Page 26 of Goalie's Obsession

Instead, he slams a fist into the door and disappears out of the venue without even looking at me again.

Connor, on the other hand, looks like he’s having the time of his fucking life.

His smile is lethal. His eyes are all mine.

I’m flustered, breathless, completely unprepared for whatever comes next. But apparently, I just paid fifty thousand dollars to find out.

And Ethan hasn’t even stuck around to see it unfold.

Chapter Six

Lucy

Momisgoingtokill me.

I don't know what fifty grand is supposed to feel like. But apparently, it feels like a thousand camera flashes going off in your face while a smug six-foot-four hockey player wraps an arm around your waist like healready owns you.

Technically, Ihavethat kind of money.

Well—my parents do.

It’s not like I’ve never had access to it. But I’ve spent the last two years working overtime to prove I could build something of myown.

But tonight?

Tonight, none of that mattered.

Tonight was about proving something else entirely.

"Smile, sweetheart," Connor murmurs against my ear. "Your investment's paying off."

I jolt, caught between a laugh and a panic attack, as the crowd surges around us.

The ballroom isbuzzing—everyone trying to get a better look, whispers flying like confetti, and I’m pretty sure three reporters are already live-streaming this nonsense.

I glance up at Connor, wide-eyed. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Of course I am,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I just became the highest-paid date in Icehawks history. And I didn’t even have to take my shirt off.” He smirks and winks at me. “Yet.”

“Connor,” I hiss.

But he just grins wider and pulls me closer. Like we’re lovers. Like this isnormal.

His palm spreads across my back, fingers just brushing the curve of my waist as he tugs me in for the cameras.

This wasn’t supposed to turn into some pretend couple act. But with his hand on my waist and every camera in the room pointed at us… it’s starting to feel like exactly that.

I swear my heart flatlines.

My brain is already imagining what it would be like if this wasn't just for show—if every morning started with his sleepy smirk over coffee, if movie nights meant his fingers playing with my hair while I curl into his chest, if game days included stolen kisses in empty hallways before he hits the ice.

The thought hits me like the shots of tequila Ryder and some fans are throwing back at the bar—warm, dangerous, and absolutely intoxicating.

Somewhere nearby, Tony-the-Auction-Icon grabs the mic with a flourish, drawing attention back to the front of the room.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” he sings, spinning like a disco ball come to life. “We have officially shattered every record in Icehawks gala history!”

I nearly faint.

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