Page 149 of A Little Tempting

Her cheeks pinch as she shakes her head, examining the red and black jersey with my name stitched along the back. “Well, yeah, but…”

“But what?” I prod, sitting on pins and needles.

“You remembered.”

“Of course, I remembered.” Lifting her chin, I step closer and kiss her. “I never had a girl wear my jersey.”

“You have a dozen puck bunnies who not only wear your jersey number but went through the effort to bedazzle them with your last name and happily wear them to every game,” she argues dryly. “Trust me. I’ve seen them.”

“There’s the jealousy Finley mentioned,” I note.

She frowns. “Finley told you I was jealous?”

“Finley told me she’d neuter me if I didn’t grow a pair and claim you in front of everyone while simultaneously putting all the puck bunnies in their place,” I counter.

Her jaw drops. “I’m gonna kill her.”

“Don’t you dare,” I order. “Besides, even if she hadn’t said anything, your dad pulled me aside during brunch and suggested I give you something to help you stand out in the crowd.”

“Bunch of snitches,” she mutters.

I chuckle under my breath, pushing her hair away from her face. “I want to make something very clear to you.”

“What is it?”

“Yes, plenty of girls have worn my jersey number.”

“Mm-hmm.” Her nostrils flare, and she presses her lips together, looking annoyed and fiery and pissy, and, fuck, it’s hot as hell.

“But,” I clarify, “I’ve never had anyone I actually want to see wearing my jersey. My name. Myrealname.”

Her eyes soften, and the heat from her jealousy evaporates almost instantly as she looks back at the jersey with the name Oliver stitched in the bright red fabric. “I love it.”

“You do?”

“Well, yeah.” Amusement shines in her pretty blue-green eyes as they snap back up to me. “How’d you get it, though? Obviously, it’s custom-made.”

“I figured I could do the research, but Finley got in another fight with Drew, so I called her and let her work her magic.”

“That was sweet of you,” she admits.

“I can be sweet.”

“Yes, yes, you can.” She rises onto her tiptoes and kisses me softly. “Do you want to see me in it?”

“In my jersey?”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums.

“Fuck yeah.”

“Perfect. Meet me upstairs in five.” She nibbles my bottom lip for good measure, lets me go, and skips up the stairs when a loud thud echoes from the staircase.

“Dylan?” I call.

Did she seriously just fall up the stairs?

“I’m okay!” she yells.

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