Page 35 of His Jersey

Jack chuckles. “Not neatly.”

I glance around, thankful that I haven’t been spotted as an imposter and been kicked out. “This place seems to prize good table manners.”

His lips tease a smile. “It’s dim. I think we can get away with anything we want.”

He winks. Even without a cell phone, I get a notification to be on alert. Yvonne told Minka that he winked at her.

But I cannot resist dessert. We dig in, demolishing the piece of edible art.

I anticipate he’s awaiting my answer about the jersey—that allthisleads tothat. So I ask, “All I have to do is wear the jersey? What’s the catch?”

“Come with me to the game, wear the jersey. End of story.”

I hesitate.

“You have something there.” Jack reaches across the table and brushes his pinky across the edge of my lip.

I squinch up because I’m painfully good at embarrassing myself. But his gaze meets mine. He licks his finger. “Strawberry.”

My internal player-flirt-fling flags and sirens go off, but being on the receiving end of this kind of attention feels way better than a thumbs-up and heart-likes dopamine hit—not that I’ve even glimpsed social media in months.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice squeaky.

“My pleasure,” he replies.

Our gazes drift together, no doubt both of us recalling the kiss in the pool last year. The kiss last night.

Clearing his throat, Jack says, “As I said, if you wear my jersey, I’ll compensate you for your time.”

I’m afraid to ask how much, but considering my bank account is in the single digits, any amount could help.

Instead of answering just yet, I take the last bite of dessert. Jack watches me and then leans across the table and places his lips on mine as if he wanted that bite, too.

He’s a hockey pro, but he could also include professional flirt on his resume.

After dinner, arms linked, we walk along the resort’s lantern-lit pathways. I almost forget that I’m not on vacation and this is where I work. When we reach a little nook overlooking the water, sparkling in the moonlight, I decide to take a risk. Well, two.

“Yes,” I say boldly.

He turns to me. “Yes, you’ll wear my jersey to the game?”

I nod, then take the second risk and grip the fold of his shirt where it buttons, knowing that I might regret this the next time I wake up, having slept in the cabana storage building.

Jack’s lips quirk with a smile, making my pulse flutter. He closes the remaining space between us and our lips brush. My fingers trace their way up his chest and then slide along his jaw. His hands press into my lower back, tugging me closer.

The push of his mouth to mine is soft yet strong, demanding yet yielding.

“If this is what a fling feels like, I’ll have another, sir.”

A chuckle comes from his throat, meaning I said that out loud. His rough palm strokes my hair and then drops to myneck as he kisses his way toward my ear and back again, sending tingles through me.

Jack’s kiss is perfect and warm and everything I didn’t know I wanted. If only my life were different, I wasn’t the help, and all of this meant something. Something real.

15

JACK

Bark Wahlburger leansinto me and I scratch his head. His tail wags as if this is the greatest day of his life.

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