Page 39 of Hat Trick Holidate

“Well, I wasn’t expecting… you.”

He scoffs, “What, am I not good enough to be your date?”

I giggle with a smirk and a hidden smile. “You dad bod is okay.”

“Dad bod?” With amusement in his eyes, he hums, “Well, you’re just lucky that I’m the most eligible bachelor in all of Atlanta.”

I playfully roll my eyes again. “Uh huh, keep telling yourself that.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to sweep you off your feet tonight,” he claims with a slow strolling chuckle.

chapter 15

BRYCE

“You can try.”She gives me a close-lipped smile, but there’s something in the way her eyes sparkle that feeds my desire for her to like me. Not just want me. We both know we’re compatible as far as sex goes—unless things have changed.

I go to the bar and order two drinks. I set a French Martini in front of her, and I drink a vodka with lime.

“Are you Russian?”

“No, my dad is Swedish, and my grandmother on my mom’s side was half Russian/half German and immigrated in the seventies, so I guess vodka is my blood. Cheers to the best blind date ever.” I raise my glass to hers, and we clink them together.

“But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You have to woo me.”

Sipping on my cocktail, I say, “You’re the prettiest girl in the room.”

“Do better.”

“You’re exactly what I asked for, Emmaline.”

Her eyes round, and her jaw drops as her whole face turns a beautiful shade of pink like the tulips my mother lined our sidewalk with when I was young, before?—

“Is Jolie happy with me?” she asks.

She’s obviously uncomfortable with someone complimenting her appearance, but before the night is over, she’ll know how beautiful she is, and I’ll praise her until the sun comes up.

“I think so. She puts on those Nike Dunks as soon as she wakes up. But since this is a date, let’s get to know each other better. How is it that you’re single?”

Her shoulders ride up to her ears before she blows out a breath, and they fall slowly. She twirls her auburn hair between her fingers. I haven’t noticed her do that before. Does she do it when she’s nervous?

“I was engaged once to Roman’s best friend and former agent. On our wedding day, he came to me and broke it off.” Her eyes fill with tears. “He said he loved me, but he wasn’t in love with me. He cheated on me with my maid of honor the night before. That was what prompted him to break it off while I’m standing in my wedding dress.” She shrugs and wipes her eyelashes that hold a tear.

“What a piece of shit. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Is your maid of honor still your best friend?” I ask.

Emmaline wrangles a bit of her hair, twirling it over one shoulder and scoffs, “No. I lost everyone but my brother. Tonya, my best friend, admitted that she had a relationship with Grant. We had been friends since grade school. Talked on the phone until all hours of the night for ten years.”

Her teeth scrape across her plush lower lip.

What a kick in the nuts. My friends and teammates would never make a move on my girl—anyone’s girl. There’s a code amongst guys and if you break it, you’re out of the circle of friendships. No man wants to worry about his friend hitting on his girlfriend or wife.

There’s a beat of quiet understanding before I urge her on. I want to know every detail and how to heal every wound. “What happened next?”

“Roman married Penelope the next year. But as you know, Roman and I found out eight months ago from TMZ that Penelope and Grant were having an affair. Grabbing ass and locking lips for the cameras.” Emmaline sighs, looking completely defeated. “I’m sure you heard about the fight Roman got into that continued off the ice. His team dropped him under the behavior clause… and he ended up here under a contract that’s even more strict. One incident, and he’s off the team.”

Nodding, I take a healthy drink. I don’t know exactly what his terms with the Jets are, but I know he needs to keep his nose clean.

“How long ago did you get your freedom?” I ask because Emmaline deserves someone who will challenge her, let her give into her desires, and worship the space she fills. Every. Damn. Day.

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