as well be a shield against the crowd. I rely on his towering height to protect him. No harm will touch me while he’s here. That sense of safety allows me to ignore the lingering stares burning into my hunched form.

Ridge maintains a measured pace while steering me through the maze of this building. Our slow speed is most likely for my benefit. I’m grateful; it seems he knows what I need without me having to utter a word. The same goes for how he absently strokes the ruined flesh on my forearm with his thumb. It seems like he can’t stop touching me, which frees a dozen butterflies in my belly.

We climb two flights of stairs rather than take a risk on the escalator. That motorized alternative might eat my shoes.As we approach the third-floor landing, Ridge tilts his phone screen at a uniformed attendant. The man grants us access to wherever we’re headed. This corridor isn’t nearly as congested. A brisk stroll delivers us to a door where another security personnel waits. He barely glances at what I assume are electronic tickets on Ridge’s screen before allowing us inside.

Once again, my stride stumbles to an abrupt halt just as I cross the threshold. The room we’ve entered is immaculate. Leather chairs and polished tables are arranged on the left side. A long table occupies most of the right. Its surface is covered with an assortment of bowls and platters. Framed achievements from previous hockey games and other events hosted by this venue are hanging on the walls. But the massive viewing window straight ahead steals the scene.From what I can see just beyond the glass, there’s a private section of seats on a balcony of sorts. Those must be reserved for us.

“Welcome to our suite.” Ridge gestures at the upscale vibe.

I shuffle forward. “Consider my mind officially blown.”

“Totally called it.”

“We get this entire place to ourselves?” My slack jaw will collect flies soon.

“Yep, just you and me for the next several hours.”

“This requires proof for posterity.” In the next moment, I have my camera pointed at the elegant furnishings. I immediately aim in the opposite direction for another shot.

“Are you hungry? We have about thirty minutes until the game starts.” He redirects my attention to the variety of choices arranged in a buffet.

After a cursory appraisal, it appears the options include my favorite foods. The rich scents in the air confirm as much. There’s pesto pasta with toasted garlic bread. Ripe pineapple, strawberries, and peaches. A Greek salad with extra feta and olives. Bottles of unsweetened iced tea. Snacks and sugary treats for later. There’s an obvious theme to this spread, which sparks my suspicion.

“Did you choose the menu?”

“Is it that obvious?” He ducks his chin, almost appearing shy.

I squint at him. “Which of these options did you pick for yourself?”

Ridge peruses the choices. “I’ll eat whatever. I’m not fussy.”

“But what do you like to eat?”

His gaze feasts on me until he’s had his fill, and then he binges on a second serving. “Anything you’re willing to give me.”

I blink at the evasive response. “Um, okay. I’ll get you some of everything.”

“That won’t be necessary but allow me to serve you.” He begins filling a plate for me before I can protest.

A chiding look settles on me when I try swapping roles. I’m not allowed to lift a finger, other than to stay connected to him. He won’t hear me complain. That comfort from contact goes both ways.

We sit at one of the tables and dig into our dinner. An explosion of flavors pampers my tastebuds. I barely manage to stifle a moan around the next mouthful. Savory spices and richsauces stir a pleasurable warmth within me. Every bite is better than the last.

To stop from licking my fork, I watch Ridge devour what remains of his meal. It seems only fitting since he hasn’t looked away from me as I thoroughly inhaled the cuisine. That trails my gaze to the secure grip he has on his own utensil. Then the muscles and thick veins in his forearms demand recognition.

I dab at my lips with a napkin. “You have a lot of tattoos.”

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