Page 70 of His Jersey

“The puck bunnies probably don’t believe that I’m with you and your friends probably won’t either, and?—”

“Do we care what they think?”

“Yes, if we want to sell this love story.”

We both go quiet and sip the air.

“For the record and to all present, I’d like to highlight my previous comment about you not being a business deal but a human,” Jack says as if conducting a legal case.

I whisper. “We have an arrangement, Jack. It’s too late to deny that.”

He lets out a long breath.

“They see this is fake and they’re not wrong.”

Jack gazes into my eyes for a long moment. “No?” He opensand closes his mouth, lips pressed together as if he wants to say more, then settles on, “We’ll do something about that, but not in here.”

I cock my head. “Are you suggesting another kiss?” I press my lips together, having made an agreement with myself. Every time I resist kissing Jack, I get a Hershey’s Kiss. Yes, I’m bribing myself with chocolate.

The corners of his mouth quirk. “I’m into it if you are.”

“Jack,” I whisper hiss, all but stomping my foot.

His gaze dips to mine. My mind turns foggy, and then I tear my eyes away.

“We hardly know each other. Aston already asked about the ring. What if she has more questions like your favorite song or allergies or I don’t even know because I don’t know—” My hand slides down my face like I’m posing forThe Screampainting by Edvard Munch.

Jack takes my hand and leads me back to the table. Thankfully, Smedley is gone. Allain and Aston are now both on their devices.

“Change of plans. I’m craving pizza. Good night.” With a decisive nod at his father, Jack ushers us out of the restaurant.

27

JACK

Now would be a reallygood time to angry drive the Jeep through the sand dunes. But Ella looks too pretty to get dusty, and we’re miles and miles from the beach.

I hesitate to get into the waiting SUV, not wanting to be chauffeured around for once. Because of my busy schedule, it’s easier to multi-task when someone else takes me where I need to go. And I’ll be real, I’ve had drivers for most of my life, but I like the idea of Ella in the passenger seat with me behind the wheel.

Remaining on the sidewalk, I declare, “When we get to Nebraska, I’m buying a truck.”

Biting her lip, Ella says, “Are you stress-car-shopping?”

My eyebrow quirks.

She sheepishly shrugs. “Earlier today, I stress-cookie-shopped.”

I tilt my head and smile for the first time in what feels like hours. This woman is so genuine, so funny, so quirky, and real, it’s like I’d been breathing the wrong kind of air my whole life.

I nod slowly in affirmation. “That didn’t go well, didit?”

“A ring would’ve helped. I didn’t think of it either. I wish I had a paperclip.”

“Why?”

“I could’ve fashioned it into a ring.”

In this short time, I’ve come to know when Ella’s being facetious, sarcastic, when she’s serious, and when she’s self-conscious—definitely the case when Aston accused us of having a fake relationship. But when I kissed her hands and looked into her eyes, I meant what I said.

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