Page 45 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

“Let me guess,” I say, crossing my arms. “You have a pair of lucky socks that you’ve worn twenty games in a row.”

“Not socks,” he says, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “But I do have a routine. And now I have a lucky charm.” He pauses. “You.”

“I need you at every game.”

“Every game?” I repeat, staring at him like he’s lost his mind. “Do you realize how insane that sounds?”

“Not insane,” he corrects, holding up a finger. “Committed to the cause.”

“What cause? Driving me crazy?”

“If that’s what it takes,” he says, smirking.

I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.

“Think about it,” he says, his tone turning thoughtful. “You come to my games, I win more often, the media gets to keep their feel-good story about my ‘brilliant, beautiful good luck charm.’ Everyone wins.”

Everyone wins.

“What’s in it for me?” I blurt out. “Besides the fact that my team will become champions.” Which is the ultimate goal, yeah?

“Well. You get me.” He spreads his arms wide like he’s presenting himself as a prize on a game show. “Whatever you want.”

Whatever I want…

My eyes trail down his torso.

Broad chest.

His is a body roughened by years of hockey, with handsyou’d expect to see gripping a stick or wrapping around a big, thick?—

“Uh-huh,” I say, forcing my focus back to his face. His stupid, cheeky grin is firmly in place. “I have a job, you know. A full-time one.”

I’m a Big Kid! My tone says.

“And?” He shrugs like this is the most minor inconvenience in the world. “My games are mostly at night. Doesn’t conflict with your office hours, Professor Adams.”

“How generous of you,” I lament dryly.

“I know.”

“You seriously think I’m going to drop everything and become your personal good luck charm? That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” he counters, his grin softening into something closer to sincerity. “It’s practical.”

“Practical?” I repeat, my voice rising slightly. “For who? You?”

“Sure.” The giant oaf leans back in his chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “But also for you. Think about it—this is your chance to be part of something bigger than yourself.”

“I am part of something bigger than myself,” I say, gesturing around my office. At my diplomas—Bachelors, Masters, and Doctorate degrees,thankyouverymuch. “It’s calledacademia.”

He snorts. “Does academia have championship trophies and screaming fans?”

“No,” I admit reluctantly. “But it includes tenure and health insurance.”

Ha!

“Touché,” he allows. “But it also doesn’t haveme. And for the record, I don’t half ass anything.”

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