Page 28 of Second-Rate Superstar

And don’t get me started on how he had butterflies beating against my ribcage every time we touched. It would take all my effort not to wantsomething more with him. Especially since he was already on board, flirting it up, flashing me that charming grin, and dropping subtle, sexy hints that he was interested. And let’s face it, he didn’t need to be subtle—that day he dropped by my house, he’d said as much. He wanted to take me out, and here I was, playing right into his hands.

Braxton was dangerous. Even more so because he was disarmingly charming.

If my father had been anything like him at this age, I could see how my mom fell for his act—hook, line and sinker.

But unlike her, I had the gift of foresight. It had only come at the expense of my mom’s dignity.

What I couldn’t shake was how distant he grew when I asked about his career.

From my experience, athletes loved to talk about themselves—their stats and how special being paid to play a game made them. The attention and fame went to their heads, further enlarging their egos. If the public ever got a peek behind the curtain, they’d realize these guys weren’t superheroes; they just happened to be physically gifted.

Braxton had said something about not having a choice when it came to playing. How could he act as if he had been forced into a professional hockey career when tens of thousands of hopefuls never reached that point?

Something was lurking beneath that happy-go-lucky façade, and I wanted to figure out what. Braxton was more complex than I’d initially thought—a puzzle that needed solving.

Confused didn’t begin to cover what I was feeling right now, and that was before throwing in a bare-bones hockey explanation that had my head swimming, trying to keep it all straight.

Braxton was gearing up to shut down my line of questioning about his career when he received an incoming text message. Pausing to read it, his expression changed from one of dread to one of pure joy.

Smiling at me, he asked, “Wanna go on a field trip?”

This guy was giving me whiplash.

Stunned by the sudden shift, I gestured my hand around the cold ice rink. “Aren’t we already on one?”

Chuckling, Braxton nodded. “We are. But what if I told you that where we are going might help your research? Don’t you need to see inside the private lives of hockey players?” He smirked. “And not just the single ones, like yours truly?”

Wary, I sighed as I already had insider knowledge of football players’ lives. “Probably.”

“Then, come on!” Without warning, he picked me up and skated fast across the ice to reach the door we’d left open.

Placing me on my feet once we reached solid ground, Braxton dragged me into the lobby. He was practically giddy, the smile on his face never slipping as he dropped to his knees and untied my skates. Whatever had him so excited erased any semblance of boundaries between us as he tugged my feet out of the skates and slipped my sneakers onto them like I was a freaking fairytale princess with a glass slipper.

I barely had time to grab my coat before he was tossing my rental skates at the attendant behind the desk and tugging me into the cool October air.

“My car’s this way,” Braxton explained, his grip on my hand firm but soft.

Trying to slow his progress, I dug my heels into the pavement. “I drove myself here, remember?”

“I’ll bring you back later,” he brushed me off.

“Where are you taking me?” My words came out breathless as I ran to keep up with him.

Whiskey eyes sparkling beneath the parking lot lights, excitement vibrated through his body where our hands touched. “It’s a surprise.”

His joy was infectious, and I found myself laughing. “Okay.”

Was I insane for going with him blindly? Probably.

But I was curious about the man who had me questioning everything I’d ever known about athletes. I wanted to believe he was different—an exception to the rule. And if I was going to uncover his true self, that required spending more time with him.

For research, of course.

As we pulled into the parking lot of Hartford General Hospital, my entire body tensed. Thankfully, it was dark outside, and Braxton didn’t notice.

What were we doing here? He had mentioned something about players' private lives, but why did that mean visiting the hospital? And not just any hospital, but this one in particular?

Oblivious to my distress, Braxton swung the passenger door open, gripping my hand and hauling me toward the automatic sliding doors at the entrance. The closer we got to crossing the threshold, the higher my panic ratcheted up.

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