Page 58 of His Jersey

I want to. I do. But never mind my safety net having holes, it’s in a dumpster somewhere.

As if I already agreed, he smiles and says, “What do you think of Hockey Town?”

“Obviously, I’ve never been. Oh, wait. That’s where Leah lives.”

“Let’s play house.”

“No one would believe I’m your fiancée.”

“What if I don’t care what anyone believes?” he says in a slow way that highlights his subtle southern accent.

“Your reputation is with women who are the opposite of this.” I gesture to myself in all my messy hair in a knot on top of my head and holey sweatpants’ed glory.

His lips screw up to the side. “Maybe I like what I see.”

“Don’t tease me. I’m fully aware that I’m not like the other girls you’ve dated. I’m unknown or whatever.”

“None of them were my fiancée.”

Does that mean that he didn’t like any of them enough to slide a ring on their finger? Does that mean I’m different? More like a world apart from him.

“Jack, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re you and I’m me. In movies, the whole opposites attract thing works in a cute, quirky way. But this is real life where Jack Bouchelle hooks up with tall, buxom, gorgeous vixens.”

He tips his head back with laughter.

My lip pops out with a pout.

“Ella. Oh, Ella. You don’t see what I see.”

“Short.”

“Five six? Seven?”

“Curvy.”

“Perfect.”

“Awkward.”

“Adorable.”

“Jack Bouchelle doesn’t date adorable.”

“Beautiful.” The back of his hand skims the side of my face, sending shivers across my skin.

“Now that we’re done arguing about whether I’m insanely attracted to you, can’t stop thinking about kissing you twenty-three and a half out of the twenty-four hours a day, and want you to be my fiancée, will you do it?”

“What do you think about the other thirty minutes?”

“Hockey.”

Before I can voice another objection, Jack shows me a house with a stone hearth that’s the size of the wall.

I stuff a handful of popcorn in my mouth. I must be dreaming. I accidentally bite down on a kernel and wince. Nope. The pain is real. I’m awake.

“I’m having déjà vu. Before, you said there was no fine print. I wore the jersey. Then I was your fake girlfriend for a minute. Now I’m sitting on your couch in the middle of the night, eating popcorn and looking at houses you could buy. If you recall, I don’t even own a bed.”

“Which makes this perfect. It solves two problems.”

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