Page 16 of Hat Trick

“Six,” she corrects, and warmth spreads in my chest. “Never mind that, I’m pretty sure I’ve called you at leastonce.”

“Give me anexample.”

“Uhh . . . maybe when we used to studytogether?”

Her hesitation is like victory thrumming in my veins, and I let out a low chuckle. “I’ll let you off the hook, Miss James. What can I do for you? I’ll be blunt, though, I’m all out of fucks to give today. Fairwarning.”

She laughs, and I can almost see her tucking her red hair behind her ears. I miss it blonde, but the red is hot, too. More appropriate, maybe, given the fact that she’s a spitfire in designerclothing.

“You should tell me aboutit.”

Throwing a quick glance to my left and right, I jaywalk across the street. “Tell you aboutwhat?”

“Why you’ve got no fucks togive.”

Is it wrong that I feel a little suspicious over that? My stride slows as I approach my truck. I don’t even know how to best respond. Gwen doesn’t call me. Ever. She doesn’t ask me about my day or wonder why I might not be in a goodmood.

Simple fact is, I don’t trust her sudden change ofheart.

I climb into my truck, tugging the door shut. The moment the engine kicks into gear, I’m cranking up the heat. Hockey player or not, I’m not a fan of my balls freezing into nonexistence from the cold. “Gwen.”

“Marshall.”

I resist a smile at her perfunctory tone and cut straight to the chase. “Why are you callingme?”

There’s the sound of squeaking on the other end of the line, like she’s shifting in a chair. “Can’t I call a friend?” she finallysays.

“Are we friends? Last I checked, you were avoiding me like theplague.”

“I wasn’t . . . I’m not . . .” She blows out a heavy breath. “There’s thisthingtonight, and I was wondering if you might want to go withme.”

My pulse kicks into gear. Is Gwen asking me on a date—again? I run one hand through my hair. There’s a good chance I’ve entered the Twilight Zone. No other explanation for it. “What’s thisthing?”

“Ice sculptures,” she clips out quickly. “I saw it online today while I was at work, and I’ve never been. I thought, maybe, it might be fun to go withsomeone.”

I want to ask if I was her first choice or if she’s asking simply because no one else will go with her. I don’t, mostly because I’m not about to show her my ace. Namely, that I’m way more intrigued by her proposition than I should be after she turned me down the othernight.

After everything with Dave, I want this. Hell, Ineedthis. Skimming my palm over the steering wheel, I seal my fate with five words. “Where should I meetyou?”

7

Gwen

Twinklinglights wind through the trees above me as I wait for Marshall in Boston’s historic Faneuil Hall. Clasped between my hands is a Styrofoam cup filled with hot chocolate; clamped between my legs is a second one forMarshall.

I don’t even know if he likes hotchocolate.

Bringing the cup to my lips, I blow away billowing steam and brace myself for a hot sip. I need the scalding heat, anything to keep myself from obsessing over one thought: what in the world am Idoing?

Asking Marshall out on a date—for a second time in aweek?

I’m not even the sort of woman who asks a man out atall.

But here I am, camped out on a bench along one of Boston’s busiest tourist spots, waiting for the NHL’s most charming playboy to come and find me. Laughing awkwardly, even though I’m alone, I tap my cell phone to life and peer down at the text he sent me ten minutesearlier.

Parking now. What are youwearing?

He could have easily asked where I’m sitting—answer to that would be next to the Starbucks because I am nothing if not a traitor to every Bostonianaround.

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