Crowds usually never bothered him. People yelling and pushing. The press of bodies as everyone moved about, trying to do their own thing. It was nothing more than a part of everyday life.

But this…this was something completely different. Something totally out of his comfort level.

Charles shifted on the overstuffed sofa and looked around the spacious room, trying to take everything in. It was sensory overload: the running, the carrying-on, the shouts and laughter. He blinked, trying to bring everything into focus, but it was too much. He didn't know where to focus, didn't know which conversation to concentrate on. Hell, at this point, he wasn't even sure if he could think.

When Taylor had invited him to Sunday dinner with her family, he had imagined a quiet gathering. Casual conversation around the dinner table, maybe. Or maybe sitting around the living room talking with the television on in the background, the sound muted or turned down so low it didn't interfere with conversation. He'd even expected a third-degree interrogation of sorts. But he had never expected this…this chaos.

Five kids, ranging in age from four to eleven, ran around the spacious room, making it feel smaller somehow. Four girls and one boy. Two sets of twins. He glanced over, frowning as he tried to remember their names. The older girls were Taylor's sisters. The younger girls and small boy were her cousins. That was all he managed to remember. And he couldn't tell the twins apart, no matter how many quirky memory tricks he tried. Did it matter? Probably not. But at least it gave him something to focus on besides the two men sitting adjacent to him, studying him with stony faces.

Sonny LeBlanc and JP Larocque. Taylor's father and her uncle. He'd met both men before, of course, almost two months ago when they had come to the rink for that one disastrous news piece. And he remembered them from when he was a kid, playing youth hockey with Taylor. But this was different. He wasn't here to do any marketing or to discuss the Blades; he wasn't here to reminisce about old times.

He was here as Taylor's date.

Heat filled his face as the word swirled through his mind. Taylor's date. Her date. Or maybe he was more than just her date. You didn't bring casual dates to your parents' home for dinner. You didn't introduce casual dates to your family.

There was something almost comforting about that thought, once he got past the panic the idea created. Or maybe the panic was nothing more than survival instinct kicking in under the scrutiny of the two men next to him.

Charles tightened his hand around the bottle he'd been gripping for the last fifteen minutes. He wanted nothing more than to lift the bottle to his mouth and take a long swig of the beer, hoping it would steady his nerves—but he didn't dare. He didn't think it would make a good first impression if he upended the bottle and chugged it down. And it wouldn't look good if he ended up spilling it all down the front of his shirt, either. So he just sat there, his hand wrapped around the bottle so tightly that his fingers were starting to cramp.

This would be so much easier if Taylor was actually here but she wasn't. She had disappeared into the other room not long after they got here, right after making quick introductions and leaving him to the mercy of the wolves.

Abandoning him.

Maybe that was a slight exaggeration. Charles had no doubt that she was in the other room, talking with her mother and aunt—probably about him. Or maybe she was being interrogated, too. But at least her interrogation was being done without the background noise of screams and laughter coming from five kids.

Sonny LeBlanc shifted in the chair and leaned forward, pinning him with a steady gaze from steel gray eyes. "I noticed someone filming the game earlier. Who was it?"

"We, uh—" Charles stopped to take a deep breath and clear his throat. He couldn't stutter or riddle his answer with awkward pauses and hesitant uh's and um's.

Pretend this is nothing more than a press conference.

He cleared his throat again and started over. "We've started live streaming the games on social media, hoping to tap into the market that way. To build up some excitement. None of the networks have shown any interest in airing the games so we decided to take matters into our own hands."

"Has there been any success?"

Depends on how you define success.

But Charles didn't say that out loud. "Some. Today was the first game so I'm still waiting for the final numbers to come in."

Sonny leaned back in the chair, his gaze still focused on Charles. "Damn shame the Blades lost."

"Dad! This isn't a locker room!" One of the older girls—he wasn't sure which one—ran over to Sonny and held her hand out, palm up. Amusement flashed through Charles and he had to bite back a smile when the bigger man grumbled and reached into his front pocket. He pulled out some crumpled bills and placed one into the upturned palm. Charles looked closer, something like amazement shooting through him. Was the bigger man actually blushing? Yes, he was. Charles looked away, but not before the other man noticed him watching.

"I, uh, I have to pay them if they catch me swearing."

"Not that it helps any, eh?" JP laughed and clapped the older man on the shoulder. He turned toward Charles, humor flashing in his eyes. "This live streaming. It will help, you think?"

"That's certainly the hope, yes. Like I said, today was the first time. We'll continue doing it, even for the road games. The reach should continue to grow, especially when we combine it with a focused marketing for each demographic we're targeting."

Two blank faces stared back at him.

"I'm expanding our marketing reach now that I've got a budget to work with. Different age groups. Different neighborhoods. Men. Women. The young adult market. Things like that."

"Good. It would be a da—" Sonny stopped and glanced over at five expectant faces then cleared his throat. "It would be a shame if the Blades only played for one season."

"I don't intend to let that happen. The exhibition and autograph session yesterday was extremely well-received. My hope is that it opened the doors to an existing market that's more than ready for women's hockey. I'm working with the Banners' marketing department for more opportunities like that."

"That's good to know. If there's anything we can do to help, just let us know."

Charles nodded his thanks, some of his earlier discomfort fading—until Sonny leaned forward again, those gray eyes impaling him.

"How long have you been seeing my daughter?"

"Uh…um—" And just like that, Charles was transported back to the time when he was an awkward teenager. He shifted on the sofa, his gaze darting around the suddenly quiet room. It felt like seven sets of eyes were on him. Watching. Studying. Scrutinizing.

Probably because they were.

He shifted again and finally met Sonny's direct gaze. "Almost two months. Sir."

"Because she hasn't mentioned you at all. Didn't say anything about you until she called this morning to tell us she was bringing you to dinner after the game."

The words stung more than they should, for reasons that didn't make sense. Logically, he knew there had been no reason for Taylor to talk to her family about him. This thing they were doing—relationship, not thing—was still new. It hadn't even started in the way normal relationships did, with one or two dates, then a few more, then a few more after that. They had started with some friction, a little head-butting. And then things just sort of happened from there.

No, it didn't surprise him that Taylor hadn't mentioned him. Hell, he hadn't mentioned her to his family, either. The difference was, his family consisted solely of his mother, and he didn't talk to her as often as he should. Taylor's family, on the other hand, was much bigger and definitely a lot closer.

Yes, the words stung. But he thought that maybe that was the point. Thought that maybe Sonny was testing him somehow. Or pushing. Or trying to get a reaction.

He met Sonny's piercing gaze, ready to reply, hoping whatever words came out of his mouth would make sense and not make him sound like a blithering idiot. He was saved from answering when Taylor entered the room, amusement curling the corners of her mouth.

"I didn't say anything, Dad, because I knew you'd act like this. And I did kind of mention him. You remember." Taylor paused, her gaze catching his. Charles saw the laughter dancing in her eyes and knew what was coming. He wanted to jump up and stop her but it was too late—not that he'd be able to stop her anyway.

"No, Pumpkin, I don't remember."

"Sure you do." Her grin widened. "When I was doing all that complaining about Chuckie-the-fart."