Page 18 of Hat Trick

I blink, turning to him. He’s got a beanie hat pulled down over his ears. Iwantto say that it makes him look younger than he already is—like he’s back in college—but that’d be a boldfacedlie.

The hat only accentuates his handsome, pretty-boy features. The straight slope of his nose, somehow unbroken from countless battles on the ice. The square jaw. The highcheekbones.

He belongs on abillboard.

Realizing that he’s watching me, waiting, I scramble to think of something to say besidesyou’ve made me horny and I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t say that, thank God. Instead, I opt for the safer, “What do you mean, AaronBurr?”

He holds up his cup, giving it a little side-to-side wiggle. “Starbucks, Gwen. As a local, you know better than to betray our belovedDunkins.”

Funny how I’d thought the same thing as I purchased ourdrinks.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he continues with a wink in my direction. “It’s cold as a witch’s breast out here and this definitelyhelps.”

“Tit.”

He lowers the cup to his thigh. “What?”

“Tit,” I repeat, hating the fact that he’s managed to throw me off-kilter. I glance at the crowd wandering past, heading for the sculptures along the harbor, and wonder how no one has noticed that the Blades’ new favorite player is within their midst. “The phrase is, ‘cold as a witch’s tit.’ Notbreast.”

Marshall only crosses his leg, his left ankle on his right knee. His smile is slow, flirtatious, and just before he tips the cup back up to his lips, he murmurs, “Iknow.”

Of course hedoes.

And,of course, he would find a way to mess with me. Some things never change, just like with the countless pens I handed over, only for him to deliver them straight to their pen graveyard. I lick my lips, tasting the light gloss I swiped on earlier. Gray eyes latch onto my mouth, as I say, “Youwouldfind a way for me to repeat the word ‘tit’ multipletimes.”

He gives a low, masculine laugh. “Worthit.”

I swallow a smile. “Anyone ever tell you before that you’re ajerk?”

“Once ortwice.”

“Only once ortwice?”

His fingers tap out a rhythm against his raised calf. “Pretty sure you’re not supposed to insult your date, Gwenny. It goes against every date code thereis.”

Just like that, he manages to deflate myease.

I’m on a date with MarshallHunt.

And I’m not even stressing over his celebrity-status as a pro-athlete. Nope. The only thing bouncing around my skull is,I’m on a date with Marshall Hunt, the guy who drove me nuts all senior year and hasn’t stoppedsince.

Okay, maybe “drove me nuts” isn’t entirelycorrect.

It’s just that . . . over the last six years, Marshall has always popped up at times when he’s leastexpected.

A random date I’d gone on with a man nearly twice my age. One minute I’d been contemplating whether or not I actually wanted to sleep with the successful real estate broker, and, in the next, Marshall was pulling up a chair and sitting beside me, introducing himself to my date and ultimately ruiningeverything.

There was a year or two in our timeline of sort-of-friends where we’d had no contact. But then the auction had occurred last year. The Blades had “sold” themselves off to the highest bidder, all in the name of charity for Boston’s first responders, and Zoe had bartered me off toMarshall.

Once again renewing our years’ long push-and-pull.

Needing another moment to work over my thoughts, I finish off my hot chocolate, which isn’t so hot anymore, and then tuck the cup between my legs, just as I’d done tohis.

“I’m surprised you even agreed to meet me tonight,” I say, going for honesty. Another rule of life I’ve thrived on after countless therapy sessions. “You were pretty clear the other day that you were no longerinterested.”

I sneak a glance at him, hoping to see something in his handsome expression that’ll tell me I’m wrong, that he still wantsme.

And if he does? What do you plan to do with thatknowledge?

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