Page 72 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie
“Sure, we can. We could stay here, order room service, watch a terrible movie, and pretend this whole thing doesn’t exist.”
She exhales sharply. “I can’t do that, Blake. I told you, if I don’t show up, people will say I’m bitter, that I can’t face him. And I refuse to give him that satisfaction.”
I smirk. “That’s the ‘Whitney’ I know.”
She sighs and rubs her temples.
“Let’s make it fun.”
She gives me a skeptical look. “Fun?”
“Yeah. Let’s make him super jealous.”
“Quit playing.”
“I am not playing.”
She exhales through her nose. "God, I already regret this."
"Too late, sweetheart."
She mutters something under her breath before heading for the door. I follow, still grinning.
An hour later, we pull up to the Grand Regency Hotel. The place is exactly what I expected - luxurious, polished, filled with the kind of people who pretend their bank accounts define them. Valets in crisp suits open car doors, and guests step out with perfectly practiced smiles.
Whitney inhales deeply. I watch the subtle movement of her throat as she swallows, then the way her fingers curl slightly in her lap.
I shift, resting my arm along the back of her seat. “Before we go in…”
She turns to me, eyes wary. “What?”
“Just making sure we’re on the same page.” I reach for her hand, playing with her fingers. “From this moment on, you’re mine. Completely. You’re my girlfriend, and I expect you to act like it.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
I smirk. “No weird stiffness, no awkwardness, especially if I call you, babe.”
She folds her arms, lips twitching. “Babe?”
I grin. “You prefer honey? Sweetheart? Love of my life?”
Her face scrunches up. “Oh my God, stop.”
I chuckle. “Just saying. You need to sell this.”
Her lips part like she wants to argue, but then she clamps them shut. She knows I’m right.
“Fine,” she mutters.
I squeeze her hand once before letting go. “Good!”
Then I step out first, walking around to her side to offer my hand. She places hers in mine, and just before we step forward, I lean in slightly and murmur, “Let the show begin.
The ballroom is exactly what I expected - large, luxurious, filled with people, laughter, and the low hum of conversation.Golden chandeliers hang above, casting a warm glow over the sea of well-dressed guests. Servers weave through the crowd with trays of champagne, and at the far end of the room, a live band plays soft background music.
Sweeping my gaze across the room, it’s not hard to spot the newly engaged couple. They’re at the center of attention - him in a sharp suit that probably costs as much as a car and his fiancée in a dress that sparkles a little too hard under the lights. They’re surrounded by a crowd flashing big smiles.
Grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, I hand one to her before taking a sip from mine. “Here you go,” I say, rolling the taste over my tongue. “Not bad.”
