Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Trust me, we don't get near as much publicity as you guys do,” I finally finish, forcing myself to look at Lawson and stop scanning the crowd for one face in particular.
There's no way in hell Brian is missing this event, if not to try to convince me to skate with him for the reality TV show auditions in a few months, then certainly to try to network his way into one.
But tonight isn’t about him, despite Lawson sitting dutifully at my left side, smiling and winking at people who recognized him. Looking charming as hell sitting with his arm draped over the back of my seat as more people make their way into their room.
Tonight is about the craft and the wonderful world of figure skating and all its possibilities. And just because it wasn't my chosen path doesn't mean I couldn't seriously hype up those who did choose to pursue it. And I’m truly rooting for those who are in search of a connection, making that invaluable network acquaintance that will help propel them either into the professional competition market or beyond.
“Does that kind of thing bother you?” Lawson asks as the servers start providing the main course. “Paparazzi?”
“Not really,” I say. “I'm not a fan of all the assumptions they jump to, but I'm not going to hide away on the off chance that they might take a picture of me and construe it wrong to the public.”
I don't mention that in order to avoid press in connection to my dad, I’ve always used my middle name as my last, ensuring the connection isn’t made so stories aren’t spread about my prestige in the skating community being solely because of my father’s NHL connections. Dad definitely should get the credit for my skating skills, since he fostered them in me since I was a kid, but it’s a messy business I’d been lucky to avoid my entire college career.
Guilt stings me, and I take a deep breath. I don't owe that truth to Lawson yet, especially when it's not that serious between us. We’re working our way up toward a real friendship, but he’s certainly earned my respect for trading one service for another. My lessons for his role in trying to get Brian to back off.
“That's good,” he says. “They've been following me around a lot ever since I was drafted, and I didn't want us to be out, and it make you uncomfortable. Do you need another drink?” he asks, looking at my empty champagne flute.
It takes me a few seconds to shake off my shock at how considerate and doting he's behaving, but then I chide myself. He may be cocky, but he's always been perceptive to my needs, even as a stranger approaching me with the sole goal of saving me. The two dominant personality traits for Lawson are definitely combating each other, or they're creating this perfect combo that I can't help but be drawn to.
“No, thank you,” I say, taking a sip of my water in between bites of my steak. “I'll be speaking soon and I'm a lightweight. If I have two glasses of champagne and get up on that stage, there's no telling what will happen.”
Lawson shifts his body toward me, his smile downright wolfish. “Oh, I would love to know what would happen,” he says after taking a few bites off his plate. “Would you start belting out something like classic rock? Or would you talk about how all of the bumbling Badger hockey players are driving you nuts?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Singing would probably be the one I'd do, and I'd be very bad at it.”
“What's your go-to karaoke song?”
“Didn't you hear the very bad at it part?”
“That's the whole point of karaoke,” he says. “You wanna know mine?”
I nod. I really did want to know. The idea of Lawson on a stage singing anything is suddenly the most intriguing idea.
“Bad Blood, by the T Swift herself,” he says, and I laugh so hard I nearly spit out my water. He joins in, smoothing his hand over my bare back in a reassuring way. I flash apologetic looks to our fellow guests at the table, but they wave me off, too invested in their own dinners and conversations to care.
“You're always so full of surprises,” I say.
“It's a good quality to have,” he says. “Naturally, I possess it. So, what would yours be?”
“If for some reason I ever got drunk enough to be brave enough to go up on stage to sing, I wouldn't mind belting out Bad Blood. It's one of my favorites, though with her songs it's hard to choose just one.”
Lawson flashes me an irresistible grin, taking a sip of his champagne before winking at me. “Good to know,” he says. “I can't wait to see you in action.”