Page 10 of Boarded Hearts

My heart rate picks up as he approaches and removes one of his gloves, pointing at us through the glass. I can feel his steely-gray eyes burn right through me as I keep mine trained on the floor.

“Happy Birthday…”

“Jack!” My son screams back over the noise of the crowd.

I chance a quick glance up at the towering hockey player. He looks even bigger in his skates, pads, and helmet. He exudes a warrior-like vibe, and it’s so freaking sexy.

“Is your phone still working?”

I take it out of my pocket and wave it in front of me. “Just fine, thanks.”

He tips his chin in my direction, and a cocky smile spreads across his face. “Good to know.”

He taps the glass in front of me a couple of times with his knuckles before skating off to join the rest of his team.

And I’m left there, fully melting in the middle of a freezing stadium, mentally preparing myself for Jack’s inevitable inquisition on the way home.

CHAPTER SIX

FELICITY

Kate

I’ll be at your place in an hour. Prepare for questions!

Me

I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Of course not. It’s almost like a tall, dark, handsome, and super famous NHL star, swooning over a fan happens every day of the week.

He wasn’t swooning. He wished Jack a happy birthday.

Uh-huh. I’ll be there soon. Oh, and wear that black figure-hugging dress. You look so hot in that.

I’m starting to think you have ulterior motives for inviting me out tonight…

You’d be right :) XOXO

I close out the text conversation with Kate but quickly divert to Instagram. Jon’s profile to be precise. He doesn’t post much on there, and when he does, it's rarely personal, mostly roundups of games and thanking fans. But when I search for Jon Morgan via Explore, there’s plenty more revealed.

Photos of him with a different woman each time, and they could all be supermodels. Mostly they’re brunettes with big boobs, amazing figures, and legs at least twice as long as mine. They say comparison is the thief of all joy, and this is without a doubt stealing mine.

I knew he had a reputation as a playboy, but seeing it in the flesh, or through a screen, brings me back down to reality with a thud. He clearly doesn’t take women seriously and besides, I have no interest in being another one of his “puck bunnies” as the comments underneath each photo keep repeating.

Jon Morgan is bad news for women. Plain and simple.

I finish the last sip of my Pinot Grigio, just as my door buzzes, and I press the speaker.

“Hey! I’m downstairs, and I’ve managed to flag a taxi. You ready?”

“Yep, coming down now!”

On first sight of me, Kate low whistles. “Damn, girl, you’re giving me a toothache,” she croons.

“Oh, this old thing?” I point to my dress. “Yeah, some bossy bitch told me to wear it tonight.” I playfully wink back at her.

“Love the shoes—they look like Jimmy Choo.”

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