Page 122 of Waiting Game

Jason’s already in my bad books because, one, he keeps on smoking despite repeated reprimands and, two, he won't shut up whining about the bar celebrating hockey during baseball’s offseason.

He’d have preferred football, which is the reason his motor skills are below average—too many hits to the head during his time with the NCAA. Unfortunately for him, I don’t mind if he never steps foot inside Chuck’s again.

“What?!” Jason grouches at my rebuke.

“Let Jarvis have it back.”

He pouts at me but drops his hold on the package, then he raises his hands in mock surrender when Jarvis isn’t quick enough to stop it from connecting with the floor. “Yes, boss.”

“If only I were your boss, Jason,” I croon, leaning over the bar so I can poke him in the chest.Hard. “You’d be able to keep your hands to yourself.”

He barks out a laugh as if that’s the funniest thing he’s heard in years, but I dismiss him and focus on Jarvis, who’s still flustered.

“You okay?”

He shrugs, but his ears are hot pink. “I’m fine.” He shoves the package at me. “I should charge a finder’s fee for this.”

Though I snort, I handle the bag with care as I, carefully, pull out a jersey.

My brow furrows at the name on the back, one that I’ve been seeing frequently—part ofCalKor'sother username.

“Gretzky?”

“He’s only the best hockey player who ever breathed, Mia. And look, it has his signature on it.”

I squint at the black speck on the back of the jersey. “Is that a signature?”

“It is. And I got it for twenty bucks. TWENTY FUCKING BUCKS,Mia! It’s worth at least twenty-five hundred!”

My lips curve at his glee. “Good find, Jarvis!”

“Good find?!” he gasps. “My god, I should have kept it for myself. It’s sacrilegious that you don’t know who he is.

“You need to start learning more about the game, Mia. You can’t run a hockey bar and not know Gretzky is a god.”

“I’m slowly picking it up from the TV,” I defend, but my smile deepens at his exasperated huff and, from the register, I hand him two hundred bucks. “This is me renting out the jersey from you, okay? You can take it back at any time, you hear me?”

Backing away from me, he holds out his hands so he can’t take the cash. “You don’t have to do that, Mia. I know things are tough and you need something like this on your hockey tribute walls.”

“Youcouldhave kept this to yourself, but instead, it’s going to make us look legit. Thank you for that. I couldn’t have done that without you so this is only fair.”

His chest puffs up at my gratitude and he beams a smile at me. “You’re welcome, and thank you for this.” He shoves the cash in his pocket. “I appreciate it.”

“And I really appreciate you,” I tell him earnestly. Clearing my throat, I ask, “You heard of Cole Korhonen?”

He rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Mia. You need to know the guys who play on our team.”

My lips quirk. “He’s good?”

“He’s fucking awesome. And this season, he’s playing on the first line with Donnghal and Lewis and they’re deadly on the ice together.” He smacks his lips. “We’re going tokillit this year. We were robbed of the Stanley Cup in May—fucking Chicago—but this is our year. We’re gonna win it. I can feel it.”

I grin at his excitement. “I promise I’ll listen to the TV more.”

His nod turns brisk. “You’d better! Then I’ll think the jersey is worthy of you.”

Though I snort, I’m beyond grateful to him so I carefully fold it and tell him, “I need to get this framed. I’ll take it to our usual place tomorrow.”

“It needs to go front and center on the back wall next to the TV,” Jarvis informs me. “Gretzky might have played for New York, not the Stars, back when we didn’t suck, but it doesn’t matter. He’s beloved.”

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