Page 39 of On the Power Play

“Hey.” Jack slid into the booth, stuffing his coat against the wall.

Delia sat across from him. “Gello.” She winced. “I was going to say good morning, but then thought ‘hello’ at the last second.”

Jack’s lips curved into a half smile. “If you didn’t say anything I would’ve assumed it was Ontario Gen Z slang.”

“Would you have used it in conversation?”

“Definitely. Would’ve tried to seem less geriatric with my teammates.”

Delia laughed. “You’re not that old.”

“Pretty sure our contract doesn’t stipulate you have to lie to protect my feelings.”

Delia’s pulse pounded against her eardrums as she searched the table for the menu, then realized there was a QR code on a stanchion next to the condiments. She pulled out her phone and scanned it.

Jack was twenty-nine. Four years older than her. She’d discovered that along with strings of stats from his time in the AHL league. The specifics of his numbers were lost on her, though she’d absorbed enough from being steeped in hockey culture her whole life to know they were impressive.

Delia scrolled the menu on her phone and said nothing since stating she knew his exact age would reveal she’d been reading up on him.

“What’s good here?” Jack asked, lifting his phone to the code.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been.”

Jack peered at his screen. “Tony said it was close to the studio you record at.”

“Yeah, it’s just around the corner. Your hotel is a few blocks away?”

“The Radisson. They upgraded me to the Concierge level.” He grinned, and Delia’s insides fizzed. Jack looked like a kid who’d just been given a full-sized chocolate bar on Halloween.

“Has that never happened to you before?” she asked, trying to keep her eyes on the food descriptions in front of her.

Jack shook his head. “First time in a hotel since . . .” he motioned in the air, and Delia understood. Since the whirlwind hit. Since people knew my name. “I guess I should thank you for that.”

Delia shook her head. “I think you did that all on your own. Even my mom knows who you are.”

He looked up with an unreadable expression. “You talked to your mom about me?”

“No, I—she asked about the pictures, so . . . she knows. I don’t think Tony knows she knows, but she knows.”

Jack laughed and looked back at his phone.

Delia frowned. “What’s so funny?” Jack shook his head. “No seriously, what’s?—”

“It sounded like that rhyme.” He set his phone on the table, and it seemed like an invitation.

Delia took it and set her phone down on the bench. She already knew what she wanted. “What rhyme?”

Jack glanced around the restaurant, then shifted so he wasn’t as visible from the rest of the dining room. He put his finger on his nose, then started touching various body parts as he whispered, “Tony Chestnut knows I love you, Tony knows. Tony knows.”

Delia pursed her lips and blinked. “What the hell was that?”

Jack’s cheeks flushed. “You’ve never heard that before?”

“No. I have not.”

He exhaled, and his olive skin did that hot and bothered thing again. Delia squeezed her thighs as he ran a hand over the barely-there stubble on his jaw. “Well. Now I feel like an idiot.”

Delia couldn’t hold it in. She burst out laughing. Guttural, side-splitting laughter. Jack Harrison—hockey player tough guy and presumed panty dropper—had just recited a Mother Goose rhyme to her. It was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen, and the swoop in her midsection made her wildly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you?—”

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