The Best Kind of Forever (Riverside Reapers)

AERIS

The team has a sponsorship party today, and Hayes asked me if I would join him. I’m not really one for huge social events, but I wanted to be there to support him.

The restaurant that the guys rented for the night is stunning. The whole hockey team is here, along with a hundred odd faces I don’t recognize.

I’ve gone for a little black dress with strappy heels. Simple, and dare I say, sophisticated. This is Hayes’ and my first public outing as a couple, so when we showed up to the venue, all eyes were on us, and there were cameras blinding my retinas everywhere we turned. I’ve seen the fan cams, the speculative posts, even the strongly worded opinions of some exceptionally bitter people. I’m just glad that the majority of the fans seem to be accepting of our relationship.

It was daunting at first, but when we got into the meat of things…it was still daunting as hell. I never realized how big of a deal Hayes was. People haven’t stopped showering him with praise, and I’m thankful they barely acknowledged me because I haven’t been media trained like the team has. I just know I would’ve said something embarrassing.

Lila also accompanied me tonight, mostly because I begged her to be my getaway from all things hockey, and also because she’s apparently been talking to someone on the team. She still refuses to tell me who, claiming that “it’ll jinx things” if she reveals his identity. I have a feeling I won’t know until they’re either breaking up or getting married.

The place looks incredible. Round tables are embellished in white cloth, with little centerpieces of jasmine-scented candles and homemade bouquets of wildflowers, lilacs, and green sprigs. The lighting is only slightly dark, with the majority of illumination coming from the blue-orange flames burning at the wicks. There’s a whole buffet table spread with enough food to feed a small village—fruit platters, a chocolate fountain, and dishes of overflowing entrées. There’s also a tower of champagne glasses calling my name.

I don’t know why I feel so nervous. I’ve never been to a party as fancy as this before. As guests start to mill about, I take in their thousand-dollar dresses and equally expensive jewelry. I also take a flute of champagne and swallow it down in one drink. A precaution to calm my nerves, hopefully.

A little kid with sticky hands and messy hair bounds over to us, tugging on Hayes’s suit jacket.

“Mister Hayes, can I pwease get your autogwaph?” he asks, holding out a folded napkin and a ballpoint pen.

“Of course, Little Man.” Hayes crouches down so he’s eye level with the kid, taking the napkin and scribbling his signature over it.

“What’s your name?”

“Grayson!”

“That’s a sick name. You a big fan of hockey, Grayson?”

The boy nods like a bobblehead. “The biggest!”

“We need more fans like you. You’re what keeps the team going,” he says, drawing a smiley face next to his name. “Are you going to be at the upcoming game?”

“Yeah, me and my daddy!” The boy points to a man in a powder-blue suit with a proud smile on his face.

Hayes ruffles the kid’s hair. “Make sure to come find me so I can give you a puck.”

The child bounces up and down excitedly, clutching the napkin to his chest. “Thank woo!” he squeals.

His father comes over to us, a megawatt grin cutting across timeworn features, streaks of silver dappling his hair, and crow’s feet bordering his eyes. He pats his boy’s head in an effort to calm his giddiness. Grubby hands fist the dog-eared napkin, reaching up in a silent plea for his dad to stow it away in the safe pocket of his suit.

“Hayes, big fan.” The man sticks his hand out, and Hayes shakes it firmly.

“Thank you,” Hayes replies. “You have quite the enthusiastic little rascal here.”

“Oh, don’t I know it. All he’s been talking about for the past year is wanting to play youth hockey.”

Watching Hayes work so well with kids makes my heart glug along like an old-timey oil machine. He’ll be an incredible father one day. I’m not a big fan of kids, okay? But after witnessing this interaction, their gremlin meter has decreased just a little.

“Youth hockey is a great idea. If Little Man is serious about it, it’s a great way to introduce him to the sport. I played when I was eight, and it kickstarted my love for hockey.”

The young boy looks up at his father, enthusiasm gleaning in wide eyes. “Pwease, Daddy. Can I pway?”

“We’ll have to see what’s available in Oregon, Squirt,” he says, pressing his son close to his leg.

“You’re from Oregon?” Hayes asks, curiosity needling the tight line of his brow.

“Yep. Born and raised. We drove down here yesterday.”

“Just for this party?”

“We’re big fans of the Reapers. And once we got an invite, we couldn’t pass up the opportunity. It’s a lot different than watching from behind glass.”

Scarlet melts into Hayes’ cheeks, a barely-there blush in the low light of the candles, and he squats down to his haunches again. “Well, I’m glad I got to meet you, Grayson.”

Grayson—who I’m assuming has come down from his adrenaline high—now turtles in on himself and shies behind his father’s body.

“Looks like someone could use a nap,” the man chuckles, smoothing down his son’s rogue locks, ones that have been slicked into spikes from sweaty, chocolate-stained palms.

Hayes’ hand shoots out. “Well, it was nice meeting you…”

“Joshua,” he finishes, shaking Hayes’ hand with vigor.

I watch as the two exchange pleasantries before Joshua shepherds Grayson toward the exit, the two bobbing like buoys amongst a sea of partygoers before being swept away.

“I didn’t know you were so good with children.”

Hayes gifts me a knee-weakening grin. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Is that so?” I volley.

“Oh, yeah. I’m like one of those Tootsie Pops you have to lick to get to the center of.”

“So you’re saying that I’ll eventually get to your ooey-gooey center if I keep licking enough?”

“In the right places,” he drawls, cupping my face in his hands and planting a soft, slow kiss to my lips. He licks the silk of my mouth, tasting the acrid citrus on my tongue from the champagne, and my arms come up to braid around his neck.

When we pull away, my eyes fly open in surprise. “What was that for?”

“I can’t give my beautiful girlfriend a kiss?” he teases as he thumbs the fabric of my dress. “Also, this dress is my new favorite. I’m going to need you to wear this from here on out. For every occasion.”

“Every occasion, huh?”

“Every occasion,” he repeats, making hot coals burn in the bed of my sternum. “Though I’m pretty sure you could turn me on even dressed in a potato sack.”

I swear Hayes must’ve been blessed with endless charisma because every time he compliments me, my ovaries all simultaneously explode. I need them intact and uninfluenced, okay? We don’t need a miniature Hayes running around and wreaking havoc.

After making a few rounds, I need a break from the small talk and civil handshakes. It feels like my mouth’s permanently stuck from all the smiling I’ve done. I definitely won’t remember any of these people in the morning.

“I have no idea how you do this all day,” I grumble, exhaustion beginning to steamroll through me as I rub my temples.

“It’s definitely not the most exciting part of the job,” he laughs, the cadence like unfiltered magic in my ears. “We mostly come for the food.”

“I could go for some food,” I say.

I need to busy my mouth, preferably with eating rather than talking. Even after having some time to adjust, my heart hasn’t stopped racing from the nerves. I don’t think my body’s fully differentiated between an actual threat and an anxiety-inducing party—which I’ve experienced plenty of thanks to my impressionable college years.

“Good, because I’m starving.” Hayes hooks his arm through mine and leads me over to the buffet table.

What I thought was going to be a quick stop actually turns into a thirty-minute stop. Hayes makes himself a plate of food ranging from crab cakes to pull-apart meatball sliders to miniature spinach quiches. He’s like a walking garbage disposal.

“Thank you for coming, Aeris. It really means a lot,” he mumbles through the flaky exterior of a quiche.

“Of course. I’ve been having a great time.”

He calls my bluff. “Oh, really? You didn’t strike me as a fan of black-tie events.”

An indignant noise huffs out of me as I pick up a brownie bite. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I love listening to old guys boast about their cryptocurrency and all the MILFs they’ve been fucking.”

Hayes swallows a slider in one bite, brushing some crumbs from his mouth. “Jesus, that’s something I definitely didn’t need to know.”

“Yeah, imagine hearing the gritty details.”

“I thought you liked dirty talk.”

“Yeah, if the talk isn’t coming from someone who’s a Life Alert away from going to the afterlife.”

“Are you saying you won’t be attracted to me when I’m older?”

I cut him a curious glance. “You might age like spoiled milk. I have no idea.”

He mock-gasps, clutching his imaginary pearls. “Hey, my hair isn’t going to recede until I’m at least eighty.”

“Eighty is being generous. And who knows, maybe you’ll even get a beer gut.” I thrust my finger into his hard abdomen for emphasis, then frown. “Okay, probably not. You’ll have the hottest eight-pack in the nursing home. Ugh, screw you and your fast metabolism.”

He scarfs down the rest of his food, then throws his plate in the garbage. “I don’t know what to tell you, Stacks. I’m a well-oiled machine.”

“If you flex, I’ll walk out of here. Right now.”

He winks. “Ah, you’re right. I wouldn’t want the gun show to blow you away.”

I simply shake my head, chuckling under my breath as Hayes drags me over to meet a few more people. I shake hands and smile demurely as we rotate from cluster to cluster, finally ending our pilgrimage at a large, intimidating man. He’s gathered a small throng of people with whatever fascinating story he’s telling, and they all burst out into laughter like there’s some kind of cue card in the distance.

The stoic-faced man greets Hayes with a smile, then glances at me.

“Coach, this is Aeris, my girlfriend. Aeris, this is my coach,” Hayes says, looking about as nervous as I feel.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” I greet, holding out my hand.

Coach gives it a firm shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Aeris. I hope you’ve been keeping Hayes here out of trouble.”

I don’t know why, but the overwhelming urge to curtesy takes over my body. “Yes, sir. He’s been great. Playing very well.”

Jesus. Why am I so stiff? Those weren’t even complete sentences.

Coach’s chuckle is deep enough to make my bones vibrate in my skin. “You a fan of hockey, Aeris?” he grills.

“Uh…I mostly go to support Hayes,” I laugh, giving Hayes’ arm a squeeze, hoping the gesture takes away from the redness occupying my cheeks.

“I like you already.”

What do I say to that? Thank you? Is it weird if I return the compliment? Yeah…maybe less words are better.

“Oh, uh, thank you.”

Thankfully, Casen enters the conversation and eases the spotlight off of me. Coach excuses himself and finishes greeting the rest of the guests while I turn my attention to the alluring girl on Casen’s arm. Her wild curls are barely tamed as they flare down her shoulders, and her features remind me of an old Hollywood starlet. A sleeveless, royal-blue dress clings to her toned body, no lump or wrinkle in sight, ending just below the knees. Mesh material shaped like sugar-pulled flames hold her cleavage up, and she’s wearing a swoop of finely cut diamonds against her chest. Diamonds that match the 24-carat ring on her slender finger. This must be Josie, and Casen must’ve proposed.

“Aeris, right? It’s so nice to meet you!” Her titanium arms wrap around me in a hug that definitely cracks something. She’s a lot stronger than she looks.

“Oh, the pleasure is mine,” I say, slightly off-kilter from the physical and social encroachment.

When we pull away, I can’t help but gawk at the blinding gem. “Congratulations on the engagement.”

She holds her hand up and wiggles her fingers. “Thank you! It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I waited seven years for this idiot to propose.”

Casen narrows his eyes playfully. “Hey, I got around to it, didn’t I?”

“You did,” she laughs, drawing his arm over the front of her body.

“How did you two meet?”

“We met in high school, but we hated each other at first,” Casen answers.

Josie nods in agreement. “I couldn’t stand him. We were classmates in history, and he cheated off my final. When the teacher found our answers to be the exact same, they failed both of us and had us attend detention for an entire month. All of it went on our permanent record. Casen refused to admit he cheated. And because of this, we both had to retake the class. We were at each other’s throats for a while before the tension turned into something salvageable. And here we are, seven years later.” She punctuates the end of her story with a loved-up nuzzle to his chest.

I can’t imagine spending seven years of my life with another person. You would know everything about them by that point. I like the stability of that, though. They’re a few of the lucky ones to have found their lifelong partner early. “Wow, that sounds like a roller coaster.”

“It was, but it was worth every turn,” Josie confesses, a look of longing drifting over her features.

“It sounds like—”

The sight of a girl jockeying her way through a crowd of people halts my sentence. Her slender body hurtles toward us, and her cat-like eyes do a foxtrot around the group before landing on Hayes.

“Hayes, can we talk?”

Who is this girl? And how does she know Hayes?

She has flawless, golden skin, a button nose, and pink lips that look like they’ve been permanently bee-stung. Her bone structure had to have been sculpted by an artist. She’s wearing a satiny-looking pink slip, and a small, gold necklace—which I can only assume costs more than the down payment of my entire apartment—rests on her chest. Her small boobs are perfectly proportioned to her lean body. She looks like a model. Actually, she looks like one of those super clean girls that you never imagine ever having to poop. Like Kendall Jenner.

Hayes’ voice tips into the realm of shock. “Now?”

“Now.” She practically snaps at him, but it’s juxtaposed by a polite smile that has a hundred watts of power behind it.

His throat rolls with a gulp, and he mouths a sorry before following the girl into a more private section of the restaurant.

I do my best to ignore the envy coming to a boiling point inside of me, watching as her nightshade, pin-straight hair disappears among the sea of people.

“Who was that?” I ask Casen, anxiety using my internal organs as its own punching bag.

Casen scratches at his beard. “Uh, I think her name is Sienna. She’s one of our sponsor’s daughters.”

Sponsor? Daughter? Sponsor’s daughter?

Oh my God. Could my dad have been telling the truth?