Page 27 of Offside Secrets
He meets my eyes, and for a moment, the rest of the world—the car, the gala, the flashing bulbs—falls away. I catch the way his jaw moves when he smiles, the tilt of his head, the quiet confidence in his gaze. And somehow, it feels…like he’s seeing intome, not just the exterior of who I am, this version of me, “professional” Sutton.
“Looks like we are,” he says softly, and for half a heartbeat, it’s only us. No plan, no rules, no cameras—just a glance that lingers too long, and a warmth that seeps under my skin. My chest tightens, and I have to do something, anything, to break the moment before it gets any harder to breathe.
“You look really great,” I bark-blurt before I can stop myself.
His grin widens, laughter dancing behind his eyes. “That sounded suspiciously like a compliment.”
“Well…” I shift in my seat, heat creeping up my neck. “I meant…you look…professional.”
“Professional?” He tilts his head, feigning offense. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
“What do you want me to say? That you look nice in a suit? That you’re handsome?”
His grin turns wicked. “Do you think I look handsome?”
I groan, covering my face with my hand. “This is going to be a long night.”
“Relax,” he says, voice warm with amusement. “I told you, I’ve got your back. Anyone gives you grief, I’ll just smile at them. Works every time.”
“Because of your face?” I deadpan, lowering my hand.
“Exactly.” He flashes the full grin, the one that could melt glaciers.
I roll my eyes, but a reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here I am,” he says lightly, leaning back in his seat like he’s entirely too pleased with himself.
And me? I’m staring out the window, chanting,Tonight’s about the team, tonight’s about the Renegades,while secretly wondering if I might actually enjoy this night far more than I should.
CHAPTER 11
CAMPBELL
The red carpet hits like a tidal wave, all flashes and cameras, reporters shouting names I barely register. Sutton glides ahead like she owns the place—which, honestly, she does. The woman could probably walk into Buckingham Palace and the guards would step aside like she was expected.
I trail a step behind, letting her take the lead. It’s her night, her territory, and I’m just the guy in the sharp suit who can smile on cue and not trip over a microphone cord.
I’m used to lights, cameras, public eyes. Hockey gave me that armor—sweaty pads, rowdy arenas, questions lobbed after practice like pucks. But Sutton? She doesn’t need armor. Sheisthe armor. She works the crowd like a pro, smiling at every camera like she’s doing them a favor by existing in their frame.
And I can’t help it. I admire her. The curve of her shoulders, the way she carries herself, the unflappable confidence that makes billionaires nod and rookies sit up straighter in their chairs. She radiates “I’ve got this,” and somehow makes me believe it, too.
A photographer calls her name, then mine, and as wepause, Sutton leans closer, whispering through her smile, “Keep smiling. You look like you’re bracing for a body check.”
“Depends,” I murmur back, still holding my grin for the cameras. “Are these reporters tougher than the Bruins’ defense?”
Her lips twitch, just shy of a laugh, and God help me, it feels like I’ve won the Stanley Cup.
We move again, weaving between questions, Sutton’s hand grazing my arm now and then like she doesn’t even notice what it does to me. I shake hands, nod at familiar names, make the right noises about the team, all the while tracking her out of the corner of my eye like a puck I don’t dare lose sight of.
She’s waiting for me at the end of the carpet, beaming like this is exactly where she’s meant to be. For a second, the chaos fades and it’s just her, just me, and a hundred flashbulbs going off like fireworks to mark the moment.
I step up, offering my arm, crooking it at the elbow in an old-fashioned move that feels reckless and right all at once. She slips her hand through without hesitation, her warmth pressing into my side as we walk into the Barrington Estate together. And suddenly, it doesn’t feel like I’m the guy in the sharp suit trailing behind—it feels like I belong right next to her.
The noise of the crowd swells around us, a chaotic symphony of laughter and chatter. Sutton’s laughter cuts through the din, bright and infectious, as someone stops her to chat for a moment. When they excuse themselves, she turns to me, her eyes sparkling like the chandelier above us.
“Okay, Campbell, I need you to work your magic tonight,” she says, her tone playful yet serious. “I’ll be mingling up front, but I need you to float around here and charm the folks in the back. Can you handle that?”
I nod, a grin breaking across my face. “You mean, I should just be my usual charming self?”
