Page 64 of His Jersey

One of them says, “Don’t fall for him.”

Leah asks, “Is that a direct order?”

The other shakes her head at me, “You’ve been warned.”

The first one says, “He’ll break your heart.”

Jack can’t break my heart because I haven’t given it to him. No sooner do I have the thought than I know it’s a lie, but admitting the truth of how close he is to having his hands all over it terrifies me.

“Thank you for your concern, I’ll be sure to inform the manager,” Leah deadpans.

I press my lips together to keep from laughing.

When we continue down the aisle, she says, “I take it you still haven’t been on social media.”

“I forgot my password.”

“It’s for the best. Not only did you manage to snag one of hockey’s most eligible bachelors, but you also won the heart of the billionaire’s son, whose private life is very public. As in he’s dated celebrities, pop stars, socialites …”

And now little old me, because I’m a nobody.

If I won anything, it’s his fake, pretend heart, but I keep that to myself as I fear that at some point, the puck bunny’s prophecy from aisle five will come true.

Even after we check out and go to the store’s bathroom with loads of bags, I can’t shake the women’s warning. Leah changes, swipes on some makeup, dons a pair of glasses, and then looks me over.

“Okay, we need a pumpkin, a horse, a dog, and some mice. Just remember to be back before the stroke of midnight.”

“Are you fairy godmothering me?” I ask.

“Sort of. You already look as fresh as a daisy.” She fusses with my hair and makeup, runs a de-linting roller over me, and polishes my shoes with a baby wipe.

“I don’t think this is necessary.”

“Maybe not. But revenge is. Let’s ride.”

I’m not sure whether to laugh or gird myself.

Leah adds, “Ignore those women and any others we might meet. Just follow my lead.”

As we exit the bathroom, it sounds like she says something that sounds an awful lot like “Bippity-boppity-boo.”

After leaving our department store bags in the SUV, Leah directs the driver to a series of stores where she poses as my personal assistant. When the employees speak to me, she answers. When they tell me I look great in a pair of jeans or a dress, she tells the truth. We end up walking out of there with more bags than we can comfortably carry, but instead of returning to the waiting car, she leads us to the original shop that rejected me.

Leah looks around, sticks her nose in the air, and loudly declares, “Hmm. I suppose it’s best that you didn’t spend your money here, Ella. It smells funny.”

It’s everything I can do not to die, but in a good way.

We don’t have much time to relish our victory at the sight of the aloof woman’s face, falling from its snooty height because Leah is going to be late for her flight.

On the ride there, I thank her profusely for her help and for having my back.

She gives me a side eye and says, “My brother said you genuinely didn’t know who Jack Bouchelle was before you officially met.”

That must mean they were talking about me.

“All jersey joking aside, given his playboy reputation, ordinarily, I wouldn’t defend the likes of Jack, but my brother is hismanager. Although Chuck can be obnoxious, he’s a good judge of character. There has to be something good underneath all that handsome brawn.”

Yeah, and part of me wishes it were mine and not a big charade.

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