Page 76 of Game Misconduct
But it’s not Dean or the board making my chest feel tight. It’s knowing Maddox will be there tonight.
God help me, the thought makes my skin flush hotter than a thousand suns.
I press my palms flat on the vanity, leaning closer. “Pull it together, Sloane.”
The woman in the mirror doesn’t look back with doubt. She looks back with ice.
Controlled. Perfect.
And maybe a little desperate under the surface, but no one will see that but me.
“Anyone home?”
I give one last glance in the mirror, checking my classic red lipstick, before grabbing my clutch and striding down the hall to where Griffin is standing in the living room.
Dark hair and trimmed beard, his tux a perfect fit.
My cousin smirks the second his eyes land on me. “Christ, Lo. Trying to kill half the room before they even pour champagne?”
I arch a brow. “If they drop, less small talk for me.”
His laugh is low, warm, and familiar. He leans in to kiss my cheek, the scent of his cologne threading between us. “You look stunning.”
I let the corner of my mouth tilt. “That’s the point.”
He offers his arm, all smooth charm and easy strength. Griffin’s always been that—family and anchor, the reminder that someone in this city still sees me as a person, not just a headline.
For a flicker, I let myself breathe easier.
But when I glance once more at my reflection as we head out, I can’t help the thought that cuts through everything else.
Maddox is going to see me like this.
And that thought…has my heart pounding and my stomach flipping.
I shouldn’t care whether or not he thinks I look stunning, but the truth is I do.
The hotel entrance is a wall of light and noise—cameras flashing, velvet ropes straining, reporters calling names like it’s blood in the water.
Griffin offers his hand after he steps out of the car, and I take it, steady, letting the shimmer of green sequins catch every bulb.
Flashbulbs pop. I angle my chin, smile just sharp enough to hold distance.
Griffin plays his role easily. He looks every inch the powerful plus-one. Safe. Handsome. A shield.
And then…
Maddox.
He steps from the black town car behind us like the air itself bends around him.
A black tux clings to every cut of his frame, broad shoulders swallowing the fabric, the sharp line of his jaw shadowed in the light.
No date. Just him.
All presence and heat, dragging every lens his way.
The crowd swells, shouting, and cameras detonate in bursts. He doesn’t even try to smile. He doesn’t need to. That scowl is magnetic, pulling focus until I feel it in my bones.
