Page 80 of In My Hockey Era
“You’re staring,” I murmur, trying for playful but failing miserably.
Bennett leans in just slightly, his breath a whisper against my ear.“You make it impossible not to.”
Oh.
The air between us shifts, like the entireworldhas shrunk down to justthis.
A photographer flashes his camera nearby, snapping me out of it, and I step back, shaking my head like I can physically shake off whatever the hell is happening.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say, forcing lightness into my voice as I slip my arm through his.“Try not to embarrass me, Wilder.”
Bennett huffs a laugh, but there’s something else behind it.Something unreadable.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Quinn.”
The night swirls around us in a blur of champagne bubbles and soft jazz, glittering gowns and whispered conversations.The ballroom is all polished marble and crystal chandeliers, filled with Dallas’s wealthiest donors, socialites, and the entirety of the Stampede organization.
But none of it matters.
Because Bennett isdancing with me.
And shocker of all shockers—he can actually dance.
His hand is firm against the small of my back, his other wrapped around mine, leading us effortlessly across the polished floor.I’m not even sure I remember agreeing to this, but here we are—my body pressed close to his, my pulse racing so fast I’m surprised he can’t feel it.
“I didn’t peg you as the ballroom dancing type,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice steady.
Bennett smirks, his thumb brushing the bare skin of my back where my dress dips low.“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Quinn.”
My breath catches slightly, but I mask it with an eyeroll.“What, like that you moonlight as a competitive dancer?”
“Exactly,” he teases.“You should see my tango.”
I huff a laugh, even as my heart pounds.“I don’t believe you.”
“Guess you’ll just have to keep spending time with me to find out.”
I glance up, and there it is again—that look.The one that makes the world shrink down to justhim.
The one that makes Mia’s words from earlierimpossibleto ignore.
I shake my head slightly, trying to clear it.“You’re impossible, Wilder.”
He grins.“And yet, you keep showing up.”
Before I can respond, the music fades, and the soft murmur of conversation shifts toward the front of the room where the night’s charity auction is about to begin.
Bennett’s hand lingers on my waist before he finally lets me go, and I instantly miss the warmth of it.
I smooth my dress, trying to compose myself as we make our way to our table.The ballroom is buzzing, guests flipping through sleek programs detailing the night’s auction items—sports memorabilia, vacation packages, luxury experiences.
“Are you seeing this?Take my wallet.Take everything.”I elbow Bennett and point to the auction catalog in my lap.“A signed Chase Remington jersey?”
His lips twitch.“Are you seriously fangirling right now?”
I scowl.“Irespectgreatness.”
“Right.Respect.”He rolls his eyes.“Bring a Sharpie over to the condo anytime, I know Chase would sign one for you.”
