Page 66 of Wallflower
He gives me a flat look. “Not going to fly, Davenport, and you know it. Not for the biggest fundraiser on the Foundation’s calendar.”
“I know,” I grumble, already irritated at the thought of putting on a tux and smiling for the goddamn media packs.
“Good. It’s a red carpet affair. Black tie. Classy. We’ve asked the entire roster to do their best to be there. The coaching staff too. Everyone from HQ. There’s an impressive legacy guest list. It’s a big deal, made even bigger because you’re our new captain, and with our line-up, we’ve got a real shot of making it all the way.”
Coach tilts his head to one side like he’s sizing me up, and I stand a little straighter. “I know you don’t want to smile for cameras,” he says. “I know you don’t want to answer questions about Calgary. I know you just want to play but we need you front and center everywhere, not only in the arena, and take it from me: next year will be a lot easier if you make peace with this part of the job. Consider the gala just another way to start fresh, okay?”
I give him a short nod. I know he’s right, but I wish he wasn’t.
He claps me on the shoulder. “Good. And here’s a wild idea: why don’t you bring a date? The invitation includes a plus one and it’s got the potential to be a great night. Maybe walking into that room with someone by your side will make the whole concept a little more appealing, eh?”
My thoughts dart straight to Violet, and the idea of that beautiful woman on my arm for an entire night—showing her off, dancing with her, telling everyone she’s mine—really does change the way I think about things. It also gives me an idea, and suddenly dressing up and smiling for the cameras doesn’t sound like a bad idea after all.
twenty-seven
Chord
62 DAYS TILL HOCKEY SEASON
I knock on Violet’snot-quite-closed bedroom door right at seven p.m. When she doesn’t answer, I knock louder and hard enough for the door to swing open a little. She’s exactly where I knew she’d be: pretty in her purple silk lingerie and propped up against the pillows on her bed, chunky headphones over her ears, sketchbook on her knees, and all her attention on the lines of her pencil skating over the white page.
I watch her for several minutes. She’s so damn beautiful like this. The graceful slope of her neck. The braid of dark hair over one shoulder. The concentration creasing her brow, and the way she rolls her lips whenever her pencil isn’t moving. The unconscious sexiness of her wearing those vibrant, lacey panties and camis to bed.
I lean against the doorway and take a long breath in, then out. I’d stand here forever just to memorize the way she looks right now, but I’ve got dinner in my hand—and why should I only look when I can touch?
I clear my throat and step into the room, the sound and movement finally catching her attention. Violet’s eyes land on me and brighten instantly, and my body lights up in response. The way she looks at me… It’s different from how fans watch me when I play, or the way people stare when they recognize me in the street. It’s not the same as women ogling me in bars. It’s more real, and I want to be looked at like this.
Violet drags off her headphones and tosses them aside, removes her glasses, then sets her open sketchbook and pencil on the end of the bed. “Whatever that is, it smells amazing. And I’m starving.”
“Me too.” I pull the boxes out of the delivery bag and arrange them on the bed covers. “Dylan sent over two kinds of pasta. Three kinds of salad. Freshly baked bread and a bottle of Silver Leaf olive oil to go with it.”
Violet moans with hungry appreciation as she curls her legs underneath her and presses her hands together under her chin. “Your brother is a culinary genius. Everything that comes out of his kitchen is a masterpiece.”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” I reply, setting down the last container and then taking my usual spot next to Violet on the bed. I lift my shirt and smack my hard stomach. “Not sure my nutritionist would approve of all this indulgence. I’m pretty sure Dylan’s secret ingredient is butter.”
Violet’s gaze drops to my abs, and she doesn’t look away until I pull my shirt down to cover them. I smirk at the spots on her cheeks as she drags her eyes up to my face.
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
I wink. “Noted.”
Violet selects a dish and starts to eat, and like we’ve done every night this week, we trade boxes back and forth while we talk.
“How is your dad settling in?” I ask.
Violet smiles, and she’s so freaking pretty I have to blink to clear my head.
“He’s happy here. He doesn’t want to get in my way, and I appreciate that, but he’s been coming by the house for an hour every morning and again every afternoon so we can spend some time together.” She shakes her head in disbelief as she trades a salad for a bottle of water. “He was fifteen minutes late today, and it didn’t even bother him. I get the impression that Charlie is keeping him busy—in a good way—and he’s thriving with this new independence. I need to thank her.”
I need to thank her, too. She really stepped up when I asked her for this favor. Didn’t even make me beg. I explained the situation and alluded to Violet’s distress and Luke’s need for support, and she was immediately on board with finding him accommodation for as long as he needed it. I didn’t acknowledge Charlie’s miraculous discovery of an empty cabin, and neither did she, though she offered to find one for Violet, too, if she wanted one.
I shut that down real quick.
“I’m glad it’s working out,” I reply.
“It is.” Violet shifts to her hands and knees, leans over, and kisses me softly. “Thank you again.”
I lick my lips to capture the salt she left behind and sink into her grateful gaze. “You’re welcome again.”
