Page 88 of Inked Adonis

To be clear, it’s not like I’mhidingit. I just imagined talking to Sam about the phone first. It seems strange to go to Myles about my issues with Sam’s ex-wife.

So, yeah—I’m waiting to mention the burner phone purely out of respect to Sam… not because I can still hear Katerina’s sneering voice in the back of my head, telling me to get out while I still can.

I swallow. “Yep, I’m a rare one. Super special.”

Myles snorts, which earns him narrowed eyes from me. He raises his hands in surrender. “It’s actually great you don’t like gifts because, technically, the surprise isn’t for you. It’s for Serena.”

I only know one Serena, but I still rear back. “Serena, like… my grandmother?”

“The sexy silver queen,” he confirms. “The very same.”

“Again, I repeat:my grandmother?!”

Myles smirks. “I know she’s older, but she’s got a little somethin’-somethin’ going on. I can appreciate a woman’s charms at any age.”

Before I can tear into that can of worms, Myles pulls two tickets out of his back pocket and flashes them in front of me. “Blackhawks tickets. For tonight.”

“Oh my God!” I squeal, plucking them out of his hands to examine. “Grams loves the Blackhawks! She took me to my first game when I was ten.”

She bought me a soft pretzel as big as my head, and even though we were in nosebleed seats closer to God than to the ice, she managed to sweet-talk a guy after the game into giving us one of the pucks.

Myles might be right—Grams really does have a little somethin’-somethin’ going on.

“Sam organized the whole thing for the two of you,” he explains. “Go change and then we can spring that foxy temptress from her old folks’ prison for the night.”

For the first time since I spotted Katerina in the park, I’m not thinking about what devious plans she might have for me or what she said about Samuil.

Any guy who sends an old woman to a hockey game can’t be the kind of monster she described.

It’s ridiculous that I was even worried.

I’ll tell Sam about the phone later—after Grams and I cheer the Blackhawks to a victory.

Grams looksradiant on Myles’s arm, but she nervously adjusts her jersey as we walk to Samuil’s private box. “Everyone must be wondering what the two of us are doing together.”

“I know.” Myles chuckles. “They’re all gonna wonder what the hell I did to deserve a gorgeous woman like you by my side. The jealousy will eat them up.”

Grams blushes, pinching Myles’ side. He nudges her gently back, whispering something about how beautiful she looks in red.

If he were to ask Grams right now, she’d say Myles has already perfected his “alluring male presence.” Who would’ve thought I’d be the third wheel in this trio?

“I just can’t believe I’m going to watch the game from a private box.” She looks over her shoulder at me. “Last time we came to a game, we were so far back we could hardly tell the players apart. Remember that, Nova?”

“Sam wanted the two of you to have the best seats in the house.” Myles swings open the door to the box, ushering us both inside. “And so you shall.”

Grams and I both grind to a halt at the threshold.

“I thought we were here for a game,” Grams whispers to me. Clearly, she’s come to the same assessment of the room I have—we’re not anywhere near rich enough to be here.

I look down at myself, suddenly wondering why I dressed as if the Blackhawks’ merch department threw up on me. I send a silent prayer of gratitude up that I didn’t let the man outside the arena talk me into painting the logo on my cheek.

“Myles,” I hiss, “why did you let us dress like this?”

He has the audacity to look confused in his standard security uniform of black trousers and fitted black sweater. “What? You both look great.”

“Yeah, but these people look like celebrities.”

“Because they are,” he mock-whispers back to me. Then he takes Grams by the hand. “Let me show you around the joint, Serena. I want people to see us together.”

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