Page 30 of His Jersey

Her jaw lowers. “Are you saying that you’re a professional hockey player?”

“I didn’t mention it?”

She playfully whacks me and I catch her hand, lacing my fingers throughhers.

“No, Jack. I would’ve remembered that not-so-little detail, along with you being a billionaire’s son.”

I sigh because I didn’t tell her on purpose. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but with Ella, I’ve been anonymous. She’s not a crazed fan, playing cat and mouse in the halls of the arena, cornering me at clubs, or showing up at my condo at all hours. I didn’t realize it until now because I was so deep in that life, but this has been a major relief. Not that I don’t want her to know me, but we connected without her having a clue about my background, which tells me everything I need to know about who she is and what she values.

“So will you?” I ask.

She must be very tired since she seems to be processing this so slowly. It was an impulsive and bold question, but it’s also perfect.

Ella is the first woman I’ve ever asked to wear my jersey. Given my reputation, that speaks volumes. Plus, since she’s not part of my father’s world, nor is she part of the puck bunny circuit, no one can question whether we’re legit.

The Storm management will see I’m serious and have second thoughts. I’ll remain on my team. Problem solved.

I blurt, “You do this one thing for me, no strings attached, and I’ll pay you a year’s salary.”

Ella looks at me sharply. “I earn a wage.”

“How much? I’ll quadruple it. Name the price.”

As if caught off guard, she stammers, “I’m not for sale.”

“Of course, not, but I will pay you to wear my jersey to one game.”

“One game?” she repeats.

I nod, feeling a burden lifting.

“Can I tell you tomorrow?”

“Of course, we fly out at 11:59.”

The night we met, I recall her asking me about my “onething.” I’m not proud to admit it, but when I’d visit the resort, I would enjoy a weekend fling. What happened on the island stayed on the island.

My-oh-my, how times change. But hope sparks that this time, when I leave, Ella will be by my side.

She has a certain glow that sparks something inside of me. I can’t resort to my usual flirt-and-flaunt moves to have a good time. But maybe that’s because I want more than a fling with her. Something more meaningful.

For once, I don’t want the attention so much as to give mine to her. But how can I convince her that I’m not the guy she thinks I am—was?

13

ELLA

I wakeup snuggled in the middle of a bed that’s somehow larger than the king in the Ruby Room. Last night, I fell asleep to the credits of a fairytale film where dreams the main character didn’t even know she had come true.

I’m having my Cinderella moment.

Even though I’ve covered nearly every inch of the resort, I somehow never encountered the Jewel Suite. There should be another name for it because it’s bigger than a villa with a luxurious collection of rooms on steroids. Seriously, it’s larger than every house I’ve ever lived in. It could have its own postal code.

I went exploring last night and discovered a fully stocked closet with designer clothing and accessories, a popcorn pantry with every flavor imaginable along with a mini movie theater and a private library.

From what Jack said, his father must’ve had it custom-built for his wife because it’s every woman’s dream with a dressing table, a bath big enough to swim in, and a jewelry box studded with diamonds and gold.

I’m afraid to touch anything.

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