Page 77 of The Mistake

I don’t ask who “she” is. I simply nod.

“It’s not just for the sex?”

My smile is rueful. “We haven’t had sex yet.”

Surprise flickers through his eyes. “For real? I assumed you fucked her back in April.”

“Nope.”

The corners of his mouth tug upward. Either I’m imagining it, or he actually looksproudof me. “Well, then that just answered my question about her being worth it.” He thumps me on the shoulder, then reaches for the door handle. “Good luck.”

Truth be told, I’m not sure I need luck. Every time I delivered one of my cringingly romantic gifts to Grace’s door, I was rewarded with a brilliant smile that lit up her entire face. And either I was imagining it, or she kept staring at my mouth, so damn intently, as if she was dying to kiss me. I didn’t make a move, though. Didn’t want to push too hard, too fast. But I have a feeling I might be getting that kiss tonight.

I knock on Grace’s door twenty minutes later, ordering myself to keep the gloating to a minimum. But damn, I’m feeling pretty fucking gloaty about the way I’ve successfully fulfilled all of her demands. It really is a shame that people don’t grasp what a stubborn motherfucker I am.

Grace doesn’t look surprised to see me when she opens the door. Probably because I texted to let her know I was coming by. I didn’t tell herwhy, but she takes one look at my face and sucks in a breath. “You didn’t…”

I hold out my cell in triumph. “Your celebrity endorsement, my lady.”

“Okay, get in here. Ihaveto see this.” One hand snatches the phone while the other tugs me into the room.

Her roommate Daisy is cross-legged on the bed, and she grins when she spots me. “If it isn’t Mr. Romance himself. What have you got for us tonight, big boy?”

I grin back. “Nothing special. Just?—”

“Hey, Grace,” a voice drawls out of the phone speaker. Grace has loaded the video and pressed play with impressive speed, and her roommate freezes at the sound of the cheerful male greeting.

“Shane Lukov here,” the dark-haired guy on the screen continues.

“Holy shit!” Daisy screeches. She dives off the bed andraces over to Grace, while I stand in front of them smirking the smirk of all smirks.

“Coming to you from Wilmington with an important message,” announces the second-year Bruins star. Lukov took the league by storm with his explosive rookie year, and people are salivating to see what he does this upcoming season. The twenty-year-old is already being compared to Sidney Crosby, and honestly, I don’t think it’s that far off the mark.

“I’ve known Logan a long time.” Lukov winks at the camera. “And by long time, I mean five whole minutes, but whatistime, really? From what I can tell, he’s a good guy. Easy on the eyes. Rumor has it, he’s a total bruiser on the ice. That’s all I really need to know to give him my endorsement. So go out with him, sweetheart.” A wide grin fills the screen. “My name is Shane Lukov and I approve this message.”

The video ends. Daisy is busy picking her jaw off the floor. Grace is staring at me as if she’s never seen me before in her life.

“So.” I blink innocently. “What time should I pick you up tomorrow night?”

25

GRACE

Hastings has several nice restaurants, but if you’re looking for fancy, then Ferro’s is the way to go. The Italian bistro is gorgeous—dark oak-paneled walls, secluded booths, blood-red linen tablecloths. And candlelight. Lots and lots of candlelight.

It requires a reservation at least a week in advance, and yet Logan somehow snags a table in less than twenty-four hours. When he told me where we were going, I thought maybe he’d made a reservation last week in anticipation of completing the items on my list, but on the drive over he admits to calling in a favor to get us a table.

Did I mention he’s wearing a suit?

He looksspectacularin a suit. The crisp black jacket stretches across his wide shoulders, and he decided to forgo a tie, so I have the most delicious view of his strong throat peeking from the open top button of his white dress shirt.

The waiter leads us to our booth, and Logan waits for me to slide in first, then sits right beside me.

“We’re same-siding?” I squeak. “That’s…”Intimate. It’s the kind of seating arrangement reserved for super-in-love couples who can’t keep their hands off each other.

Logan casually stretches his arm along the back of the booth, his fingers resting on my bare shoulder. He strokes lightly. Teasingly.

“That’s…?” he prompts.

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