Page 51 of The Best Kind of Forever
AERIS:I’m not getting your jersey number tattooed on my ass.
HAYES:It would be so hot, though.
AERIS:Maybe for you. Not when I’m old and wrinkly.
HAYES:On the contrary, you’ll look even more beautiful when you’re old and wrinkly.
AERIS:Kiss ass, much?
HAYES:I do love kissing your ass.
AERIS:You’re disgusting.
HAYES:And you’re incorrigible.
AERIS:What can I say? It’s a part of my charm.
HAYES:Your charm is distracting me, and I’m at practice.
AERIS:Oh, I’m sorry. Afraid you’ll ruin your boxers?
HAYES:Actually, yes.
AERIS:You’re the one who brought up my ass in the first place.
HAYES:Can you blame me? You have a great ass-et.
AERIS:You’re a pun away from being blocked.
HAYES:Jokes on you, that was the only pun I had.
AERIS:You’re lucky you’re cute.
HAYES:I am, aren’t I?
22
ALL SPONSORS, PLEASE STAND UP
AERIS
The team has a sponsorship party today, and Hayes asked me if I would join him. I’m not really one for huge social events, but I wanted to be there to support him.
The restaurant that the guys rented for the night is stunning. The whole hockey team is here, along with a hundred odd faces I don’t recognize.
I’ve gone for a little black dress with strappy heels. Simple, and dare I say, sophisticated. This is Hayes’ and my first public outing as a couple, so when we showed up to the venue, all eyes were on us, and there were cameras blinding my retinas everywhere we turned. I’ve seen the fan cams, the speculative posts, even the strongly worded opinions of some exceptionally bitter people. I’m just glad that the majority of the fans seem to be accepting of our relationship.
It was daunting at first, but when we got into the meat of things…it was still daunting as hell. I never realized how big of a deal Hayes was. People haven’t stopped showering him with praise, and I’m thankful they barely acknowledged me because I haven’t been media trained like the team has. I just know I would’ve said something embarrassing.
Lila also accompanied me tonight, mostly because I begged her to be my getaway from all things hockey, and also because she’s apparently been talking to someone on the team. She still refuses to tell me who, claiming that “it’ll jinx things” if she reveals his identity. I have a feeling I won’t know until they’re either breaking up or getting married.
The place looks incredible. Round tables are embellished in white cloth, with little centerpieces of jasmine-scented candles and homemade bouquets of wildflowers, lilacs, and green sprigs. The lighting is only slightly dark, with the majority of illumination coming from the blue-orange flames burning at the wicks. There’s a whole buffet table spread with enough food to feed a small village—fruit platters, a chocolate fountain, and dishes of overflowing entrées. There’s also a tower of champagne glasses calling my name.
I don’t know why I feel so nervous. I’ve never been to a party as fancy as this before. As guests start to mill about, I take in their thousand-dollar dresses and equally expensive jewelry. I also take a flute of champagne and swallow it down in one drink. A precaution to calm my nerves, hopefully.
A little kid with sticky hands and messy hair bounds over to us, tugging on Hayes’s suit jacket.
“Mister Hayes, can I pwease get your autogwaph?” he asks, holding out a folded napkin and a ballpoint pen.
