Page 94 of Faking It with the Forward

I grab them off the floor and when I come back out, Nadia’s on the porch with Logan. Reese is still in the living room. “Hey,” he says, pointing to my back. “You forgot the back.”

“Shit,” I mutter, reaching around and feeling the strings. “Let me get Nadia.”

“I can do it.”

The back of my dress is designed like a corset, with a crisscross of straps that ties down at my lower back. I start to tell him no, but I can’t do it by myself.

“Sure, okay.” I turn, exposing my back to him. He lifts my hair and drapes it over my shoulder. Goosebumps run down my arms.

“Jesus,” he mutters, “this looks like witchcraft.”

I laugh, happy for a break in the tension. “It’s kind of like lacing a skate–just make sure it’s tight.”

“Hm,” he hums, tackling the laces. “So, Logan, huh?”

“Like you, I needed a date.” His touch is so gentle—precise—and a shiver builds in my spine thinking of the times those hands made me feel so good. “I figured why let all those confidence lessons go to waste.”

Row by row, I feel Reese tighten the strings. I find my breath caught in my chest, terrified to move, until his fingers brush against my lower back tying the ribbon into a bow. “There. I think I got it.”

“Thank you,” I turn to face him and there’s no mistaking the dark heat in Reese’s eyes. I feel the same in the pit of my stomach. Is this what Romeo and Juliet felt like? Star-crossed lovers? Whatever it is, it hurts, and I’d do almost anything to take that pain away.

Almost.

“You guys coming?” Nadia calls.

Her voice breaks the spell, and I grab my purse and rush out the door.

We’ve got a party to attend.

* * *

The fundraiser is heldin the athletic complex, in a huge room just for events. It’s located on the sixth floor and the wall-to-wall windows provide a fantastic view of campus, including the football stadium and hockey arena.

“Who knew this was up here,” Logan says, taking in the room. There are long buffet tables filled with food, and several bars tucked into the corners. Massive screens hang on the walls, displaying images that showcase Wittmore’s athletic teams through the ages.

“Yeah, the team had a promotional meeting up here before the season started and we were invited as part of the support staff,” I explain. On that day, it had been photographers and journalists attending, but tonight the room is a gathering place for men and women of all ages. It’s not hard to discern that many are former athletes; a lot of them possess the same confident aura as the guys on the team.

Logan and I drove here alone—thank goodness—giving me some much needed space from Reese. I’m still processing that he asked Nadia to be his date, and although his reasoning makes sense, I’m a little pissed.

Okay, I’m more than pissed. I feel betrayed.

I’d tried to explain to Logan how surprised I was to see Reese, but he waved it off. Apparently, the shocked expression on my face was enough to convince him that I had no idea what was going on.

“Holy shit.” The curse is followed by a long whistle. “TG?”

I turn and spot Reid gawking at me. I fight the urge to fidget with the satin fabric of my dress. “Told you I wear dresses.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me how hot you’d look.” He punches Axel, who’s whispering in the ear of the girl hanging on his other arm. “You see this?”

Axel pivots and his jaw drops. “Fuck, TG—”

“Nope.” I hold up my hands, narrowing my eyes at them. “Don’t be a creep. Either of you. I’m still the same girl you proclaimed was like one of your twelve-year-old brothers.”

“I take it back. Every word,” Reid chimes in, more amazed than inappropriate. “I’ve just never seen you in anything other than jeans and a hoodie. You clean up good, Perkins.”

“Likewise,” I admit. I take in Reid and Axel in their fitted suits. Outside of practice, I’ve never seen them wear anything other than jeans and T-shirts either—and for Axel, the shirt is always optional. Tonight, they both look impressive and mature. Even Axel’s shock of blond hair and the tattoo creeping out of his collar doesn’t detract. I rest a hand on Logan’s arm and introduce him. “This is Logan.”

“Hey, man.” Reid extends his hand for a handshake. They make small talk, which isn’t as awkward as I thought since hockey isn’t Logan’s thing, but he keeps up. “Oh shit,” Reid grumbles, “Coach is waving us over. Probably another lecture on not embarrassing him.”

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