Page 3 of Hat Trick

My childhoodnickname.

I fight back the sting of tears and accept the arm of the only man in my life who has ever appreciated me forme, and not for what’s between my legs. “Let’s do this,Manny.”

But as he helps me into the car, and I rearrange my dress around my legs, I can only think one thing: I might have changed, I might not view other women as the devil incarnate any longer, but one thing will neverchange.

Love is still, unequivocally,horseshit.

2

Hunt

I’m fucking late.

I’m never late. Call me Mr. Punctual, if you want, but I’ve made it this far in my life by playing it easy, chill—the guy everyone wants to be around because I don’t make a fuss.Ever.

Then days like today happen, and shit hits thefan.

Between my brother calling me for another “business” loan and my washing machine eating the dress shirt I’d planned to wear . . . not to mention the fact that I ran a red light and got pulled over, and ohyeah, apparently, there was the matter of two unpaid (forgotten) tickets on myrecord.

It’s safe to say that Mr. Chill has been replaced with Mr. Get The Fuck Out Of MyWay.

My dress shoes eat up the concrete pavement, frozen over with ice, as I maneuver my big body through the throngs of people waiting their turn to take a spin around the makeshift ice rink in the Boston Commons. The fact that I’m not stopped a single time for an autograph or a selfie goes to show that I’m not acting myselftoday.

My reputation as the NHL’s most charming forward is about to be blown to smithereens in favor of returning to my roots: just plain, old Marshall Hunt, Pissed-OffBostonian.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, planting a hand on some dude’s back and giving him a little push to the side, “comingthrough.”

The sight of the front door of Cheers Restaurant might as well be the Stanley Cup right now, I’m so thankful to finally have it within reach. My teammate, Andre Beaumont, is having his engagement party on the second floor of the property, which, from what I understand, isn’t associated withCheers.

Even so, I’m Beaumont’s best man and I’m currently . . . I dig my cell phone out of my slacks to check the time, letting out a low groan when I realize that the festivities began an hourago.

Fuckingfantastic.

A body bumps into mine just as I’m about to cross the street. Instinct has me reaching out, wrapping an arm around a set of slim shoulders to keep the person from tumbling down to the icypavement.

And then I catch it—the scent of lemon, delicious and tart. There’s only one person I know who ever wears thatperfume.

GwenJames.

I glance down at her vibrant red hair and think back to a time when she was blonde. Honey blonde, none of that platinum hue for her. But it’s been years since then—six, to be precise—and the honey blond curls I used to imagine fisting as I settled myself between her legs are longgone.

“Excuse me,” she says, her husky voice both familiar and totally foreign all at once. “Sorry aboutthat.”

She tries to untangle herself from my grasp, but I clamp down, keeping her lithe figure pressed against my side. “So nice to run into you this chilly evening, Gwen. Heading to thefestivities?”

Her head jerks up at the sound of my voice, and those beautiful blue eyes of hers go momentarily wide before narrowing. “Marshall.”

I grin at her clipped tone. I opted to go by my surname the minute the Blades drafted me from Northeastern University. Besides my brother, Gwen might be the only person I’m still in contact with who calls me “Marshall.”

Coming off her lush lips, I loveit.

Though I’d prefer to hear her moaning it while we’re fucking on my bed, but hey, I’ve been hoping for that outcome since I sat behind her in Accounting 201, my sophomore year at Northeastern. When it comes to me, Gwen James has done a pretty solid job of ignoring all my attempts to take her out on adate.

Which means that having her up against my side right now? Yeah, I totally plan to live in themoment.

I give her hip a little squeeze, enjoying the way her brows pull low like she’s not sure if she likes it or if she wants to knee me in the balls. “You didn’t answer my question,Gwen.”

“I’m not playing your gamestoday.”

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