Page 109 of Off Court Fix

Thankfully, it’s only Hunter, but that doesn’t quell my nerves and anxiety.

I push my halibut around my plate, hoping no one notices I can’t stomach even taking a bite. To my right are the board members of the foundation, and to my left, board members of the club. I try to keep up with the conversation, to force myself to contribute even with just a nod of agreement or a smile. My phone beeps from my purse, and I ignore it once. But when it beeps two more times, I put my fork down and pull it out, plopping it into my lap.

I’m going to handle it. Don’t interact with him.

Everything’s fine, Crosby.

When this night is done, go to the squash courts. We’ll leave from the door down there.

I look up, finding Crosby across the ballroom. He’s back to being put together, his tie fastened, his hair in its normal swoop to the right. I put my phone back in my bag, and I sense Hunter watching me like I’m prey. But the chills that sting my arms make me think Hunter won’t go right for the kill. He’ll play with me first.

I let the waitstaff clear my plate with an apologetic thank you when they see it still full of food. “Nerves,” I tell Susan. “I’ve never been all that great with public speaking.”

Susan smiles kindly at me. “Well, I know the strength you’ll find will be appreciated by many.” She reaches out, covering my hand. “I’m sure your brother would be proud of you too.”

Across the table, Hunter’s brows furrow together.

When plates are cleared, people take to the dance floor, and even though I’m feeling claustrophobic at the moment, I’m desperate for the couples flanking me at the table to remain sitting, instead of leaving the table hand in hand, giving Hunter the opening he’s been waiting for.

I want to grab my bag and beeline to the bathroom, but he’s standing beside me before I even push my chair back.

“May I?” Hunter asks, holding a hand out and motioning at the crowd on the dance floor.

Shaking my head, I decline. “I’m sorry. Doctor says I need to avoid extracurriculars.”

“You must’ve forgot to tell Crosby that,” Hunter snarks, and as if Crosby hears, he takes a step from his place in the corner, but I delicately shake my head, not wanting to draw more attention. “Judging by how disheveled the two of you were getting out of the back seat ofhis car, I’d say—”

“You should say nothing at all about something you have no idea about.”

Hunter tilts his head. “Is that so? You know, I’ve known Crosby since we were kids”—he pauses, running his eyes up and down my body—“I wouldn’t think you were his type.”

“You know better than me.”

“I do. And Crosby? He’s a smart guy. Always one step ahead.” Hunter sits back in the chair. “I’m wondering how mutually beneficial the thing the two of you have going is. I can tell off the court, he’s got a good thing going. I mean, a pretty little thing like you—”

I slide my chair back, but Hunter reaches out, placing his hand on my forearm. “I don’t care about what the hell you two do behind closed doors, cars or bedrooms, whatever. I care about what you’re doing on the court.”

A rush of wait staff obscures my view of Crosby, who is now half in and half out of conversation with someone. I free my arm from Hunter’s light—but firm—hold.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

In the time since Indian Wells, I’ve yet to devote thought to figuring out how I could logically explain—or lie about—our relationship should we find ourselves in this exact position. And I wish I had because I have no better response to offer, only the one that immediately flees my mouth like a reflex. And then I realize what it was Hunter really was curious about—and I remember exactly who I’m talking to.

I care about what you’re doing on the court.

Heat rises up my body, and my ears warm. “Unlike you, I have some morals.” Disdain drips from my lips after I lower my voice. “I have never and will never be a part of something like that.”

I’m even more disgusted that Hunter even had the balls to show up to this event. But perhaps, like for Crosby and me, it’s one long game of hiding in plain sight. I lift my eyes across the room and see Crosby pull a waiter over, motioning to me.

Hunter’s mouth loosens from the curled, proud smirk. “Is it disgusting only when I do it? Or Crosby too?” I open my mouth to cut him off, but Hunter continues, “Right, right. He’s changed. I heard that a long time ago. And he changed right back. But I’ll tell you this, Max. If I find out the two of you went rogue and are running something under my nose, well... outing your affair will be the least of your concerns, professionally and otherwise.”

His words are laced with threat, and I flex my calves and bear my weight into my shoes, not wanting him to notice the shaking.

“Maxine! Why don’t we head back?” It takes me a minute to look away from Hunter, who sits back in his chair as I stand, joining Susan. “I can’t thank you enough for doing this,” she tells me. “Just your lesson alone brought in nearly forty thousand dollars.”

I feel stares of many beat into me as I pass by—attendees of the gala, Crosby’s, and Hunter’s. And while I’d rather die than be anywhere near him ever again, I know what that money means to the First Step Group, to the cause. And what better way to hit a gambling ringleader where it hurts than to bleed him dry with the recovery of the people he has no issue taking advantage of in the first place.

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