Free Power Play by Deirdre Martin Page B

Mitchell?”
    Eric smiled at the woman warmly. “Yeah, I am.”
    â€œI’m a huge Blades fan, and I’m just so thrilled that you joined the team. Can you pose for a picture with me?”
    â€œSure.”
    The woman handed her digital camera to Monica. “Do you mind?”
    â€œNo, of course not.” Monica was smiling so hard she thought her face might crack. Eric? The woman wanted a picture taken with Eric and not her ?
    Eric rose, putting his arm around the starstruck fan. “Whenever you’re ready, honey,” he said to Monica. He was grinning at her like the cat that ate the canary. Or the jock that had outshone the actress. Monica held back a glare.
    â€œSay cheese,” Monica instructed cheerily, snapping a bunch of pictures. She handed the camera back to the fan, who thanked Eric profusely, but not her. The fan was babbling excitedly to her companion as she returned to her own table.
    â€œPissed, huh?” Eric observed dryly as they sat back down.
    Monica toyed casually with one of her earrings. “I beg your pardon?”
    â€œI saw your face when that chick said she wanted to pose with me and not you. You were stunned.”
    â€œNo, I wasn’t.”
    â€œYes, you were .” Eric seemed to be enjoying catching her out. “What a little egomaniac you are, Ms. Geary.”
    â€œLook who’s talking,” Monica snorted. “You practically knocked the table over trying to get out of your chair to pose.”
    â€œI didn’t want the woman’s dinner to get cold.”
    Monica rolled her eyes. “Spare me.”
    â€œI promise that the next time that happens, I’ll ask them to take your picture, too, okay?” Eric said with a mischievous look in his eye.
    Monica ignored him.
    Eating their dinners, they actually had a decent conversation, talking about their jobs. Monica was surprised at how easy it went, and then she remembered watching him turn on the charm at the museum bash the other night. She wondered: Was this the real Eric, or was jerk Eric the real Eric? Well, it didn’t really matter, since they were just playacting the whole romance, anyway. Still, she couldn’t resist asking a question or two.
    â€œWhat kinds of women actually fall for your ‘I’m a stud’ act? I’m not criticizing you for doing it. I’m just curious.”
    â€œWomen who think it’s cool to be with a professional athlete. Women who want to be seen with me.”
    â€œLike me.”
    â€œThis is a partnership,” Eric reminded her.
    â€œSo these women are just trophies, in other words. Nothing real. Nothing substantial .”
    Eric’s jaw set. “I don’t like complications.”
    Fascinated, Monica put an elbow on the table, cradling her chin in the palm of her hand. “So what happens when you get bored with your eye candy? Do you dump them? Pull the old ‘Love ’em and leave’ em’ ? Or is ‘Leave ’em before they want a commitment’ more accurate?”
    â€œWhat do you care?” Eric retorted.
    â€œI don’t, really,” Monica replied, feeling mildly rebuked. “Like I said, I was just curious.”
    â€œWhat about you?” Eric challenged. “You only go for deep, artistic types? You’re so sophisticated you’re un-pickup-able?”
    â€œI never said that, though I’m not big on relationships that are all about status—until now. Not that this is a relationship,” she was quick to add.
    â€œJust two people helping each other out. Though I wouldn’t mind knowing, just because I’m ‘just curious,’ what kind of guys you usually date.”
    Monica sighed, swirling her dessert spoon through the melted peach sorbet in her bowl. She supposed she owed him an answer. “The wrong kind. I’ve dated a couple of my costars, which is colossally stupid. ‘Showmances’ rarely work out. At