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“Shit,” she mumbles. “It’s a jungle out there.”
I chuckle, relieved to hear her voice, soft and normal. Tired, but normal.
“There tends to be a crowd of women when Hudson is out. They don’t want me, but we could be collateral damage.”
“I’ll probably regret this, but I think we should just rip off the Band-Aid,” she says.
“It’s been a night of Band-Aid ripping,” I say. “Are you sure?”
“Can one ever be sure about these things?” A lopsided smile spreads across her face.
I grab her hand and pull her up, heading the way we came from, past the VIP section, until we are in the back hallway.
“Where—” she says, but I push open the back door, and she’s instantly quiet.
The cool October air hits me in the face as I lead her outside.The chill in the air is a bit more than I was prepared for.
“Hopefully, none of your fans realize you’ve gone out this door.”
“As I said, I don’t have those types of overzealous fans.”
“Only Hudson gets panties thrown at him.” She laughs.
“Pretty much,” I whisper, not wanting to tip off anyone lurking in the back alley.Since I don’t go out, no one bothers with me, but now that I’m out, all bets are off.
I doubt they could see in through the front window, which I’m 90% sure was reflective glass, but you never can tell.They were more likely getting intel from someone inside that all the guys were here today.
This is the biggest problem with making the playoffs. Typically, life is low-key.
But once the playoffs start, and there’s a shot at the Cup, all bets are off for any level of normalcy.
“The car is right around that corner. We’ll have to be quick, but we can do it.” I hold her gaze, trying to ensure she’s on board.
“Let’s do it,” she says.
We aren’t even a step around the damn corner before the painstakingly familiar sound of a camera firing and snapping away greets us.
It takes a mere second before a flash of light blinds us.
Someone from inside definitely tipped this guy off that we were here and that we were leaving.
Why does he have such a hard-on for me?
There are plenty of better stories out there. There’s enough dirt on Hudson to fill a whole book, so why isn’t he bothering him? That shit would put him on the national news.
I tighten my grip on her hand, and I don’t miss the way she shakes. It could be from the cold, but I doubt it.
This shit sucks.
Hopefully, my touch will help ground Cassidy in her first real experience with these dirtbags.
Questions are shouted from all directions. There are so many here, I can’t even figure out who’s asking what.
“Come on, Aiden? Give me something,” the asshole reporter’s voice yells out. “The girlfriend? What’s your name, sweetheart? Why have you been keeping her a secret?”
I try to remain calm, but as my vision adjusts, and I search for a route to the car, my anger fuels.
Next to me, Cassidy stands tall, chin up despite the fact she’s being assaulted with questions.
