Page 23 of Playing for Keeps

Cam leans forward again. “Have you ever been in the pit for any cool shows?”

I shake my head. I’m about to begrudgingly explain my former life, awkwardly, when Gunnar taps me on the shoulder. “Hey, Salty. Come take a photo with me.”

“A photo?”

He nods. “Yeah, they have one of those selfie stations.” He points to the wall, where a group of female fans jump and clap as the Fury players hold glittery props and party hats for photos. My stomach drops at the thought of all that attention, but Gunnar squeezes my hand, and his brothers appear at my other side.

“Welcome to the family,” Tucker says. “We travel in packs.”

Cam and Essence give me a thumbs up, before returning to their beers when I start to move amidst my herd of Stag men.

I chuckle softly as a group of young women starts tugging at Tucker, pleading with him for photos. Some of the fans hold printed copies of the selfie booth images, hold up markers, and ask for autographs. It’s much more intense than the reception lines I’m accustomed to after a performance. And, frankly, the goal here seems more about physical connection than financial gain. However, as I look around at the excitement, I decide it’s all the more genuine. These athletes are performers as well, and why shouldn’t their fans feel thrilled to spend time with them after their game.

I’m probably reading too much into a sour look from one of the women as I make my way closer to my husband, who appears to have been swept up in the crowd of admirers. Alder remains at my side and lifts an arm protectively to usher me closer to the selfie station, but I’m soon jostled out of the way by a group of guys and women who are begging to get pictures with all three Stags.

The next thing I know, Alder is getting cozy with a guy in a tank top while Tucker has a woman under each arm.

I try to push my way back to my table, to the relative comfort of Cam and Essence, at least, when I notice Gunnar hugging one of the female hockey players. He seems genuinely happy to see her, and I had wanted to talk to the women’s team anyway, so I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and walk toward them through the crowd.

“Gunnar.” I place my hand on his upper arm and then, noticing once again how firm his muscles are, give his arm a squeeze. “Who’s this?”

“Hey! Ashley, this is my wife, Emerson.”

Ashley beams. “Your husband is so rad. He totally saved my post-match interview from being a misogynistic shit show.”

My brows shoot toward the exposed beams in the ceiling. “How did he do that?”

She rolls her eyes and waves a hand. “It’s too loud here to go into. You’ll find it online, I’m sure. But you’ve got a good one. Emerson, was it?”

I nod. “Yeah. Thank you. I really enjoyed watching your game. I didn’t even know there was a pro women’s league.”

Ashley is shoved from behind by a wave of people, and she reaches for my arm, steadying herself. She guides me toward the bar, where there’s more room. “Woo, that’s getting intense over there. Anyway, yeah. The women’s league is new. Supposedly, there will be some expansion teams next year.”

I look around for Gunnar, wondering where he went. I spot him trying to disentangle himself from an older woman who is attempting to kiss him on the cheek, bright lipstick leaving a smear on his face. “Man,” Ashley says. “They really do treat them like meat samples, don’t they?”

I roll my lips between my teeth. “Is this normal? You know this is all pretty new for me.”

“Oh, yeah. I notice it when I go out with my husband. I’ve been at this my entire life, and I still hate it. So, you’re absolutely right on track.”

I’m not sure how I feel about this “chill bar” experience being the norm for the rest of my life with Gunnar, but I remind myself that we are only in this for six months. Six months to get himself situated with his starting position and endorsement deals, and then I will pretend to break his heart and return to…a future still to be determined, I guess.

Gunnar must have shaken off the aggressive fan because, when he makes his way to Ashley and me at the bar, he’s alone, his eyes boring into mine. His arm snakes around my waist, and I feel instantly better, more secure. I listen politely as he and Ashley talk about goalie things. At least, I think that’s what they’re discussing with all this stomach chat and mental preparation references. It’s definitely related to hockey gameplay.

I reach for my neck idly, where in another life I’d wear pearls, but finding none, I remember Gunnar’s offer from the other day, and I remember my research on that. offer…alone in bed with my phone. The thought of it thrills me, which shocked me at first. I saw a few videos of the type of pearly necklace Gunnar joked about. My face heats at the memory of the fantasy my mind created about doing that with Gunnar.

As I remember our time together in the kitchen, I know that anything we do together naked will bring surprise and pleasureunlike anything else. Like he said, we’re in this for half a year. I realize that sex could add yet another layer of complication to our situation, but is the potential for explosive pleasure worth that risk? I can already sense that he’d make every encounter enjoyable for me. I just worry I might not be able to return the favor.

I absentmindedly run my fingers along his forearm, trying to decide, until Gunnar takes a deep breath.

“Ashley, it was awesome meeting you. Hit me up anytime. But I gotta get out of here.”

She nods and gives him a salute, melting back into the crowd on her way toward the other female players. Gunnar abruptly spins me to face him. “Salty. You’re killing me.”

My brow furrows. “What? What did I do?”

He shakes his head. “Tracing those damn fingers all up and down my arm, standing there. Looking hot as fuck in my jersey. And you’re making sex faces. We have to go home.”

“Sex faces? Home?”

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