Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
“You will shower praise on your teammates,” she tells the men, her tone brooking no argument. “I expect to see the most flattering, effusive ass-kissing in your individual interviews. Not even a whiff of animosity. From this point forward, you all love and adore each other.”
She flips to the next page of the small stack she’s set on the dais. “Pacifying the boosters is our main objective right now. They’ve sent me a list of upcoming fundraising and publicity events. I’ll be enlisting many of you to participate, and in the case of the Briar alumni benefit in December, you’ll be responsible for organizing several elements, including the silent auction.”
She glances at her papers again, then lifts her head and searches the crowd.
“Gigi Graham and Luke Ryder?” she calls in question. “Can you raise your hands so I can see you?”
Uneasiness washes over me. At first I consider slouching in my seat and hiding, but Cami pokes me in the side, forcing me to raise my hand. In the row ahead of us, Ryder does the same. His reluctant body language reflects mine.
“If either of you have plans tonight, cancel them,” Christie Delmont says sternly. “There’s a charity gala in Boston organized by Leesa Wickler, whose family is one of our largest donors. You two will attend as representatives of Briar University and your respective hockey programs.”
“Date night,” I hear one of the dudes chortle.
I’m sorry, what? They can’t just force me to start attending galas against my will, can they?
And why are they sending Ryder, of all people? I can easily guess why they want me. As Ryder enjoys pointing out, my last name is Graham. That carries a lot of weight.
But why the hell are they recruiting the most antisocial asshole I know to represent Briar at an event that requires smiling and shaking hands?
I wait until we’re dismissed before pulling Coach Adley aside to get some answers. I observe Ryder doing the same with Jensen. From his unhappy expression, it looks like Jensen isn’t giving him any.
Adley admits he doesn’t know why Ryder was picked but confirms the reason for my selection.
“I know you hate this kind of stuff, but the boosters love your dad,” he says, sounding apologetic. “I’m sorry. I know you would’ve preferred to be left out of this.”
“All good,” I lie. “Happy to do my part.”
But I’m battling a mix of resentment and irritation as I leave the auditorium.
“G, you okay?”
I find Case in the hall, concern etched into his handsome face. He’s in sweatpants and a Briar hoodie, his blond hair rumpled as if he was running his hand through it while waiting for me.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“This Ryder thing is BS. Want me to talk to Jensen and see if he’ll send me instead?”
“No. It’s fine. Really,” I add when I note his skepticism. “I don’t want to make any waves.”
We fall into step together, heading down the hall toward the lobby.
“I don’t want you hanging around that guy,” Case grumbles.
Then I probably shouldn’t mention I was planning on seeing Ryder tonight regardless. We had plans to practice, before Jordan Trager decided it was more important to break poor Tim’s wrist. Now we’ll have to reschedule, thanks to stupid Trager.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him.
And you’re not my boyfriend anymore, I want to add. He doesn’t get a say any longer about who I spend time with.
We reach the lobby, where I bid him goodbye because my teammates are waiting for me by the doors.
“Gigi,” Case says before I can walk away. “Put me out of misery. Please.”
Unhappiness lodges in my throat. “I…can’t. We’re not together anymore, Case. I don’t want to be.”
He looks so frustrated and upset that it triggers a rush of guilt, but I force myself to ignore it and keep walking.
Later that night, I drive to Hastings to pick up Ryder for the booster gala. The email from the Briar PR lady stated the dress code as semiformal to black tie.
A.k.a. the kind of fashion extremes that give me anxiety.
Does that mean some women will be wearing dress pants and a nice blouse while others are in sequined cocktail gowns?
What kind of gala is this?
I split the difference when dressing and picked a little black dress to wear tonight. Hair down, minimal makeup save for a bold pop of red lipstick. I even made an effort to get a French tip manicure after the meeting today, which is essentially flushing money down the toilet because my fingers will only be banged up again when practice officially starts next week.
I climb the porch steps on my high heels and ring the doorbell, wondering what a one-hour drive to Boston with Ryder in my passenger seat will be like. The man barely speaks. And while I’m usually okay with comfortable silences among friends and family, I get antsy with awkward ones. I might have to throw on one of my meditation playlists. Try to zone him out.