Page 51 of His Jersey

Pressing her lips together, she nods.

“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant to happen. You might say my plan worked a little too well.”

“What was your plan? You said all I needed to do was wear your jersey. I thought maybe you needed a warm body to fill in a space on a fan photo or something.”

“Warm body? No. Hot? Yes. But that’s not it at all,” I say,meaning that she’s more than a warm body and she’s very attractive.

“Jack, I asked if there was a catch.”

I don’t want her to feel tricked, but I fear she’s slipping away. Wait. That must mean I want her to stick around. I shift from foot to foot, not prepared to think about that.

“Originally, I just wanted to show the hockey powers-that-be that I’m serious. Not just another playboy. I didn’t calculate the puck bunny social media frenzy.”

She goes pale. “What do you mean?”

I squish my eyes closed, already screwing this up. “We need to get you a phone.”

“From what you just said, maybe I don’t want one.”

“The fans exploded with speculation, photos, and?—”

“And they crowned me the Puck Princess.”

I nod because likely Leah mentioned that. “It spread like wildfire, and now …” I’m afraid to finish the sentence because she might reject me. I’d reject me because what could go wrong with asking her to be my fake girlfriend—aside from everything?

Ella leans in, but before I pop the question, Carlos scurries over with Leah on his heels.

He says, “We have to get you out of here. Now.”

I look around, wondering what the problem is, but Carlos is already backing me toward a doorway. Leah clasps Ella’s arm and follows closely.

We’re in the hall and looping around toward the bank of elevators when I hear a familiar deep voice.

“El Jefe,” Carlos says, meaningthe bossand referring to the name he gave my father after he learned that I’m Allain Bouchelle’s son and what that entails.

In my head, I feel like I sound like a bratty teenager, but my father isn’t the boss of me.

Carlos and Leah pivot us back the way we came, hoping to avoid my father and his entourage, but my phone beeps in my pocket, giving us away as the voices fall silent. Footsteps approach from one direction and the party sounds spill toward us from the other.

“Son,” my father calls, having spotted me—not hard since I’m so tall.

“Father,” I say.

Carlos slides behind me. I amend what I said earlier, he’ll take shots for me except when fired by my father—that’s between us. Leah joins her brother. I angle myself partially, protectively in front of Ella. Bark Wahlburger parks himself between us and my father.

It’s past Aston’s bedtime, so thankfully, she’s not with him. Then again, she’s probably out partying at a club. She tags me in every single one of her @QueenAston posts. I’d like to have a talk with her parents and find out where they went wrong.

My father says, “You weren’t supposed to lose, but I guess that makes your decision easier.”

I glance at Ella, wondering what exactly I have left to lose.

She looks up at me.

“This is Ella Hibbert. Ella, meet my father, Allain Bouchelle.”

His scowl dampens slightly when she extends her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Is that so? Like what?”

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