Page 7 of Hooked On Them

Speaking of the elaborate web of siblings and friends, the foundation’s executive director, Leo, took the small stage at the front of the room. “If you could all find your seats for dinner, service will be starting shortly.”

I hadn’t even bothered checking my table assignment when I’d arrived. “What table are you at?”

Carter placed a hand at the small of my back, the warmth of his palm seeping through the thin fabric of my dress as he guided me toward the tables. He leaned in close enough that his breath tickled my ear, making my skin tingle. “Lucky number seven.”

The way he said it, all low and intimate, like we were sharing secrets, made goosebumps spread across my skin. “What a coincidence.”

“I wish I could take credit.” Carter’s grin suggested he absolutely would have orchestrated it if he could have.

We approached the table that already had Dominic seated at it with his arms crossed, looking like he’d rather be getting dental surgery without anesthesia. His scowl deepened to truly impressive depths as Carter pulled out my chair for me.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dominic muttered, taking a drink of amber liquid from his glass. “Who the hell made these seating charts?”

I slid into the chair across from him, arranging my dress carefully to avoid any wardrobe malfunctions. “Good evening to you too, Wilson. Enjoying the fundraiser?”

He glared at me, then at Carter, who was pulling out the chair next to mine with an exaggerated flourish. “About as much as I enjoy skating all-outs.”

“So, your absolute favorite thing then.” I smiled sweetly. “I’ll remember that for our next skills session.”

Before Dominic could respond with what I’m sure would have been a deeply mature comeback, Paige dropped into the chair beside me. “I’m so glad it’s dinner time. I’ve been stuck listening to some guy explain cryptocurrency to me for the last twenty minutes. I almost stabbed myself with a shrimp fork to escape. I still don’t get how it works or the point of it, even though he used some sticker analogy like I was five.”

I gave my best friend a hug. She’d been so busy when I’d arrived that I hadn’t had the chance to talk to her. “Where are your men?”

Paige gestured vaguely around the room like she was conducting an invisible orchestra. “Dividing and conquering the potential big donors.”

The conversation shifted as more people joined our table, filling the remaining seats. A woman wearing enough pearls to sink a small ship immediately latched onto the fact that Dominic was a hockey player in the NHL.

“Oh, how exciting! My grandson plays hockey. He’s eight.” She beamed at Dominic like he was about to give her his autograph. “What position do you play, dear?”

Dominic’s jaw twitched as he fought back what I was sure would be a less-than-polite response. If he didn’t want to be here, why did he even bother coming? “Center.”

“Center?” Carter’s brow furrowed in an expression of confusion so perfect it had to be practiced. “Is that like... the middle of the ice?”

I bit back a laugh as Dominic’s expression darkened further. “Something like that.”

“The upcoming season looks promising,” another guest chimed in, clearly more knowledgeable about the sport. “The team’s made some interesting changes.”

“Like hiring a female coach.” One of the men eyed me with the kind of look I’d gotten used to ignoring. “That must be... different.”

Dominic straightened in his seat, but before he could speak, Carter jumped in with impeccable timing. “Is that where the goalkeeper stands? The center?” He turned to me and winked, and I couldn’t quite tell if this was his way of deflecting from the conversation or if he was serious.

“No, that’s the goalie. They’re the ones with all the padding.” I held my arms out like they were covered in thick pads. “Centers are more... mobile.”

“Oh!” Carter nodded enthusiastically, like he’d just discovered the recipe for the secret sauce for his favorite hamburger. “Like in soccer?”

Dominic made a choking sound that suggested he might need the Heimlich maneuver. “It’s nothing like soccer.”

“The puck is smaller though, right?” Carter had to be playing up his ignorance to get under Dominic’s skin. The subtle quirk of his lips gave him away.

Dominic’s eyes burned into me as I explained basic hockey concepts to Carter, who managed to ask increasingly ridiculous questions with a straight face that deserved an Oscar nomination.

“So, you’re not allowed to pick up the puck and throw it?” Carter’s eyes darted to where Dominic was aggressively cutting into a scallop the waitress had dropped off.

The other men at our table looked scandalized, as if Carter had suggested we all start a food fight. Paige was practically crying with silent laughter beside me, her shoulders shaking as she pressed her napkin to her mouth.

“That’s only allowed on alternate Tuesdays.” I tried to hide my smile as I took a bite of my appetizer but failed.

Carter’s laugh was magnetic, making something warm flutter in my stomach. I was acutely aware of Dominic’s intense stare boring into me, but I kept my focus on Carter and my food.

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