Page 55 of Goalie Interference

I pressed a hand to my chest to calm my breathing. This was not a date, like a real date. It was an arrangement. But the man cleaned up very nicely.

He crossed to the doorway where I was waiting. His hands were shoved into his pockets, messing up the lines of the suit. “Is the limo okay? I didn’t think the truck was right for a fancy event.”

I was smiling before I realized. “That’s very considerate. I had a stool inside to bring out if I needed help climbing into your pickup.”

“That sounds awkward. And maybe I’m wrong, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Goober showed up and knocked it over at the worst moment.”

My smile grew. We were standing there grinning at each other while the limousine was waiting.

I broke our gaze and Remy held out a hand toward the car. “If you’re ready?”

I walked to the back door of the vehicle, self-conscious in the heels I didn’t normally wear. Remy reached past me to open the handle and I got a whiff of his cologne. I inhaled and swallowed hard. I was being silly. This wasnota date.

I deliberately kept some distance from the man as we drove to the arena. I searched for something to talk about since we needed to do more than stare at each other.

“Are you familiar with how this event works?” I asked. I knew in general what these charity parties were like, but Ollie hadn’t been part of the Aces while we were together, and Dad hadn’t brought me along to a fancy party in years.

“I figured it was a regular meet and greet only in more expensive clothes.”

I had my doubts. “The focus here won’t be as much on hockey. Most of these things don’t have a lot of food, and instead lots of people wanting to be seen and photographed, everyone sucking up to the donors who give a lot of money to the teams’ charities.”

He nodded. “Not sure many are gonna want to get a picture with me, but I’ll play nice.”

“I probably know a few of the people who are going to be there—friends of my dad’s. And you know the hockey players, so we should do fine.”

The vehicle halted at the arena, one of the many limos and expensive cars. Remy exited first and reached out a hand to help me. We became part of a stream of well-dressed men and women moving to the front entrance. A coat check was set up, no money charged but donations gladly accepted. I unbuttoned my coat, and Remy helped me take it off. For a moment he stood in place, and I thought there must be a problem. I looked down, then back at him, and realized what it was. I’d forgotten that I was wearing a dress to draw attention, and wow, it was working. His gaze was pinned on my body molded by the dress. I felt goose bumps whisper over my skin. I was grateful for the physical labor my job involved, since the dress left nothing to hide.

“You look…beautiful,” he said, his voice low, before taking the coat and leaving what looked to be a substantial tip as he got a tag that he passed to me.

The simple but heartfelt compliment did a lot to shore up my confidence. He held out his arm and we joined the line of people heading farther in. I noticed gazes snagging on us, so my plan was working.

The event was held on the arena ice, the surface covered by a wooden floor with carpets laid over top. There were photos of the team around the boards, and tables set up along the sides with silent auction items. High-tops were scattered throughout the space and servers moved around with champagne and appetizers. There was a bar at each end, and unsurprisingly, they were busy.

“Can I get you a drink from the bar?” he asked once we were on the floor.

I shook my head. “I’ll be fine with some champagne for now.”

He grabbed a couple of flutes from a passing server and gave one to me.

“The smart move is to say hi to the owner and GM first thing, while everyone is sober and on their best behavior.” I spoke quietly into his ear. With the heels, I wasn’t much shorter than him. “Then I’ll look for any rich people I know and talk up the auction.”

He winced. “I’m not good at that.”

“Can you answer questions about the shelter?”

“Yeah, that I can do.”

“We’ll make it work. Let’s find your hockey people first. Lead the way.”

I took a sip of the champagne and followed Remy to the general manager Chris Ramos and team owner Spencer Cotton. I knew who they were because of Dad. They were chatting with a group of people, mostly donors from what I could see. I didn’t know them, but the clothes, the jewelry, the posture—these were people with money. We’d timed it well.

Once we joined the circle, they looked up. I saw glances at my dress—obviously designer—and then gazes returning to Remy to figure out who he was.

“Mr. Cotton, Mr. Ramos, may I introduce Sophie Williams?”

“No need for introductions to Sophie,” said Cotton. “Your father is here somewhere. He didn’t mention you were coming.”

He didn’t know.

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