Page 4 of The Girl in the Hockey Jersey

“That’s probably not true. Sounds like there’s a fun story there, Jersey Girl.”

Chapter3

Harper

I stop abruptly,enjoying the way he almost bumps into me. I’ve surprised him. Good. I lean back against the wall and cross my arms over my chest. I don’t miss the way his gaze drops. I’m wearing a shapeless jersey, but that doesn’t stop him from imagining my tits as whatever he likes. Not good. He’s exactly who I thought I’d meet tonight.

This was a mistake. “Go back to your party.”

“It’s not my party.” He tips his head towards the elevator. “Can I walk you to your room?”

“I’m not going to my room.”

“But you work for a living and it’s late,” he teases.

“I’m going to the bar for a stiff drink and a re-evaluation of my life choices that brought me to this point.”

“Sounds fun. Can I tag along?” God, he doesn’t give up, does he?

Something about the obnoxiously charming smile on his face gets to me. Not in a good way. But in athis is your chancekind of way.

I throw my hands in the air. “Are you buying?”

“Sure.”

“Then be my guest.”

He gestures for me to lead the way. “I’m Kieran, by the way.”

“I’m aware.”

“Nice to meet you, Aware.”

I laugh despite myself, and he flashes that panty-melting grin again. He knows what he’s doing.Well, girl, you wanted the full hockey player experience. Now you’re getting it.

In for a penny, in for a pound. “You come here often?”

“Once or twice a year.” He shrugs.

I actually knew that answer. This will be his only game here all year, because he’s been traded into a different division. When he played for Montreal, he’d have visited here more often.

Details I shouldn’t know.

“How about you?” He does another leisurely look down my jersey. “You said you like hockey sweaters. That suggests a collection.”

Why did I tell him that? “I’ve come to a few games here.”

“But you’re not a Buffalo fan.”

“I’m not a hockey fan.”

“Sure.”

I don’t think I like the way he says that. Or the way he ghosts his hand over the small of my back as we step off the elevator. I also side-eye how he talks us into a private corner booth and has a bartender snapping to attention to serve us, even though I did want a drink. We both order beer. He hangs up his overcoat, and we put our matching toques on the far side of the table.

He makes a joke about the hats, and it’s all just so…practiced. He’s good at this, picking up a girl after the game.

I don’t like anything about Kieran Marsh, I decide. That feels better, firming that up in my head. This is nothing more than a social experiment. I’m curious about what his life is like, what he does after a game.That’s all.

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