Page 50 of The Game We Played

I manage to keep my jaw from falling to the floor as he escorts me into the limo. The vehicle is nearly as long as a city block.

“What happens at the gala anyway?” I ask once we’re situated in the limo and moving through traffic.

“We’ll have dinner. There are some speeches. Afterwards, there’ll be a band and some dancing.”

My stomach rumbles in response. “Good. I’m starving. I didn’t have a chance to eat lunch with all the plucking and trimming and teasing of my hair.”

He cringes. “The food in these things is never good.”

“Never good? Don’t you pay ten thousand dollars a plate?”

“Try fifty thousand.”

My eyebrows – what’s left of them – fly up. “Fifty thousand and the food isn’t good?”

“Correction. The food is good. But it’s not very much.”

I groan. “My stomach hates me.”

“Don’t worry.” He winks. “I’ll feed you.”

I roll my eyes at the corny innuendo. “And the gala is a fundraiser?”

It’s part of Belinda’s plan to save Tanner’s reputation.

“Yep. It’s a fundraiser for chronic traumatic encephalopathy. It’s a—”

“Degenerative disease linked to dementia and possibly caused by suffering multiple concussions.”

He grins. “I’m impressed.”

There’s no reason to be impressed. “I’m a journalist. When I found out theSteel City Sealswere coming to Smuggler’s Hideaway for training camp, I researched every possible interesting topic I could think of related to football.”

“You did? Why?”

My cheeks darken, and I glance away. “Trying to find a story.”

He grasps my chin and forces me to meet his gaze. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed.”

I gaze into those green eyes I’m obsessed with and my big mouth opens and I vomit the truth. “Of course, I’m embarrassed. You’re three years younger than me, and you’re at the height of your career. My career has barely begun.”

And it will crash and burn if I can’t save theGazette.But I don’t tell him how the newspaper is struggling. He wouldn’t care anyway.

“I’m an athlete. I have a limited shelf-life. You have decades to grow your career.”

“If I ever manage to get my career off the ground. I’m about done with writingThe Siren’s Spilland ‘reporting’ on crabs loose on the island.”

“You have to admit. Crab day was hilarious.”

I try to keep a straight face, but my lips quiver.

“You agree it was hilarious.”

“Fine,” I huff. “Tourists scrambling onto tables as if crabs were some sea monster come ashore to terrorize them was pretty funny.”

“I’ve never seen a grown man try to climb an electricity pole before.”

I lift an eyebrow. “You haven’t?”