Page 8 of Xander

I frowned.

We have had a long-standing enmity with the Ambani family. They also owned a notoriously rich company that competed with ours. Attending one of their parties, even under guise, was downright dangerous.

Jasper: What if they find out?

Caden: They won’t.

Something about Caden’s tone was insincere. For as long as I had known him—which was my entire life—he had never proposed going to a party, let alone one at our enemy’s home.

I phrased my next text somewhat skeptically.

Xander: Why are we doing this?

Caden: Because we can.

Damon: Are you in?

I heaved a sigh.

Xander: Text me where we’re meeting.

Jasper: This is a terrible idea.

Caden: It’s a great idea.

They continued bickering while I muted the chat and started the car. The delays had already grated on my nerves, though a week off during mid-season was a luxury. The other players wanted to spend time with their families and flew back to Canada.

Meanwhile, my childhood home was forty minutes away in Connecticut. New York’s finest invested in real estate here to live the posh suburban lifestyle while being within reach of city life.

Every fiber in my body screamed impatiently, begging for a glimpse of her before I went mad. My heartbeat accelerated the closer I got to the sprawling Greenwich neighborhoods. I was teetering between excitement and antsy edginess at the mere thought of seeing her again. I got carried away in my restlessness and hit the gas pedal harder than necessary.

Sirens blared behind me, a swift consequence for running a red light.

“Fuck,” I muttered, pulling the rental car over to the side of the road and watching the police car follow suit.

A middle-aged officer in a dark navy-blue uniform approached my car and knocked on the window. I rolled it down, hoping for the fresh air to cool my heated temper. You’d think hours of contact sports would drain my frustration.

“Good evening. Do you know why I pulled you over?”

It was an idiotic question because we both knew why he pulled me over. Dragging it out was an insult to my intellect and his time. “No, I don’t believe I do. Is something wrong, Officer?” According to the tag pinned to his chest, his name was Officer Thomas.

“You ran a red light,” he replied.

I played naive. “I must’ve mistaken it for a green light.”

The man regarded me from behind his dark sunglasses before deciding he didn’t buy the transparent excuse. “License and registration, please.”

Great. I fished out my driver’s license and registration and handed them over. I rolled my shoulders to work the irritation out of my tense muscles while he studied the documents. I didn’t care if he gave me a ticket, only the valuable time we would waste while writing me up.

The problem resolved itself when recognition flared in his eyes upon scanning my license. “Alexandros Maxwell!”

The stars had aligned in my favor with those two words, but I maintained a humble mien. “Please. Call me Xander.”

“My son is obsessed with you,” he said excitedly.

“Is that so? Then why don’t we take a photo, and you can show it to him?”

His eyes glowed as if he had struck gold. I had an inkling he’d no longer bother with the tedious paperwork of writing me up.