Page 8 of The Girl in the Hockey Jersey

“I—” My brain screeches, shifting gears. We just spent an hour at the bar, talking.Most fun I’ve had in months. Years, maybe.“About what?”

“I know who you are,” she whispers. “I know what this is.”

The Ex Captain. My nickname in Montreal was a LOLZ joke when Iwasa captain with a string of famous exes and some infamous one-night stands.

Now I’m just an old guy on a bad team, and my latest girlfriend dumped me before anyone knew we were together. The nickname hits differently when you’re a literal ex-captain. But I won’t let that maudlin thought derail me from my mission here. And one thing I know about this woman for sure—she likes the banter, and she likes it when I let her have the upper hand. “And I don’t know who you areorwhat this is. So you’re at an advantage, Jersey Girl.”

“What this is? We’re going to have sex.”

“Best news I’ve heard all night.”

She doesn’t tell me who she is, again. I’m going with it. The buzz helps make it not matter.

She swipes the tip of her tongue over her lower lip. “It’s going to be dirty.”

Damn straight it will be. I have plans for that tongue. “Even better.”

“And then you won’t be back this way for a year.”

Minor detail. “Let me tell you about this thing called an airplane.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not flying somewhere for a hook-up. I don’t date hockey players. I don’tdothis. It’s one night.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if she picked me because I was a good bet for that beingmypreference, too. It’s dwarfed by my newfound addiction to the taste of her skin.

I curl a strand of her glossy, perfect hair around one of my fingers. “When you change your mind, you know how to find me.”

“I won’t.” She sways against me. “Want to see what I’ve got going on under this jersey?”

Is Gretzky the Great One? I pick her up, loving the way her legs curl around my waist, and carry her to the bed.

Chapter5

Harper

Our second kisshappens as Kieran lays me down on my back. His hands cradle me down to the mattress, gentle as anything, as his mouth aggressively gives me a preview of what I hope he wants to do to the rest of my body.

I shouldn’t be surprised at how strong or flexible a professional athlete is, but we’re both more than a little tipsy, and he’s wearing dress clothes—and he still floats me down to the mattress with ease.

Maybe custom tailoring makes the fitted shirt and the fine-wool pants operate differently on his body.

Stop analyzing his clothes, Harper.Even half-blitzed, I’m managing to overthink what should be a turn-the-brain-off-and-just-experience-this kind of night.

“I’ve got condoms,” I gasp as he yanks off my boots, then peels off my leggings.

“How many?”

The standard little pack I buy every few months, just in case. “Three, I think.”

“That’s a good start. I’ve got one in my wallet, as well.” He works his way down to my hips. “On second thought, I want you to leave the jersey on while I lick you.”

Of course he does.

I want to roll my eyes, but his mouth is distractingly hot and perfect on the top of my thigh.

Who kisses someone there? It’s like four inches off target. A strangely pleasant miss.

He sucks my flesh into his mouth.

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