Page 44 of His Jersey

How did people survive in the Dark Ages before devices? Then again, I haven’t had one for nearly a year and am doing fine. Except right now, because as I exit to the hall adjacent to the VIP area, I hear more whispering.

“She’s coming.”

Then a bunch of cameras go off—phone cameras taking pictures of me. I’m pretty sure I look like the emoji head with two differently spaced eyes and a lolling tongue.

Was the fine print the kiss that Jack blew to me after his goal? Maybe it means something like wearing his jersey.

What does it matter and why do they want my photo? Call me naïve, but even if he’s an eligible billionaire bachelor, it’s not like I’m his girlfriend.

I’m about to get caught in a stream of people when Carlos intercepts me. Leading me through a door that saysPersonnel Only, he says, “That was something.”

“I know. It’s a bummer they lost.”

“No, that Jack blew you a kiss. No wonder he wanted you in his jersey. You’re going to be wanted in all fifty states.”

Bark Wahlburger and I trail behind him in the hall. I swallow, not fully understanding what he means but am suddenly very thirsty.

Stopping short, I say, “Is Jack married? Did I just commit a crime? I would never knowingly be with a married man.” I already have potential cases against me for faking my identity at Jewel Island, but now this, too? I’m innocent! I can survive semi-homelessness at an opulent resort, but I don’t think I’m a good candidate for prison.

Carlos crows with laughter. “Jack, married? Yesterday, I would’ve said I’ll believe it when I see it, but now I’m not so sure.”

I meet the glimmer in his eyes with hardness in mine. “Can you explain what’s going on?”

“He’s the better man for the job.” Carlos points at Jack, who approaches from the other end of the hallway, still wearing his gear—massive in his skates and uniform.

Carlos excuses himself to do whatever Carloses do.

Jack stops less than an arm’s length away from me. His smile burns through my confusion, prompting irritation.

I ask, “What was that?”

“A good game, but not a great one. I’m sorry you saw us lose.”

“No, I mean the kiss.” I gesture between us.

His eyes shift from left to right. “I got the goal. Dedicated it to you. Was it a good idea?” The corner of his mouth lifts. “It was impulsive. But?—”

“Apparently, I have a hockey fan army after me.”

His expression darkens. “What do you mean?”

“A bunch of women took photos of me afterward. Not like, ‘Hey, we’re at the game together, let’s be friends. Hashtag hockey selfie, lovvve you so muchhh, bae,’ but like they’re going to put up Wanted Dead or Alive signs with a price on my head.”

Jack laughs but stops abruptly when my arms fold in front of my chest and I square my jaw.

“Tell me the truth. Why’d you ask me to wear it?”

He stares down at his skates. “Because.”

“That’s not an answer. There are loads of women wearing your jersey here. You could’ve paid any of them to sit my seat.”

His chest rises and falls on a breath. “They’re known quantities.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re anonymous. Not part of the hockey world. For all anyone knows, you could actually be my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” I ask slowly.

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