Page 7 of Sleepless Nights and Hockey Fights

I ended up dropping him off and running errands until pickup time.Oh god.And I embarrassed the hell out of myself with that young guy—thathotyoung guy. I think he’s on the Storm Chasers’ team, but they all look the same in their uniforms as far as I’m concerned. In street clothes, however, this guy stands out like a triple fudge brownie sundae in a sea of plain vanilla cones.

The memory has my cheeks heating. He was helping Coach Chloe and was obviously just making a light comment in passing. But there I was staring at him like some horny zombie and making a fool of myself. I don’t even remember what I said before turning tail and fleeing.

“I already told you I’m not joining a dating app, Coco.”

She scowls at me. “Darling, you need more fun in your life. What does it hurt to scroll a little? You’re not agreeing to have a man’s baby by taking a peek at his profile.” She flicks nonexistent dust off her suit jacket before plucking my phone from the counter where I left it. Knowing it will be easier to just go along and delete it later, I let her have her way.

“Face.” She turns the phone to me to unlock it before scrolling directly to the app store and starting a search. “Face again.” The app begins installing and I catch the name for the first time.

“Catnip?What the hell kind of dating app is called Catnip?”

I get Coco’s side-eye in response. “What did I say about trusting me? It’s the best dating app out there, bar none.”

She continues scrolling and tapping as something horrifying occurs to me. “You didn’t post my picture on there, did you?” I can just imagine my creepy dry cleaner cruising dating sites and finding my photo next to “Sparkle Is My Stripper Name.” I suppress a shudder.

“Don’t be silly, darling. No name and no pictures. If you find someone interesting, you can exchange that later. It’s all perfectly safe,” she assures. “Ha!” Her sudden shout startles me, making me gape at her. She only grins in return. “You already have six matches!”

A familiar heat begins creeping up my neck. “Let me see that.” I take the phone from Coco and see that she’s right. There are six “Cat Chat” requests from my “Meow Matches.” Are these people serious with this shit? I mean, I guess it’s just for fun like Coco said, but it’s also, well, a little absurd.

I shove down my panic and hand the phone back to my boss, momentarily forgetting it’s my damn phone. “What do dates from this app consist of? A shared can of tuna over candlelight in the alley behind Long John Silver?”

Before Coco can answer, voices sound from the entryway, and we quickly stash our personal things under the counter before straightening and heading for the hall.

“Welcome!” she declares in what I like to call her queen voice. Thus begins our busy first hour of the open house.

Coco is showing a young tech executive and her husband the upstairs while I walk another couple around the enclosed yard and wraparound veranda. I can tell they’re not really in the market and are just what we refer to as lookie-loos, but you never know. Everyone can be a potential client down the road.

They take my card before returning to their car parked at the curb. As soon as they pull out, one of those insane Cybertrucks swerves into the spot, coming to an abrupt stop, inches from the car in front of it. I turn to go back into the house when a voice catches my attention.

“Hey, I know you.”

The comment—and the deep baritone of the commenter’s voice—have me turning back. The hot young guy from hockey practice stands in the open door of the Cybertruck, lookingup at me with a million-dollar smile and—holy crap—are those dimples in his unfairly handsome face?

“Oh. Um, hello,” I manage as he swaggers toward me with an ease I instinctively know he was born with.Please don’t blush. Please don’t blush. Please don’t...too late. Damn my fair complexion! “Welcome!” I try channeling my best queen Coco vibe, but it comes out way too loud for our proximity.

“Thanks.” His smile remains as he comes to a stop on the porch. His dirty-blond hair is damp at the ends, telling me he just showered—something I already could have guessed from the intoxicating scent wafting my way. He smells like citrus and sandalwood with maybe a hint of pepper, and it takes zero time for me to be mesmerized by his melty chocolate eyes. Again!

I need to snap out of it, so I thrust a hand toward him and force my voice to adopt a professional tone. “I’m Molly Sparks with Farnsworth Luxury Realty.”

His eyes widen at the mention of my last name. Yeah, it can be an attention-getter, but it’s leagues better than my maiden name, Hooker. Try escaping high school unscathed with that name.

“Bobby Rhodes,” he replies, taking my offered hand. My blush kicks up a notch when he brings his other hand up to join the first, essentially cradling my hand in both of his large ones. “Your kid plays hockey.”

“So do you,” I reply. He still hasn’t let go of my hand.

“I do.”

We’re both silent for a beat, and I finally rip my hand from his grasp and hook my thumb to the open doorway behind me. “You want to see the house?”

“Absolutely.” Bobby nods before shrugging a shoulder. “I’m actually here to meet somebody named Coco to help me find a house, but I’d love it if you showed me around this one.”

“Oh. She’s inside with a potential buyer.” I step through the doorway, gesturing for him to follow. What are the chances of this guy showing up here? There are over three million people living in the greater Tampa area. Although, I’ve heard it said that rich people all run in the same circles. And he’s got to be rich, right? With a professional sports career and that crazy Tesla?

“I’ve got time,” Bobby says in a tone that tells me he’s well practiced at this easygoing vibe he’s got going on. “Especially for you,” he adds.

Unsure what to do with my hands or my heated cheeks, I default into realtor mode. “The house is just over six thousand square feet if you count the walk-out basement and home theater. It’s owned by the original builder, who’s maintained it in pristine condition, as you can see.” I continue to list the property’s qualities and features while we tour the first floor. Bobby nods at each of my comments as he follows me around, hands clasped behind his back as if he’s afraid to touch anything. My nervousness dissipates the longer I talk until I realize fifteen minutes have gone by and he hasn’t said a word. Crap.

“Do you have any questions before we go downstairs?” I fold my hands in front of me and offer him a polite smile.

---