Page 50 of In My Hockey Era
The charity event is already in full swing when we arrive.The convention center is packed with fans in jerseys, kids with posters, and camera crews capturing every second.Bennett, of course, soaks it all in like he was born for it.
Vivian finds us near the check-in table, headset in place and an iPad in her hands.“Okay, you two.Here’s the rundown—there’s an autograph signing, then a fan Q&A, and later a mini skills competition for charity.Just smile, engage, and—” Her eyes flick between us.“Try not to go viral for the wrong reasons.”
Bennett grins.“No promises.”
I swear I see Viv’s soul leave her body.
I settle into the autograph table first, posting a quick photo of the crowd to my podcast’s Instagram story.Live from All-Star Weekend!Who’s tuning in?
Within seconds, my notifications explode.I glance at my mentions.
@HockeyRomanceReader:LUCY AND BENNETT AT THE SAME TABLE??THIS IS A FANFIC COME TO LIFE.
@DallasStampedeUpdates:Our favorite enemies-to-lovers pairing is officially in the same place again.
I frown.What?
I scroll further and that’s when I see it.
A tweet.A picture of me and Bennett from last night, mid-banter, my arms crossed while he grins at me like he just won the lottery.
The caption?
@HockeyGossipHQ:Why do Lucy Quinn and Bennett Wilder have the chemistry of a slow-burn romance novel where they start as rivals but fall madly in love???#WilderQuinn
Oh.Ohno.
“Bennett,” I hiss, shoving my phone toward him.
He reads it, then bursts out laughing.“Oh, this is amazing.”
“This isnotamazing.This is a PR nightmare.”
He’s still grinning.“Or… it’s free publicity.”
I swear, I’m going to murder him.
I quickly type out a response.
Me:We are not the main characters in a hockey romance novel.Please log off.
Immediately, I see Bennett unlock his phone.My stomach drops.
Bennett:She’s in denial, folks.
The comments roll in instantly.
@SportsFanatic87:OH HE’S PLAYING INTO IT.I’M LOSING MY MIND.
@HockeyBookClub:Bennett Wilder is a menace and I respect him for it.
I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose.“You arenothelping.”
“Oh, I absolutely am,” he says, looking smug.“This is marketing gold, Quinn.”
I stare at him, then back at my phone, then back at him.“You know what?Fine.If you want to play this game, I’m playing towin.”
He raises a brow.“I like the sound of that.”
