Page 47 of Across the Boards

ELLIOT

The day of the gala arrives with alarming speed. One minute I’m helping Sarah with centerpieces, the next I’m staring at my reflection in my bathroom mirror, wondering if I’ve lost my mind agreeing to this.

Me. At a hockey charity gala. With Brody Carter as my date.

“Not a date,” I remind my reflection sternly. “Just two friends attending a work function together.”

My reflection looks skeptical.

My phone buzzes on the counter with a text from Sarah.

Stop panicking. You look gorgeous and it’s going to be fine.

How did you know I was panicking?

You always panic before events. I’ve known you for 5 years.

That’s disturbingly accurate timing.

I’ve set my watch by your anxiety schedule. Now finish your makeup. Carter will be there at 6:30 and I know you’re only halfway done with your eyeliner.

I glance at my reflection again. One eye perfectly lined, the other still bare. Damn her psychic abilities.

Stop spying on me through my bathroom window. It’s creepy.

Just predictable. See you at the gala. And Elliot? It really will be fine. Better than fine.

I hope she’s right. The last three years, I’ve carefully constructed a life that doesn’t intersect with the hockey world. Now I’m willingly walking back into it, in a red dress no less, on the arm of the team’s new star defenseman.

My phone buzzes again. Brody this time.

Just making sure we’re still on for tonight. No pressure if you’ve changed your mind.

His consideration makes my chest warm. He’s been like this the whole time—pushing just enough to keep me from retreating completely, but always giving me an out if I need it.

We’re still on. Though I may need you to bring a paper bag for hyperventilation purposes.

I’ll bring two. One for each of us. I’m told I clean up well in a tux, but these bow ties are instruments of torture designed by sadists.

YouTube has tutorials.

I’ve watched six. My fingers are apparently immune to tutorial knowledge. It’s just a mess of fabric and crushed dreams over here.

I can help when you get here. I used to tie Jason’s all the time.

As soon as I send it, I regret mentioning Jason. But Brody’s response comes quickly, without awkwardness.

My inadequate bow tie skills and I gratefully accept your expertise. See you at 6:30.

I finish my makeup with steadier hands, then slip into the burgundy dress. Sarah was right—it makes me feel powerful, confident in a way I haven’t at a formal event in years. The woman in the mirror looks like she belongs at a fancy gala. Like she might actually survive the evening without hiding in the bathroom.

At precisely 6:30, my doorbell rings. Taking a deep breath, I open the door to find Brody standing there in a perfectly fitted tux, looking like he stepped out of a magazine. His bow tie, however, is indeed a disaster—crooked and barely holding together.

“Wow,” he says, eyes widening as he takes me in. “You look... I don’t even have words.”

“Articulate as always, Carter,” I tease, but warmth floods my cheeks.

“I’d come up with better adjectives, but my brain stopped functioning the moment you opened the door.” His gaze is warm, appreciative without being leering. “You’re beautiful, Elliot.”

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