Intercepting the Chef by Rachel Goodman

Author:Rachel Goodman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Star

* * *

Walking into the suite reserved for the families of Blizzards players was not the welcoming scene I’d hoped for when I’d decided to attend the game tonight. There were no grandparents decked out in tacky football gear. No children sporting jerseys with their fathers’ number proudly displayed. Not even my mother or Logan’s father were present, or any of the players’ parents for that matter.

Instead, Missy and I were greeted to a roomful of wives and girlfriends. As if on cue, every head turned in unison, assessing us as we entered. The women’s gazes were cold and calculating, as though determining what level of threat we posed. Missy with her natural beauty and WASP-like persona could at least hold her own against this crowd. I, on the other hand, felt like an outcast à la the nineties MTV character Daria.

“You remember the original Jurassic Park?” Missy whispered in my ear.

“Yeah,” I said, my eyes darting to the door, wondering if it wasn’t too late to pretend we’d accidentally stumbled into the wrong suite.

“I feel like we’re about to be eviscerated by a pack of velociraptors that haven’t fed in a week.”

This was exactly why I hadn’t wanted to come. But I refused to prove Logan right. I wasn’t a coward—just cautious. And while I didn’t fully understand his reasoning for why it was so important that I be here, I knew what it felt like to want someone to notice your hard work and offer support, something Logan had done for me on more than one occasion since I’d moved back to Denver. The least I could do was return the sentiment.

And if I were honest, the more I’d thought about it, the more I’d realized he was right about using Chris as a cover—if Logan hadn’t caught me so off guard with his invitation, I probably would’ve thought of it myself.

“More like a month,” I said, noticing the way the women studied us with rapt, almost hungry attention, my defenses on high alert.

“Well put on a happy face, Gwen. Here comes one now,” Missy said in her best announcer voice as a tall, plasticized brunette approached us, the rest of the group silently observing.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. Brittany Olson, married to Dustin Olson, Blizzards wide receiver and three-time Pro Bowler,” she said, her smile hyena wide. I wondered if this became part of the deal when you were a professional athlete’s wife, that at all times you had to brag about and remind others of your husband’s superiority.

Brittany appraised us with an arched eyebrow. She gave a slight nod of approval at Missy’s skinny jeans, brown boots, and Lily Pulitzer blouse beneath a bright blue vest, but practically sneered at my gray sweaterdress and leather jacket combo Missy had insisted I wear. “You look edgy, and no one would suspect that Logan’s sleeping with someone who’s edgy,” Missy had claimed. Now I felt ridiculous.

“And you both are?” Brittany continued, though I heard her not-so-subtle subtext loud

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