Page 59 of His Jersey

“Jack, I’m not a problem,” I say softly.

“That’s not what I meant. It’s just that it’ll look good for my team and help you?—”

“I’m not a charity case.”

He shakes his head rapidly. “Ella, if I thought about you that way, I would’ve given you a plate with a steak on it.”

I tuck my chin. “What?”

“Never mind. It’s just that I think this could work.”

Heart flutters and flustered fluffy bunnies fight over the puck in my chest. “I have to think about it.”

“I’ll court you and everything,” he says with a laugh.

“How do modern hockeyplayerswoo women?” I ask, my emphasis pointed, given what I overheard about his reputation.

He sets the popcorn bowl aside and nibbles his lower lip, eyes heavy and flirty. “Let me show you.”

His splayed fingers cradle my jaw and he stares deeply into my eyes. For a moment, I’m lost in a dream, in a fairytale. Then his lips land on mine, soft and warm, minty and masculine.

My palms press to his sides, slide around his back, and try to find a place to land, but the butterflies in my stomach go from fluttering to frolicking.

My thoughts race almost as quickly as my heartbeat. The lines blur between poor housekeeper, fake girlfriend, and something more.

Jack’s fingers weave through my hair, drawing me closer. The movement encourages me to send the kiss deeper, and I lock my hands around the nape of his neck. He gives back fully, completely. Together, we move toward a connection I’ve never felt with a man.

Then my uncertainty fades completely and it’s just the two of us—his lips pressed to mine, our hearts thundering, our inhales short, and our desire intensifying.

When we finally part, I gaze into his eyes—blue and bold, sparkling in a way that makes me believe he wants me.

But what’s next between us?

Turns out, another kiss.

I wishI could say I sleep soundly after Jack’s proposal and wake up refreshed and rational. Instead, as the faintest threads of dawn rise from the horizon, I wake up nuzzled against him on the couch. I rub my eyes and a popcorn kernel nearly falls into my mouth. I sincerely hope it wasn’t stuck to my face. My legs tangle in his and his arm holds me close.

After talking for hours, we must’ve dozedoff.

My head swirls with the kisses we shared, his request that I pose as his fiancée, and potentially moving to Nebraska. Could I find a job there that would cover Dad’s care?

He breathes softly beside me, his expression placid. Even though staying in this little dream bubble would be bliss, I remind myself that I already made the mistake of falling for a billionaire once. No need for a repeat dating disaster.

Not wanting to disturb Jack or subject him to my bedhead, er, couch head—is that a thing?—I carefully uncurl myself from around him. I lift his arm—it’s heavy!—and not so gracefully slide onto the floor with the rest of the popcorn.

Jack’s spare bedroom really feels like a hotel with bland contemporary decor.

I miss having a home and wonder if he ever really has—the kind with family photos on the wall, knickknacks and mementos from camping trips to little towns, and the evidence of human life and the messes it entails. A place to cook and bake, to leave out a pile of laundry to fold, a stack of things collecting in that one place that seems to magnetize odds and ends. It’s not that Jack’s condo is sterile, it’s just not lived in.

Then again, he’s not here often with his hockey traveling schedule. Leah mentioned it because her brother goes where Jack goes. She works at a pub in Cobbiton and takes off as much time as she can in her quest for a great hockey romance of her own.

After a long shower—it might be my last regular one for a while if I return to Jewel Island—I lie on the bed and drift to sleep, only to wake up again at a less absurdly early hour.

When I finally leave my room, not even a pillow askew on the couch or a piece of popcorn reveals that we were here last night. I wonder if a housekeeper already did her rounds. It’s almost ten a.m., so it’s certainly possible.

“The other half really do live differently,” I whisper as I wander around the condo, not sure which closed door is Jack’s.

When I get back to the kitchen to see if the coffee maker actually has a plug or if it’s a prop in a showroom, a key sounds in the lock, startling me. Once more, I feel like I’ve snuck into a suite where I shouldn’t be.

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