“Thanks, Dominik,” I say, holding my hand out. He takes it in a side clasp, leans in, and gives me a bro hug.
“Got to look out for my guys,” he says with a laugh, clapping my back hard. “Happy hockey players are champion hockey players.”
“Agreed,” I reply with a grin.
It’s funny how I thought I was happy before I met Clarke, but now that she’s in my life, I see how lacking it used to be. If I can just get this one thing taken care of—the need to eliminate this burning anger in my gut for what that asshole did to her—then I think it will be the fucking icing on my damn happy cake.
“Are you going to come out to The Sneaky Saguaro tonight?” I ask as we start to walk down the hall together. The exit is back toward Baden’s room.
It’s one of our rookies, Guy Demere’s, turn with the Cup tonight and he has a huge party planned to share his time with all the fans. He chose to have it at The Sneaky Saguaro, which has become the team’s official hangout.
“Yeah,” Dominik says with a nod. “For a little bit, anyway. I don’t want to rain on his parade, despite everything going on here.”
As a team, we had thought long and hard about if we should continue going forward with the Cup celebrations that had already been planned out, given the horrific nature of what happened to Baden. It was his father who eventually told us the team had to continue since our victory had been hard-earned. Moreover, he was convinced Baden would want the team to continue the celebrations.
“Clarke and I will see you tonight then,” I say. “Although we probably won’t stay long.”
“Same with Willow and me,” Dominik replies. “I’m finding my partying days just aren’t as fun as they used to be.”
“Word,” I agree, giving him a slight punch to the shoulder as we reach Baden’s room. I’d much rather stay in with Clarke tonight, but, on the other hand, winning the Cup is a huge freaking deal. It’s worth the continual celebrations from the most seasoned player down to the babiest of rookies. Maybe even more so for the rookies.
CHAPTER 24
Clarke
Even though the atmosphere is incredibly overwhelming, I’m having fun.
For the most part.
I mean, this is my first true taste of Aaron’s fame within the hockey world. My first true taste of how devout the Vengeance fan base is.
The Sneaky Saguaro is packed almost shoulder to shoulder, and the vibe is electric. One of the younger players, Guy Demere—whom I’d met at Brooke and Bishop’s wedding but had no other conversation with—is the host of this celebratory party. The Cup is set up on the top floor, cordoned off with velvet ropes and bodyguards. Fans, however, have the opportunity to take pictures with it if they’re willing to stand in a very long line.
The rest of the players have reserved tables, and we’re sort of congregated in an area together. But the fans are free to mix and mingle, so Aaron has been busy with pictures and autographs.
It’s what I expected, but I can’t say I’m loving having a front-row seat to the female attention focused on Aaron. Sure, I know it’s there. I know it will always be there. But Aaron handles everything with grace and ease. If someone gets too handsy, he shuts it down. In all honesty, though, most of the fans are incredibly respectful and are merely excited by his hockey prowess, not looking to get in his pants.
But I know those types are out there, too, which might be why I watch him a little too carefully. Still feeling that doubt within myself, saying how could I be enough for Aaron when he could have any woman he could ever desire.
He desires you, dipshit, I tell myself.
“Penny for your thoughts,” a deep voice from my left says. I turn to see Tacker. He’d come alone tonight since Nora’s apparently fighting a bad migraine.
I blush deeply, feeling guilt creep up my neck on the off-chance Tacker could actually read my thoughts on my face as I watched Aaron posing for pictures with a group of fans.
“Just wondering how you deal with all this adoration,” I quip with a shrug. “Must be exhausting.”
Tacker barks out a laugh, placing his forearms on the tall table I’m standing at. Hunkering in a bit closer, because it’s quite loud in here, he admits, “To be honest, I hate this shit.”
I jerk, whipping my head his way. “You’re kidding?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t play hockey for this,” he replies, sweeping his arm out to indicate the fan fervor. “Well… maybe back in my younger days. I mean, look at Guy over there. See how much fun he’s having? This is great for the younger guys.”
I glance over at Guy, who is being completely fawned over by a bevy of beautiful women. Aaron had been in that same position many times, I’m sure, and he’d loved it. Why wouldn’t he?
“I hope you’re not worried about Aaron,” Tacker says in a low voice, and my eyes snap back to him. Once again, I flush because the man had to have been reading my thoughts.
“Of course not,” I exclaim quickly. Loudly. Almost hysterically.
Chuckling, Tacker puts an arm around me. He gives me a brotherly squeeze, then lets me go. Leaning in a bit closer, he reminds me. “I’m Aaron’s best friend. The guy is insanely nuts about you, Clarke. I’ve never seen him like this.”
We both slide our gazes over to him. He has an easy smile on his face as he signs autographs.
“Trust me,” Tacker continues as we stare at the man we both clearly care a great deal about. “That man would rather be with you, somewhere alone and quiet, than here right now. But sometimes, we have a duty to our fans that has to be played out.”
“I know,” I murmur with a sigh. “And I would never hold him back from that.”
Tacker nods, accepting my word.
“It’s just…” I say, causing his head to turn as he gives me his full attention. “It’s still hard to believe sometimes.”
“That he’s insanely nuts about you?” he inquires.
“That…” I admit with a slight bit of shame that I don’t have more confidence. “But all of this, really. It’s a bit overwhelming. I never thought I’d be in the middle of such… such…”
“Awesomeness?” he asks with a sly grin.
“I was going to say ‘spectacle,’ but sure… awesomeness.”
We both laugh, and Tacker picks up his beer. He tips it back, draining the last few ounces. When he sets it back down, he nods. “I’m going to head out. I’ve got a lady with a sore head who needs my attention. But I’d love for you and Aaron to come out to the ranch and hang with us soon, okay?”
“I’d love that,” I reply with a smile.
Tacker leans down and hugs me, whispering, “I’m glad Aaron found you.”
“Me too,” I assure him.
♦
Forty minutes after Tacker leaves, I’m sour again. I suppose it might have to do with more alcohol being imbibed, which apparently makes people bolder.
More assholish.
Aaron does his best to stick by my side when he can, but he’s constantly called away by other teammates and fans wanting him to pose for pictures or reminisce over miraculous plays. And, God love him, he’s in his element. He’s an outgoing and gregarious guy. He may not thrive on the attention, but he is certainly more than comfortable with it.
I fend off drunk men who try to hit on me while Aaron has more than his share of women coming on to him. The only thing that makes it all better is the brief moments of attention he can spare for me, and the way in which he dotes for those few seconds. It might be sweet words or maybe a soft kiss. Regardless, he makes it clear I’m with him and vice versa.
The shame of it is, as the evening progresses, the women seem to care less and less the drunker they get.
Puck bunnies are what I’d heard them called. I think the name is ridiculous.
What’s even more ridiculous is how many are super-model gorgeous, tall, and big breasted with very little clothing on. When Aaron poses for pictures, they practically drape themselves over him like fucking curta
ins.
What’s even worse is I get stared at a lot. I’m sure it’s just because I’m with Aaron and he’s such a star for the team, but it makes me uncomfortable. And maybe I’m being paranoid, but I swear it, too, gets worse as the evening goes on. I even catch people whispering while they stare. Clearly talking about me. I hate every bit of this.
I check my watch for about the hundredth time, not sure what arbitrary number I’m looking for. It’s barely eleven o’clock, and the party here at The Sneaky Saguaro is still raging.
Aaron left my line of vision to head to the bathroom, assuring me with a kiss that was way more than a brief peck—it had left me seeing stars—that he’d be right back. The other couples we’d hung with in St. John—the women who took me into their group—they’ve all left and gone home. It’s what I want to do as well, and I resolve to ask Aaron if we can leave when he comes back.
I see the top of his head before I can see the rest of him. He winds his way back through the crowd toward me. Some people try to stop him, but he makes quick apologies and sidesteps them. Finally catching my gaze, he mouths a question as he walks toward me. “Ready to go?”
I beam a smile back, nodding my head so vigorously I’m surprised I don’t give myself whiplash.
Aaron returns my grin, and for a moment, we’re tightly connected.
And then… his face is blocked, because a tall, beautiful woman with sunny-yellow hair and curves for days in a strapless dress that barely covers her ass steps in front of him. She’s wearing platform sandals and her breasts are so big they’re practically popping out of the front of her dress.
Her hands go to his chest as she leans in to whisper something in Aaron’s ear. My blood pressure spikes, and I feel my ears get hot with anger and shame that this is happening right in front of me.
To Aaron’s credit, he shakes his head and tries to step around her.
She moves to cut him off, elegantly holding up a small piece of paper between her first and middle fingers. Boldly, she reaches down and tucks it into his front pocket, whispering something else to him.
I’m so pissed I see red, knowing without a doubt she just tucked her name and number in my boyfriend’s pocket.
She just fucking touched him intimately to do it, too.
Aaron’s face clouds with anger. Quickly, he moves around her, immediately searching me out. He knows I saw every bit of it.
All I can do is offer him a disappointed look.
Not disappointed in him. Just disappointed that we have to put up with crap like this.
Aaron strides past the woman, not sparing her a glance as he approaches me.
“Can we go?” I ask tiredly. “Or if you want to stay, I can Uber it home.”
“Of course, we’re going,” he replies, taking my purse and sliding it on my shoulder. He grabs my hand, then starts leading me down the staircase toward the exit.
People try to stop him, but he blows them off, shoulder turned slightly to push his way through the crowd while pulling me along behind him.
When we get out in the parking lot, Aaron cuts left toward his truck. He offers me an apology. “I’m sorry that happened.”
“I can never compete with that,” I mutter.
Aaron stops dead in his tracks, then whips around on me. “Why would you think you’d need to?”
I shrug, staring hard at the asphalt parking lot. I’m being lame. I know it.
Aaron’s palms are on my face and he forces my gaze up to him. “I don’t want that, Clarke.”
Staring mutely, I don’t say anything.
He tries to shock me. “I’ve had that. Plenty of it.”
I grimace, my gaze cutting off to the side.
“Goddamn it, Clarke,” he growls. “I want you. I’m with you. What the fuck else do I need to do to make you understand that?”
Sighing, I give him a sheepish smile. “I know. This is just new for me. I’ll acclimate.”
He considers me for a long moment, his eyes boring into mine. I wait for him to say something funny to put me at ease, so we can laugh at my stupidity.
Instead, he just mutters, “I hope so. Because this is my life, and I can’t change it.”
Then he’s tugging me along toward his truck. Opening the door for me as he always does, he helps me climb up into it. When he shuts the door without a word, it stings.
I do believe we’ve had our first argument. I find I hate it more than I hate watching women fawn all over him.
Resolving to apologize, I get sidetracked when my phone starts ringing.
Veronica’s ringtone.
Nabbing my phone as Aaron climbs into the driver’s side, I answer before he shuts the door. I can use the diversion for a minute.
“Hey, Veronica,” I say purposely, so Aaron knows who’s on the phone. He doesn’t even glance my way, just starts the engine and reverses out of the spot we’re in.
“Hey,” she says softly, and I tense at the hesitancy in her voice. She sounds like she’s dreading talking to me, which makes no sense seeing as she’s my best friend.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, which gets Aaron’s attention. He shoots me a quick look, but I stare out the windshield, feeling trepidation creep up my spine.
“Um… there’s something you need to know,” she continues gently. “I know you’re not on social media…”
When her words trail off, nausea starts to bubble in my gut. Damn right I’m not on social media. I can’t stand that shit. Not after I became a viral meme for everyone’s sick amusement.
“Tell me,” I order. Somehow, I know I must have become a viral story again.
“Um…”
“Just tell me,” I yell. Aaron whips his startled gaze my way again as he stomps on the brakes. He jerks the truck into a parking lot, bringing it to a quick stop, but I ignore him.
I clutch hard at the phone as Veronica starts to talk. “Apparently, Aaron posted a picture of you two on Instagram last week. It’s a really great picture, actually… looks like a selfie from when you were on the beach.”
I remember that. It’s the only photo we’d ever taken together selfie-style, and I’d asked him to text it to me. I look at it often because we’re both having so much fun and were deliriously happy that day.
“His post outted you as his girlfriend. Very sweet. And it mentioned your bookstore and the signing.”
I slowly swivel Aaron’s way. He has parked the truck, and he’s watching me worriedly. He has no clue what Veronica is telling me, but he knows I’m starting to get upset.
No wonder so many people came to the bookstore that day, but that doesn’t sound so awful.
“But that’s not the bad part,” Veronica says, and I pinch the bridge of my nose as I feel a massive headache starting.
“What is it?” I mutter, now resigned to the fact I’m going to be in the limelight in a not-so-flattering way again.
“There’s a new meme trending on Instagram and Twitter,” she says, her sorrow she has to tell me about it clear in her voice. “I’ll text it to you. Frankly, it’s not that bad, so I don’t want you to get upset.”
“Text it to me,” I order through gritted teeth before hanging up on my best friend.
“What’s wrong?” Aaron asks cautiously.
I ignore him, immediately moving to my phone’s text icon. A small chime emits, indicating Veronica has sent me the meme.
Swallowing the hard lump in my throat, I tap on the image. Immediately, tears prick at my eyes as I take it in.
It’s a split-frame meme. On the left is the picture from the original meme, the still shot of me when Tripp cut me from the show and I have that God-awful look on my face. Next to it is the picture of Aaron and me with big smiles on our faces. Next to the horrid picture of me, there’s no doubt we project a level of intimacy.
The caption says, “Hey, Tripp… I’ve clearly learned a thing or two since our time together.”
Blinking back the tears, I subconsciously rub at the burning sen
sation in my chest. I recognize the sting of shame well.
There’s a part of me that can see why Veronica said it’s not all that bad. I mean, I’m all happy and fulfilled next to a gorgeous hockey star who puts Tripp to shame.
But the underlying message is painfully humiliating. The caption stating I’d learned a thing or two does nothing but validate the horrible statement I was an awful virginal lay, which went worldwide.
Deep down, I know none of it is true. I realize it shouldn’t affect me. I should recognize the good in my life, and I should let this shit go.
But I can’t.
I hold my phone out for Aaron to see, then I erupt and let him have it. “Are you happy now? Your social media post has turned me into another meme for people to laugh at.”
It’s dim in the truck, but I can see Aaron’s eyebrows shoot up as he leans toward the phone to see it. Grimacing, he mutters, “Goddamn it. Fuck.”
Jerking the phone back my way, I study it again. A hysterical laugh bubbles out of me, but I snap it off as I stare at the meme. The deluge of emotions hitting me all at once is the most awful thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. A million times worse than the original meme, because I really didn’t have an emotional investment in Tripp.
Not the way I have with Aaron.
It makes the betrayal hurt so much my chest feels like it’s going to cave in on itself.
“I’m so sorry, babe,” Aaron says, reaching a hand out.
I shrink away from him, tucking my phone against my chest and folding my arms around it. “Can you please take me home?” I ask, my voice cracking from the threat of the full-blown sobs aching to pour out of me.
“Clarke,” he murmurs, and the pity in his voice is too much to bear.
“Please,” I beg, turning my wrecked face his way. I know the tears that are starting to leak from my eyes will do more for my cause than any words. “Please just take me home.”
Misery etches all over his face for the pain he’s caused. He merely nods, then puts the truck in gear.
I lean against the passenger door, my head against the glass as he drives me home. The silence is comforting.
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