Page 7 of Hat Trick

Shaking my head, I mutter, “You’re an open book, Denton. Trust me, your thoughts are all over yourface.”

She laughs loudly, a boisterous, full-belly sound that is so typically her. “No wonder Duke always knows when I want to jump his bones. My lust is all over myface.”

Feeling the mood lighten, I add, “I’m pretty sure he looks your way and you immediately start panting. Thankfully, your boyfriend is a little more circumspect as a client. If I signed you, the world would know when you’re begging forsex.”

“Who’s begging forsex?”

The Mountain, otherwise known as Duke Harrison, appears behind his petite girlfriend. Once upon a time, Duke and I dated—if you can even call it that. A few dinners here and there and one awkward make-out session does not a relationship make. Not my best moment.Are they ever?Swallowing, I force a bright smile. “Your girlfriend is—tell me, Harrison, what do you see when you look at Charlie’sface?”

Catching onto my game, Charlie winks at me and then presses her chin to the top of her hands. She flutters her eyelashes ridiculously, then goes all out by biting her bottom lip and . . . is shesquinting?

Duke, typical guy that he is, frowns. “Did you get something in your eye,babe?”

Charlie huffs. “I’msmizing.”

“Smizing? Is that a new mascara orsomething?”

Stifling a laugh, I open my mouth and then am soundly cut off by the one man who never fails to make me question everything aboutmyself.

Marshall slings a muscular arm around Duke’s shoulders, leaning in as if to impart a big secret. “Nah,” he says, his gray eyes bright with mirth, “it’s model lingo. She’s smiling with her eyes. Get it? Smile. Eyes.Smize.”

Duke’s brows lower. “That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard. Who made thatup?”

“Tyra Banks,” I put in, growing warm under the weight of Marshall’s stare. “America’s Next Top Model,” I add. “Ringing anybells?”

The Mountain looks at meblankly.

I turn to my friend. “Your boyfriend’s knowledge of reality TV is sorelylacking.”

“I think we should be asking, instead, whyHuntknows what smizing is.” Charlie taps her nose and then points at the Blades’ star forward. “Wanna tell us yoursecrets?”

For a moment, so quick I’m almost convinced it didn’t happen, Marshall’s gray eyes grow somber, the laughter banking. My heart stutters. Marshall is an open book—he’s not one to hide what he’s thinking, and the man is full of so much good humor that it’s hard to imagine him hiding anything atall.

Then he grins, his dimples creasing his clean-shaven cheeks. “Charlie, a man nevertells.”

“You do,” Duke snorts. “You can’t keep a secret to save yourlife.”

Except that he has for years now. He’s keptmysecret, and I’ve never even asked him to. As if knowing the direction of my thoughts, his gaze fixes on me. “Some things are sacred.” He blinks, and the darkened cast in his expression lifts like an unraveled veil. “And some things, like my dating reputation, keep me informed on the smizing habits of models everywhere in theworld.”

Everyone laughs at that—just as Marshall intended, I’m sure—and then he’s turning to me, dropping his arm from Duke’s broad shoulder, and stepping close. My breath hitches as I reflect his approach by inchingback.

His dimples wink with a quick, easy grin. “Running,Gwen?”

I shake my head. “Never.”

“Proveit.”

Duke and Charlie’s laughter fades, and my best friend clears her throat. “Hmm, is that Zoe I hear calling my name? Gotta go!” She wraps a hand around Duke’s arm, despite the fact that the man would follow her to the ends of the earth, and sashays her way into thecrowd.

Traitor.

I fix my gaze on the artfully displayed desserts. In a tone that acutely reminds me of the Old Gwen—in other words, painfully hoity-toity—I say, “Didn’t we go through this once already today? This game thing is nothappening.”

But Marshall surprisesme.

“Dance with me.” His voice is rough around the edges, its undercurrent a true Bostonian slant that speaks to his childhood in Southie. I haven’t heard all the stories, mostly in an attempt to keep our lives untangled, but I’ve heard enough to know that his life hasn’t always been one of supermodels, million-dollar contracts, and international hockeystardom.

Once upon a time, he’d been dealt a hand of foster care, petty juvenile crimes, and a surprising talent for staying upright on skates when he and his buddies stopped up the gutters in their old neighborhood and waited for the shallow water to freezeover.

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