Page 78 of Game Misconduct
I angle my chin, letting my gaze drift across the room like their dismissal doesn’t sting.
And that’s when I find him.
Maddox.
He’s at the next table, posture coiled in the chair like he’d rather be anywhere else. He isn’t laughing at the sponsor’s jokes or schmoozing like Riley, who I can hear carrying on two tables over.
He’s just sitting there, jaw tight, glass untouched.
But his eyes are on me.
Our gazes collide, and heat licks up my spine, dangerous and instant.
I should look away. Should fold back into the chatter at my table, the men who ignore me in favor of my cousin’s stats.
But Maddox doesn’t look away.
And I can’t either.
It’s a tether, thin and electric, strung tight between tables. My pulse trips, champagne fizz sharp in my veins.
Griffin leans closer, his breath warm at my ear. “Careful, cuz,” he murmurs low enough no one else hears. “You’re going to set his tux on fire with how hard you’re staring.”
Heat scorches my cheeks, but my face stays smooth and practiced. “Shut up, Griffin.”
His voice is edged with quiet amusement. “Just observing.”
Before I can answer, the emcee’s voice booms over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the owner of your Atlanta Vipers, Ms. Sloane Carrington.”
The table bursts into applause, chairs scraping back. Griffin rises with me, his hand brushing my elbow as I stand, glittering gown catching the chandelier light.
My spine is ramrod straight, my pulse pounding as I cross the room toward the stage.
But even as I climb the steps, even as the lights blind and the applause swells, I can feel him.
Maddox’s stare.
Heavy. Hot.
Daring me to meet it.
And my body betrays me, every step sharper under the weight of wanting.
The applause swells as I reach the stage, heels clicking across polished wood.
Griffin stays one step behind, pausing at the podium’s edge, his dark suit a shadow of quiet support. He doesn’t try to wave, doesn’t try to draw the cameras—he knows this is my stage.
I lift my chin, let the lights wash over me, and let the hush fall.
“Thank you,” I begin, voice smooth and steady through the thunder of my pulse. “Tonight is about more than hockey. It’s about community. About connection. About making sure that the youngest among us—the ones fighting battles most of us can’t imagine—know they’re not fighting alone.”
A murmur runs through the crowd, approval soft and warm. I breathe it in, controlled, refusing to let my nerves show.
“We’ve partnered with Atlanta Children’s Hospital to create programs that go beyond a single visit or a photo op. Fromequipment donations to long-term support for families in crisis, the Atlanta Vipers are committed to making a difference. Because this city deserves a team that fights as hard off the ice as it does on it.”
Applause breaks out, strong and echoing. I let it rise and crest before leaning forward, gaze sweeping the room.
And there—front and center in the crowd—Maddox.
