Page 24 of Offside Bride

It’s not the typical home of a notorious playboy. Rosedale is the kind of neighborhood I’d always wished I could grow up in.

What I don’t mention to Emily, is how my art supplies have taken over half the house, and Sawyer’s housekeeper probably thinks a glitter bomb exploded in there. But hey, if Sawyer wanted a neat freak, he shouldn’t have asked me to move in. The housekeeper gives me the stink-eye every time she comes over. I’m pretty sure she’s plotting to murder me with the vacuum. Sorry for living, Linda.

“And?” Emily prompts, clearly fishing for more.

“And what? I have my own bedroom, if that’s what you’re getting at. It’s not like we’re playing house.”

Emily raises an eyebrow. “Separate bedrooms? How very…1950s of you.”

Suddenly, a commotion erupts around us. The team’s arriving in their game day suits.

Emily grins. “Hockey players in suits and toques. Tell me you’re Canadian without telling me you’re Canadian.”

I snort. The weather isn’t even cold enough for toques.

“Here comes your man,” Emily whispers, nudging me before scurrying off to greet Owen.

Hot damn. I’ve seen Sawyer in a suit before, but this is next level. One hand in his pocket, he’s strutting like a casual billionaire walking to his private jet instead of into a hockey arena.

My brain short-circuits. He’s irritatingly handsome in his tailored suit and that ridiculous hat. He’s not even Canadian, yet he pulls it off.

Most of the players parade in, only pausing their stride to wave at fans, but Sawyer scans the crowd, landing his gaze on me. A slow, cocky grin spreads across his face as he saunters over.

“Well, well,” he drawls, his eyes traveling up and down my form-fitting dress. “Looks like someone didn’t get the jersey I left on her bed.”

I cross my arms. “Sorry, I must have missed that chapter in ‘Hockey Groupies for Dummies.’”

Sawyer leans in, his breath tickling my ear. “You look stunning, Magpie. But next time, wear the jersey.”

“I don’t do frumpy,” I hiss, but my traitorous heart does a little flip from the sensation of his hot breath on my skin. Damn you, Sawyer. Damn you and your stupidly handsome face. “And who says there’d be a next time?”

“There will be a next time.” He winks, then turns away laughing, leaving me flustered and annoyed.

I sigh, resigning myself to an evening of hockey-induced boredom. I should have brought a trashy romance novel. Maybe I can slip out unnoticed at halftime or whatever.

“Are you ready to go inside?” Emily chirps as she comes back from greeting Owen. “You can join me in the Zamboni office until it’s time to take our seats.”

“I still don’t understand why you continue to work here. Aren’t you tired after training all the time?”

Emily is a world-class figure skater and Olympian but was out of the scene for a while because her jerk of a pairs partner ruined it for her. When I met her, she didn’t think she’d ever compete again. Now she wakes up at O’dark thirty to train her buns off every day. To that I say, “Go girl.” And despite hitting the ice at an ungodly hour, she’s completely chipper the rest of the day. If I ever had to wake up that early, anyone within a three-block vicinity best hide in a bomb shelter until I’ve consumed enough coffee to launch the Space Shuttle.

“I like working here.” Emily slips her arm through mine to guide me into the employee entrance and pulls that scrunchy face she makes for no reason whatsoever. “I like being close to Owen. Besides, I cut my hours down a lot.”

We go down a long hallway that takes us deep into the bowels of the arena. I’d been here before with Emily, but never when it was this busy. I helped her pull some pranks on Owen that night by putting glittery stickers all over his locker—among other things. We didn’t like him back then.

Ah, the good ol’ days. I don’t remember there being so many corridors, and now I’m starting to rethink these shoes.

We get to the Zamboni office and Emily tucks her purse under the desk. My girl is way too trusting. She takes a moment to look at me from the toes up.

“Girl,” she says, tilting her head. “That dress is hella sexy. But…aren’t you a little cold?”

Yes, my dress is Lycra, extra clingy, and short. And maybe wearing spaghetti straps wasn’t the most practical idea. But it’s still relatively warm in Toronto this time of year, and I’m notready to say goodbye to summer fashion. When I was getting dressed, I wasn’t thinking about how freezing it might be inside the arena. Also, I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d planned on going home after making that ridiculous appearance as a “hockey wife.”

“It’s not that cold in here,” I say. “Not any colder than a grocery store.”

“My dear, your tatas are winking at me. You can borrow my hoodie.”

Emily needs to be warm while she’s driving the Zamboni. I’m not about to take her hoodie.

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