Page 3 of Power Play

Her eyebrow lifted. “You really want to hear about that?”

If it meant she would keep talking to me, yes. “Or you could spit more wine at me.”

“He’s hysterical ladies and gentlemen,” she said to no one in particular.

“I’m serious. Give me your spiel.”

“Not much of a spiel,” she said with modesty. “My dad helps professional athletes invest their money and create a financial plan for the future. For some athletes, they’ve never seen this much money and they don’t know what to do with it.”

“That’s the truth. My brother hides his money in his mattress.” That wasn’t totally the case, but it wasn’t far off. My brother Wyatt was a legendary defenseman who just helped theColorado Peaks win a Stanley Cup. He was also a legendary grump, a total cheapskate, and worse - a terrible dresser.

We were about as different as two people who shared DNA could be and I loved the fuck out of him. But I wanted more than a nest egg when my playing days were over.

“Hiding it in your mattress is one way of doing it. But my dad will have other options.”

“Okay, I’m sold,” I said.

“Sold on what?”

“You. Your dad.”

“You’re awfully easy.”

I gave her my best smile. “I don’t have a problem with being easy, sweetheart.”

She laughed and shook her head. “What’s your email?”

“Playa8797@gmail.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Let me guess, your number is 97 and is 87…Crosby?”

“Same email address I’ve had since high school,” I said. “What can I say? I had high expectations. Everyone tells me to change it, but it’s too much of a hassle.”

She laughed and tapped on her phone. “I just sent you some information and my dad’s direct contact,” she said and took another sip of her wine. “You can look it over and call me if you have any questions.”

“Did you just give me your number?” I asked, skipping to the important part.

“I guess I did,” she said with a smile that sliced right through me. She was smart. She was beautiful. She was…real. I’d gotten pretty good at knowing when something was honest and when something was fake. Not that there was anything wrong with fake. Fake could be a real good time. But honest and real… they were rare.

Our dad always told my brother and me that we had good brains and good hearts and even better guts. We had to trust what we felt was right.

I looked at this beautiful woman and I thought. Yeah. She’s fucking real.

She feelsright.

Wanting to impress her, I took out my phone. I pulled up my accountant’s contact information, forwarded him Barrington’s information and told him to invest. Immediately.

“Done,” I said and put the phone back in my pocket.

“Done what?” She asked, looking at me with narrowed eyes. That was so hot. I wanted to kiss her until all that disbelief went hazy and her eyes went soft. I wanted to touch her until her skin was red all over and she was moaning with that mouth of hers.

Fuck. Am I getting a hard on at a children’s charity event?

“I just sent my accountant your dad’s information and told him to invest. Six figures seems like a good place to start.”

“Six figures…so you trust everyone you meet that quickly?”

“Only beautiful women who don’t follow dress codes,” I said. “Okay, business is done. On to pleasure.”

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