Page 95 of The Rebound Plan

I am willing to run the risk of sticking my neck out only to have to hide in the shadows again if Max shows up at the last second to belatedly play the role of responsible captain and adoring husband.

But there's a solid chance that he is done for the day and won’t be coming back, either because it wasn’t on his team schedule, or because he’s ghosting Shannon in this moment the same way he’s been ghosting her since we got home from the cottage.And I can't leave her hanging.

“Hey,” I say to the intern who needs to work on his whisper volume. “Tell Mabel a player is on his way.”

“I think they need Mr. Tilman,” he says with a note of worry.

“Sure. But I’m going up there anyway. Bump me down the list here. I’ll be back in an hour.”

The team foundation photos are happening one level up, in another conference room. At the top of the escalators I nod at Aaron Green from the Observer, one of a dozen reporters I’ve seen around today. He’s working on his laptop in a quiet corner just outside the room where Shannon is.

Taking a deep breath, I pull the door open and step inside.

My gaze goes immediately to her. She’s standing with the photographer and Mabel from PR.

Blonde waves spill out of a high, loose ponytail. It’s artfully casual, and entirely off-limits. I want to mess it up. I want to bury my fingers in her strands and tighten my hand into a fist. Push her down to her knees and make her suck my cock.

She’ll have to take off the tight-fitting, sexy version of her husband’s jersey first, though. It makes my chest burn to see her wrapped in it, and the asshole isn’t even here to appreciate her.

From the expression on Shannon’s face, she isn’t happy to see me as the substitute, so I beeline to Mabel and say, “Seems like there was a mix up. I’m not exactly a pretty face, but I can fill in.”

“You’re perfect,” she says, lying through her teeth, because we all know the photo shoot was for the captain and his wife. “Shannon, we might not…”

The wife in question immediately nods, understanding intuitively that she can’t be in the photo shoot with a man who isn’t her husband.

How about the man who makes her come during sex? Because that’s sure as fuck not her husband.

While Mabel murmurs with the photographer about rearranging the kids who will be in the promo material for our winter Highlanders Ball, Shannon pretends not to look at me.

Fine. I can be painfully aware of her from across the room.

I cross to the pile of toys on the black cloth photo backdrop and introduce myself to the hired child models who are dressed up like they’re going to a fancy ball.

“Hey, kids,” I say, squatting down to their level. “I’m going to be in these photos with you today. I’m a hockey player.”

“They told us,” one of the boys says. “You’re married to the pretty lady.”

“Ah, actually not. There was a change of plans. Her husband couldn’t make it.”

“You’re the replacement,” a girl says.

I wish.

I gesture at her sparkly ballgown. “How do I get a fancy outfit like this?”

She giggles. “It’s kind of itchy.”

“Even better. I love itchy clothes. Especially ones that are too tight and make it hard to breathe,” I say straight-faced.

More giggles.

The girl tugs at my jersey. “I like this.”

I spin on my heel, an idea forming. “Do you like the version that the pretty lady is wearing?”

“Uh huh.”

“Then you should go and ask her for it. It would be funny if you wore her jersey over your sparkly dress, don’t you think?”

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