Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (46)
A warm pressure on my hand pulls me from Marcus’s look to the quiet reassurance in Sage’s eyes. I feel the need to apologize again or to say something to fill the silence, but she beats me to it.
“We can sneak out the back. I’ll say I’m developing a fever.” She looks around cautiously, then whispers, “I’ll even pretend to faint by the door.”
Fuck, I want to kiss her.
“I’ll be fine. It just feels like everyone’s staring at me. Like they’re silently judging me for being the guy who’s going to get traded any day now.”
Sage shakes her head. “I’ve known hockey people a long time. Trust me, the hotshot executives are only thinking about themselves. If anything, they see you as a dollar sign, and they aren’t thinking about anything past that.”
“That’s comforting,” I say dryly.
“Yeah, well, that’s why you need to play for yourself. Not because you’re afraid of what they’re going to think, but because this is your dream, and you want to make it last.” Sage pats my hand. “Now, will you finally go back to being your talkative, extroverted self?”
I chuckle. “I talk to you more than to anyone else I know.”
“Jeez, your throat must be tired from carrying that heavy load, huh?” It doesn’t take much to realize she’s making jokes for my sake. I don’t feel it anymore, but my body language must still be tense because she doesn’t stop giving me those small squeezes to my hand.
Suddenly, she feels too far away. I like our little bubble. It’s the first time in two hours that I’m relaxed and not being held to some impossible standard. I grab the base of her chair and pull her close until her knees knock into mine.
“Was that supposed to be a dirty joke?”
She gasps. “I didn’t realize! I swear I’m on my best behavior tonight. Very conservative.”
“There is nothing conservative about the way you look in that dress right now.”
She fidgets nervously when she looks down at her outfit, her voice sounding slightly panicked. “Then give me your suit jacket or something, I’ll cover up.”
“Are you kidding?” I say. “If I could put you on a damn pedestal and show you off all night, I would.”
Her laugh is warm and bubbly, like champagne. “I’m sure I can find a pedestal somewhere.”
When I bring up her arm to kiss the inside of her wrist, she blushes, eyes shying away to focus on the people joining the dance floor with some sort of longing. This girl is a dancer at heart, and just hearing the slow beat of the music, I can tell she wants to be there.
I don’t dance, but she definitely does.
“Come on, they’re playing our song.”
“We don’t have a song.”
“We do now.”
With our hands already intertwined, we walk to the dance floor, listening to the smooth beat that transitions into a slow dance. As much as I’m trying to avoid the spotlight tonight, not letting this girl’s light shine would be a stupid thing for anyone to do, let alone her boyfriend.
“Fade Into You” by Mazzy Star plays on the speakers, and it does something to me when I watch the way Sage lets me guide her hands to my shoulders. She rests her head against my chest.
“You don’t seem like the dancing type.”
“I’m not. But you are,” I say, pressing a kiss in her hair that I don’t think she feels. Or I hope she doesn’t.
Because it’s fucking confusing when she looks at me with eyes that don’t seem like they’re faking anything. Or when she says things that feel so real, I want to believe them. But there’s a hard line that disappears in those feelings, which I need to uncover as a reminder to myself that this is all fake. It’s selfish of me to want her in the way that I do. Especially when a relationship is the last thing she wants.
Sage sways in my arms, and I feel myself wanting to somehow hold her closer. Everything about her feels like it’s mine. Mine to hold, mine to touch, and mine to admire.
I’m so fucked.
When she pulls back, she catches my gaze, and whatever she sees makes the long column of her throat twitch. “You shouldn’t look at me like that, you know,” Sage says.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m yours to look at.”
“What if I want to?”
She pauses. “Then you can do a lot more than just look, Westbrook.”
My throat grows dry. I’m lost in her vanilla scent and the feel of her silky dress under my palm when someone taps my shoulder. I can hear his voice before he even speaks.
Mason clears his throat. “This is sweet, but you need to do your rounds.”
Sage pulls away from me first when she hears my agent’s voice. “Rounds?”
“There are cameras outside that Eli conveniently snuck past when you two arrived.” He shoots me a scathing look. “Sage, will you please escort your boyfriend to the carpet for some pictures? It’s great press for both of you.”
Sage extends her hand to mine, and I slip it into hers without a second thought. I’m beginning to think I could do anything if she’s beside me.
At the front entrance, cameras flash when we stand where Mason directs us on the short carpet. It’s no surprise because these parties have gotten bigger through the years. Our captain and a few other players have been dating famous singers for a while, so our team garners a lot of media attention.