Page 51 of The Game Plan

But right now, Jax is hanging out with a little girl who has I’m a Survivor emblazoned across her cardigan, and they’re laughing so hard, they’re drawing eyes as he wipes chocolate sauce from his face. I finally understand the meaning of the phrase my ovaries exploded.

Watching him earlier, goofing around with another kid – a boy supported by Unique, a charity for children with Down’s syndrome – my eyes welled with tears. Not sadness but joy, I think. This whole day feels… magical. Yes, I’ve spent a lot of it focused on my husband, rather than actually working, but there’s an atmosphere about this carnival, a warmth, as if the Dragons family is truly welcoming friends to hang out for the day.

There’s no rags versus riches, pretension versus realists. It’s leveling and humbling and, honestly, perspective gaining. There’s more to life than hours worked for these families. That’s not how I was raised. When I was growing up, money was an ever-present thought in our home. Living on the breadline from paycheck to paycheck. A want and need for more, especially from Mom.

I pop a few more almonds into my mouth as I try to avoid the outrageously inviting smells coming from the donut stands nearby. In fact, standing amongst the food stalls, while drowning in the sight of my husband being kind to kids who deserve a nice time, is the most tempting situation I might have ever put myself in. A real test of willpower not to turn around and wave my lanyard for a free sweet treat to devour, or head right over to the handsome man who is technically mine and tug him to me, holding on to those sweetly firm shoulders and kissing him until my lips swell up like a giant peach.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are we seeing here?”

At the sound of Lauren’s voice, I snap to, minor league choking on a nut as I do.

“Oh my goodness, you made it!” I say, wrapping my arms around her and Mitch so we’re in an odd three-way embrace, and I forget that this year, I’m not attending this event in my capacity as a guest of the club but as the VP of Comms for the club.

“Are you kidding?” Mitch asks. He looks good – plumper cheeks, nicer pallor than when I last saw him in person a couple of weeks ago. “This is one of the best events on the calendar. I love it. How’s it going?”

“Really great,” I say, genuinely beaming as I take in our surroundings once more. I’m proud to be part of it. “Not that I can take much credit at all. Your notes from previous years and the veteran staff have been amazing. Bianca, Yuki and Fellini are brilliant. I love how involved all the ice management team have been, despite this not being their job at all. All the club. And the players! They’re transformed into the most…” I glance back to Jax, now spending time with another family, and find him already looking my way. I’m still grinning as I hold up a hand and he smiles right back. “Wonderful people,” I say to Mitch and Lauren.

“Mmmhmm,” Lauren says, hands on hips as she looks between Jax and me.

“What?” I ask, knowing too well what she’s mmmhmm-ing at.

“When I said whooooooooa, what I meant was, I see you, lady, drooling over the man you claim it’s a hardship to be wedded to for three months.”

I gasp, holding a hand to my chest. “I was not drooling!”

“Sienna, we’ve been stopped to speak with every person and their grandmother since we arrived and that whole time, you haven’t even noticed us because you’ve been so fixed on that man of yours.”

“He’s not my man.” Though I can’t deny how much I like the sound of that. “I’m working. I’m scouring the place for good news stories for socials and the local media. Making sure everything is running… smoothly.”

They both fold their arms across their chests in the manner of Chris Hemsworth and Tessa Thompson in Men in Black, about to stop an alien invasion.

“Oh, come on, you know I think he’s a man-child, and let’s not forget, this fake marriage is to keep a job waiting for you, too, Mitch!”

“Not to mention to spare your professional reputation keep your ass from being deported long enough to figure out your next career move,” Mitch gripes, though his tone is playful, making me give him an exaggerated pout in response.

“Speaking of threats to your job,” Lauren says. Mitch and I follow her direction of focus… all the way to the beer tent, where Carter (my Dragons nemesis, seemingly) is conversing with none other than my ex.

“Carl is here?” I ask, mostly to myself.

Mitch shakes his head. “Carter. We used to invite you to come along for Lancer and my best guess is, Carter has invited Carl in your stead.”

“But I saw the guest list and I personally removed Lancer PR from it – removed myself.” I glare at the two men – both in smarmy linen suits with slicked hair that make them both look like even bigger dickheads than they already are. “I knew Carter was hating on me but he’s done this on purpose. It’s vindictive and underhanded.”

Annoyingly, while I’m looking their way, Carl spots me and though I’d like to run in the opposite direction, I stay rooted to the spot and roll my shoulders back. Lock-in professional mode. This is my territory and I have to defend it from Carter and Carl.

I hate conflict, so this is one aspect of my job – the cutthroat aspect – I don’t enjoy, but boy do I know how to turn it on when I need to.

“Do you want us to stay or leave you guys to it?” Lauren asks.

“I’ve got it,” I tell her.

“We’ll be surreptitiously hovering nearby,” Mitch says, subtly patting my shoulder in a show of solidarity.

Carl heads my way, holding a beer and an Aperol Spritz, which would be my cocktail of choice on a warm day. Always appear to be drinking but never truly drinking, is my work motto. Times are changing but they haven’t changed so quickly that alcohol isn’t still a mode of business networking. Regardless, I hate being drunk, hate the feeling of having to concentrate on my next words, wondering the next day if I said the wrong thing to the wrong person, generally feeling out of control.

For the briefest second, I flash back to Las Vegas and how I didn’t feel that way with Jax, Lauren, Mitch and the guys. I felt completely at ease. Safe and welcome. Or I was simply drunk enough to not care – a highly probable narrative.

“I finally trap you,” Carl says, smiling though his words aren’t light. He means them, even as he holds out the cocktail for me.