Page 25 of Playmaker

“I was right about that dress, wasn’t I?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, the dress is very flattering.” I straightened my spine. “So, now are we ready for the dining room?”

The golf part was straightforward. Sticks—no,clubs—balls, and walking around on the grass. Presumably we’d get to that. I wanted to keep this arrangement going if I could, because it was invaluable to me. There were rules I could memorize for actually hitting the ball, but social events didn’t have straightforward rules, and they weren’t codified. If I was going to be a partner, I had to learn how to play that game. Not that I expected I’d be very good at golf, but if I didn’t do anything spectacularly stupid, I’d just be a not-so-good golfer. Messing up the social game could leave me ostracized.

Cooper put a hand on my back to guide me and I almost flinched. His hand was warm and big and possessive. Unfamiliar, and not something to get accustomed to. Instead of heading to the dining room, he found a corner out of the way and stepped back. “Are you sure about this? You look like I’m taking you to dine with zombies.”

I crossed my arms, but that just brought more attention to my boobs, so I uncrossed them again. Damn it, I was so nervous. “I’m not good at this. Which utensil to use and when it’s okay to sit or eat or whatever. You can check out videos and books, but there’s so much—who you can talk to and what you shouldn’t say.”

Growing up, I’d had other priorities, things like food and clothing and a safe place to sleep. At school, I’d learned I was smart. Once I stopped trying to find someone to love me, education had been my focus. Getting good grades, so I could make good money. Social skills, friends—none of that had been as important as surviving. And I’d done that. I was playing catch-up on the people stuff, and it wasn’t easy.

“I can tell people I haven’t played golf,” I said, “and they’ll make some allowances. Give me tips, or well, just not care because not everyone plays sports. But I can’t tell people I’ve never eaten. Obviously, I have. All my life. I just haven’t learned the right way for places like this.” I waved my hand to indicate the clubhouse. As Benson had made all too clear, this part was important. This was more than knowing what fork to use. I pursed my lips together. Enough word vomit.

Cooper didn’t laugh, or sneer. “I grew up in places like this, but I never liked the way people used manners as a weapon. I’ll make sure you do it right. Can you trust me for that?”

I bit my lip. Could I?

So far, he’d kept up his end of the deal perfectly. He hadn’t been handsy while trying to get me to swing the club properly. He hadn’t focused all his attention on my breasts. And if I did something wrong in the dining room? Well, I’d been embarrassed before. I didn’t die from it.

I drew in a long breath after that mental pep talk and nodded. He held out his arm. After a moment, I realized what he was doing. My cheeks heated as I set my hand on it. I’d seen people do this in movies for fancy balls, but I’d never been in a situation that called for it. I let him guide me, keeping a close eye on everything around me.

There was a host. The way his eyes ran over us, he was checking to make sure we belonged. Cooper gave his name, and the guy nodded. We passed. No, I passed. Cooper had already been through this.

As the man led us to our seats. I noticed people watching. Cooper, not me. He was the celebrity. My shoulders relaxed. If they weren’t looking at me, then I wasn’t sticking out enough to distract them from the hockey player. So far, so good.

The table the gatekeeper led us to was in the center of the room. Even among these rich and powerful people, Cooper was someone. The club was flaunting his presence. Did he notice? His eyes followed mine, flicked to the watchers, and his warm expression was replaced by a pleasant mask as he pretended to ignore the eyes. Like in the pro shop. He had a public persona, one that was different from the guy I saw when it was just the two of us.

He didn’t like this. Which meant I was even more in his debt.

A waiter held out my chair, and we did that awkward shuffle as he pushed it in. The first time I’d been in the kind of restaurant where it happened, I’d almost wrestled the guy for my chair. Now I knew better. But just when I thought I was safe, he picked up my napkin and put it on my fucking lap. I jerked away, hands fisting, before he did the same to Cooper.

It took me a moment to calm down. I’d almost flipped out there. Rich people, not worrying if someone got in their personal space. I had to remember the napkin move was a thing. I reached in my bag for my phone to take notes. Cooper’s hand landed on mine. I shot my glance up.

“No phones.” He barely moved his lips, his voice almost a whisper.

I dropped the phone into my bag, and the bag at my feet. I looked around, checking the other tables. I didn’t see any phones.Shit.

“Seriously?” I hissed.

A corner of his mouth quirked up, his expression relaxing. “You wanted to know how to fit in here.”

My shoulders dropped. “How am I supposed to take notes?”

The grin faded from his face. “You’re not supposed to take notes. You’re supposed to learn this from the time you’re in diapers.”

Of course. And I didn’t. “Like you did?”

That expression on his face, was it mocking? Mocking himself, not me. “I did.”

I nodded.

“Okay. Do you drink?”

“Yes. I don’t know much about wine, and I hate gin.” My mother had loved it.

Cooper turned to another waiter who approached the table. He ordered a Briarwood lemonade and some kind of beer I wasn’t familiar with. I’d learned to drink with cheap beer, but I’d never gotten into all the crafty types that Darcy liked.

After the guy left us with menus, I leaned forward. “Is the beer for you?”

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