Page 101 of Forecheck
Once dinner was completed and our plates were cleared away, there was a brief interlude to refresh our drinks before the silent auction winners were announced.
“Only another hour,” I said to Brent, who grimaced at me before peeling away to refresh our drinks.
Harper and Ryan appeared a moment later. Hugs and compliments were exchanged, then Ryan said, “Where’s your man?”
“Right here,” Brent said from behind me, handing me a glass of wine and settling a hand on my lower back. My skin seared beneath his palm, my pulse ticking up a notch at the promise and possessiveness in that simple touch.
This man—he handled my body as easily as he handled a puck, as in tune with me as he was with teammates and opponents during a game. At first, it had been disconcerting, but now I relaxed into it. I’d never had anyone get me so wholly, and I never wanted to let him go. I hoped we never lost the connection.
“Harper, Ryan,” I said, “this is my boyfriend, Brent.”
Brent smiled and stuck out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you both,” he said. “It’s nice to finally put faces to the names of people monopolizing all of my girl’s time.”
Where Ryan was apparently too star-struck to immediately respond, Harper smiled and said, “I think you’re the one monopolizing all of her time.”
I gasped. “Harper!”
“What? It’s kind of true. You’ve been all about him since you started dating.”
I glanced up at Brent with a soft smile. “Can you blame me?”
Harper didn’t respond, but Ryan, finally finding his voice, said, “Holy shit, you’re Brent Jean.”
Brent laughed and nodded, cutting his eyes to mine, which I rolled. “I sure am.”
I snapped my fingers in front of Ryan’s face and said, “Get it together, Ry. Tonight, he’s just my boyfriend.”
Ryan snorted. “Right. I don’t think I can pretend he’s just some random guy you’re dating and not a literal professional athlete.”
“Try harder,” I said through clenched teeth.
Brent shifted next to me. “It’s okay, Berk. I’m used to it.”
Angling my body toward him, putting Ryan and Harper at my back, I gazed up into his face. The corner of his lip twitched, a telltale side that he wasn’t as calm as he’d have me believe. “Just because you’re used to it doesn’t mean you should have to put up with it,” I said quietly.
“Berkley,” Brent warned, “we are not arguing about this right now.”
“You’re right; we’re not arguing. I’m simply stating a fact.”
Before Brent could respond, an announcement rang out inviting us to take our seats so the social chair of our class could announce the silent auction winners.
I gave my classmate my full attention, listening intently and clapping politely as each name was announced, the winner approaching the stage to accept their prize before being escorted to the back to settle up on their bid.
“And the winner of the four-day, all-expenses-paid trip to Aspen for next winter is…Brent Jean!”
The answering applause was surprised and subdued. I watched in horror as heads swiveled around, searching out my boyfriend. With a name like that, and a face as easily recognizable as his, he wasn’t difficult to spot.
And when gazes eventually landed on him, the whispers started.
“Holy shit, that really is him.”
“Oh, my God. He’s so hot.”
“Why is he here?”
“Think he’d take a picture with us?”
“He’s datingher?”
