Tanaka examines his iPad. “And you’ve dated many women.” He frowns. “Many, many women.” He continuesto scroll. “Wow.”
I stiffen. How many women is Tanaka talking about? I might have watched every single one of Finn’s videos, but those are what he put out. Maybe I know him less well than I thought.
God, I wonder if he can tell I’ve had not strictly teammate thoughts about him. I wish I hadn’t suggested the kiss. I’ve kissed him twice now.
He’s been kissed by the hottest women in the city. He doesn’t want to kiss...me.
Shame gurgles through me, and my shoulders are suddenly far less square. My organs are a slithering mess.
Finn’s skin reddens. “You track that?”
“We make it a point to track all the times you’ve gotten into the news,” the woman in the lime green suit says.
“Then I have an incomplete list,” Tanaka says.
“I’m not a horrible partier,” Finn says, and the table snorts. “And I didn’t marry any of those people.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Tanaka says.
I slide down in the seat, my shoulders dropping like my heart. Images of Finn with female bombshells who drape themselves around him in clubs before tabloid journalists and paparazzi, then drape themselves around him in his bedroom inundate my mind.
Perhaps I’m not acting sufficiently like a starry-eyed newlywed beginning his happy-ever after with the person of his dreams, because Finn’s lips turn downward.
Then Finn drapes an arm over my shoulder, and I hate that I take strength from it as if we are a real couple. I know he’s worried I look out of my depth. Maybe he’s worried I’llblurt out the truth, like Tanaka is a priest and I think I’m in confession.
I lean back, so I can feel his arm more thoroughly, so that its warmth will ground me. God, what the man has sacrificed. Finn likes to party. He enjoys sleeping with super sexy women. I even interrupted his morning masturbation. He couldn’t even do that because I was in his apartment and thought it a good idea to burst into his room, then not leave.
He’s done so much for me. Maybe I should accept the team management’s wrath and go back to the AHL—assuming they’d let me return.
Finn casts another glance at me. His expression is worried, as if he can read my emotions. Perhaps he can hear the rapidity of my breath or the constant, ever-increasing, ever more violent strike of my heart.
“What’s the plan?” Finn asks. “Because we need to get back to training.”
“Right.” Tanaka looks regretful. “We’ll send you out for interviews.” He glances at the woman in the lime green skirt suit. “Daniela, set up as many as you can. We want TV interviews, newspaper interviews, magazine interviews.”
“Sports broadcasts?” Daniela asks, scribbling something down.
“And anything LGBQ...” He frowns.
“LGBTQ,” Daniela says.
Tanaka nods.
“We could of course hope this story gets swallowed by the news cycle,” Daniela says.
“People have been waiting for this story for years,” Tanaka says. “Two teammates falling in love andmarrying? No, we need to have them tell the story. We need to control the narrative.” He frowns. “Because the alternative, thinking they got drunk and married because they could...”
I struggle not to squirm, and Finn tenses beside me. My heart seems to be doing its best to burrow out from my ribs and fly from the room, over the Charles River, and not stop until it’s in Europe.
Tanaka fixes a stern gaze at us. “That would be a scandal. One the creators of it could not recover from.”
Daniela slides her gaze toward us. “Should that be for some reason true, shouldn’t they tell us that now?”
She knows.
Finn inhales sharply, and I press my hand on his thigh. His breath comes more even.
“No.” Tanaka’s voice is firm. “The Blizzards is a team filled with professionals who play hockey that makes every other team afraid. The Blizzards is not a team of little boys who laugh at the concept of marriage.”
