Page 11 of Hat Trick

But this Gwen . . . the messy, uncertain Gwen standing before me? Well, color meintrigued.

Wanting to push her a little more, I lift my brows in a show of deliberate patience. “Youare. . .?”

Her red hair is shoved indelicately behind one ear. “I’mhere.”

She’s pretty much told me nothing. I nod slowly. “Congratulations. You lookin’ for a trophy orsomething?”

White teeth sink into her bottom lip. I suck down a groan and force myself to stop thinking about those lips wrapped around my cock. Never gonna happen, that’s forsure.

“I, um.” Gwen shifts her weight, tucking one foot behind her opposite calf like she’s nervous to have me see her this way. “Listen, I . . . So, this is officially a lot harder than I thought it wouldbe.”

I watch her expectantly, giving her nothing. Oh, how the tables have turned. Plus, I doubt she’s here for anythingusrelated. If anything, she’s probably here on her boss’s bidding. Walter Collins has been trying to lock me down into hiring Golden Lights Media for a yearnow.

I’m notinterested.

I’ve already signed on the dotted line for another firm—a firm, I might add, that took me on even when I was still on the farm team, when the Blades had yet to pull me up onto their officialroster.

“Okay, okay.” Gwen shoots me a glare, like I’m the one at fault for her halted speech. I hear her mutter something that soundssuspiciouslylike, “I can do this,” and then she’s straightening her shoulders, thrusting her full breasts up and out, and announcing, “I’d like to take you up on that offer for our date. The date that I won from the charity auction lastspring.”

Shock clamps my jawshut.

But now that Gwen has opened the gates, proverbially speaking, she doesn’t stop. She steps to the side, head down, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I know that I sort of . . . you know, turned you down rather harshly. I’d told Zoe I didn’t plan to bet on you, and Iknowthe money was going to first responders, but I just couldn’t . . . I mean, it’s never been about your looks.” She offers an awkwardha-ha, her blue eyes skirting up to my face before swiftly darting away again. “You’re handsome. And young. Oh, God, what Imeanis—I already said that. TheI meanthing, I mean. I just did it again.” Her eyes go wide as though begging me to end hermisery.

Idon’t.

Let the miserycontinue.

I fold my arms over my chest and keep up the mute act. I like this Gwen. Hell, Ireallylike thisGwen.

She huffs out a heavy breath, repeating the tuck-the-hair motion again. There’s no more hair to tuck. It’s already been plastered behind her ears. But she’s nervous. For the first time in years, I think I may be witnessing Gwen James comeundone.

Overme.

Does sweet justice actually exist? I think itdoes.

“So, yes, I turned you down repeatedly. That’s on me. I was going through . . . life? Yeah, we’ll go with life. But I listened to what you said last night, Marshall, and I realized that I’d like to go on a date with you. It’d be nice. I mean, Ithinkit would be nice. We won’t know if we’re compatible until we go out or whatever. To be honest, I’m not even sure a relationship is the best thing. Does love even really . . . it doesn’t matter.” Her shoulders hike up, her flouncy shirt fluttering around herbreasts.

Blue eyes meet mine, hopeful andnervous.

“Will you go on a date with me,Marshall?”

I stare down at her—the woman I’ve crushed on like an idiot teenager for half my adult life—and say the one word I never anticipated tellingher.

“No.”

5

Gwen

“Ican’t believehe saidno.”

Both Charlie and Zoe roll their eyes, two nights after Marshall’s rejection. We’re seated at a high-top table at our favorite bar, and not even my favorite Pinot Grigio can soothe the sting of his firm “no.”

“I can’t believe he said no,” I repeat, motioning to a passing cocktail waitress for another round. “How could he even do that? How do you go from asking someone to dance one night to shutting them down the very nextday?”

“Easy,” Charls says, surprising me. She snags my wine glass and downs what’s left. “Sorry, not sorry,” she tells me, pointing the glass at me when my mouth falls open. “We’ve been listening to you repeat thesame phrasefor thirty minutes now. I can’t take itanymore.”

I turn to Zoe, the bride-to-be. Instead of glowing radiantly like every bride should, she’s feigning sleep, one hand holding up her head. Clapping my hands together, Zoe puts on a good, performative jolt like I’ve startled herawake.

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