Wylde (Arizona Vengeance 7)

CHAPTER 24ClarkeEven though the atmosphere is incredibly overwhelming, I’m having fun.

For the most part.

I mean, this is my first true taste of Aaron’s fame within the hockey world. My first true taste of how devout the Vengeance fan base is.

The Sneaky Saguaro is packed almost shoulder to shoulder, and the vibe is electric. One of the younger players, Guy Demere—whom I’d met at Brooke and Bishop’s wedding but had no other conversation with—is the host of this celebratory party. The Cup is set up on the top floor, cordoned off with velvet ropes and bodyguards. Fans, however, have the opportunity to take pictures with it if they’re willing to stand in a very long line.

The rest of the players have reserved tables, and we’re sort of congregated in an area together. But the fans are free to mix and mingle, so Aaron has been busy with pictures and autographs.

It’s what I expected, but I can’t say I’m loving having a front-row seat to the female attention focused on Aaron. Sure, I know it’s there. I know it will always be there. But Aaron handles everything with grace and ease. If someone gets too handsy, he shuts it down. In all honesty, though, most of the fans are incredibly respectful and are merely excited by his hockey prowess, not looking to get in his pants.

But I know those types are out there, too, which might be why I watch him a little too carefully. Still feeling that doubt within myself, saying how could I be enough for Aaron when he could have any woman he could ever desire.

He desires you, dipshit, I tell myself.

“Penny for your thoughts,” a deep voice from my left says. I turn to see Tacker. He’d come alone tonight since Nora’s apparently fighting a bad migraine.

I blush deeply, feeling guilt creep up my neck on the off-chance Tacker could actually read my thoughts on my face as I watched Aaron posing for pictures with a group of fans.

“Just wondering how you deal with all this adoration,” I quip with a shrug. “Must be exhausting.”

Tacker barks out a laugh, placing his forearms on the tall table I’m standing at. Hunkering in a bit closer, because it’s quite loud in here, he admits, “To be honest, I hate this shit.”

I jerk, whipping my head his way. “You’re kidding?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t play hockey for this,” he replies, sweeping his arm out to indicate the fan fervor. “Well… maybe back in my younger days. I mean, look at Guy over there. See how much fun he’s having? This is great for the younger guys.”

I glance over at Guy, who is being completely fawned over by a bevy of beautiful women. Aaron had been in that same position many times, I’m sure, and he’d loved it. Why wouldn’t he?

“I hope you’re not worried about Aaron,” Tacker says in a low voice, and my eyes snap back to him. Once again, I flush because the man had to have been reading my thoughts.

“Of course not,” I exclaim quickly. Loudly. Almost hysterically.

Chuckling, Tacker puts an arm around me. He gives me a brotherly squeeze, then lets me go. Leaning in a bit closer, he reminds me. “I’m Aaron’s best friend. The guy is insanely nuts about you, Clarke. I’ve never seen him like this.”

We both slide our gazes over to him. He has an easy smile on his face as he signs autographs.

“Trust me,” Tacker continues as we stare at the man we both clearly care a great deal about. “That man would rather be with you, somewhere alone and quiet, than here right now. But sometimes, we have a duty to our fans that has to be played out.”

“I know,” I murmur with a sigh. “And I would never hold him back from that.”

Tacker nods, accepting my word.

“It’s just…” I say, causing his head to turn as he gives me his full attention. “It’s still hard to believe sometimes.”

“That he’s insanely nuts about you?” he inquires.

“That…” I admit with a slight bit of shame that I don’t have more confidence. “But all of this, really. It’s a bit overwhelming. I never thought I’d be in the middle of such… such…”

“Awesomeness?” he asks with a sly grin.

“I was going to say ‘spectacle,’ but sure… awesomeness.”

We both laugh, and Tacker picks up his beer. He tips it back, draining the last few ounces. When he sets it back down, he nods. “I’m going to head out. I’ve got a lady with a sore head who needs my attention. But I’d love for you and Aaron to come out to the ranch and hang with us soon, okay?”

“I’d love that,” I reply with a smile.

Tacker leans down and hugs me, whispering, “I’m glad Aaron found you.”

“Me too,” I assure him.

?

Forty minutes after Tacker leaves, I’m sour again. I suppose it might have to do with more alcohol being imbibed, which apparently makes people bolder.