Page 87 of Across the Boards

Maybe. Talk later. Work calls.

I drape the jersey over the back of a chair, my mind still turning over the implications. By the time I’m dressed for the day and settling into my home office, I’ve analyzed the situation from every angle, the way I approach complex editing projects.

Pro: Wearing the jersey would be a powerful statement of moving on. A declaration that I’m not hiding anymore.

Con: It’s very public, very fast. Brody and I have had exactly one real date.

Pro: It would infuriate Jason, which I shouldn’t find satisfying but absolutely do.

Con: It might appear desperate or petty—the ex-wife dating another hockey player to get back at her ex-husband.

Pro: I’ve seen how Brody looks at me. This isn’t casual for him. Hasn’t been since that Christmas party three years ago, apparently.

Con: The hockey world gossips. I’d be putting myself back in the spotlight I’ve avoided for three years.

Pro: I really, really want to.

That last one catches me off guard, making me pause in my systematic analysis. I want to wear his jersey. I want to make that statement. I want to see Brody’s face when he spots me in the stands, his name emblazoned across my back.

My phone rings—a client with questions about their technical documentation. I answer automatically, switching into work mode, but my eyes keep drifting to the jersey hanging on my chair.

On impulse, I pick it up and head to my bedroom. Without overthinking it, I slip it over my head. The fabric settles over my shoulders, much larger than anything I’d normally wear. In the mirror, I’m struck by how different I look—stronger somehow, more confident.

I hesitate only briefly before slipping off my pants, leaving my bare legs exposed below the jersey that hits mid-thigh. The effect is intimate without being overtly provocative—a woman comfortable in her skin, wearing a man’s jersey.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I take a photo in the mirror, angling to capture my reflection from the side—the curve of my hip, the length of my legs, my hair loose around my shoulders. I study the image, surprised by how much I like what I see. Not the careful, composed technical editor, but a woman unafraid to make a statement.

I add a simple message.

Just trying it on. For science.

My finger hovers over the send button for only a second before I press it, a small thrill running through me as the message delivers to Brody.

Science is important. But fair warning—you in my jersey is doing things to me that might not be appropriate to discuss before noon.

I laugh, feeling strangely empowered by his reaction.

Before noon? What arbitrary time restriction is this? I thought hockey players were always... ready to play.

His response makes me blush despite myself.

Always ready for you, Waltman. But I’m in a team meeting and Jensen is starting to give me weird looks for my “stupid grin.” We’ll continue this discussion later. Preferably in person.

I’m still smiling when Sarah calls a few minutes later.

“WELL?” she demands without preamble. “What’s the mysterious dress code development? Did Brody give you something scandalous to wear after your date?”

I laugh despite myself. “Not exactly scandalous.”

“Then what?” Her impatience is palpable even through the phone. “Did he ask you to wear Phoenix colors? Did he—OH MY GOD.”

“What?”

“He sent you a jersey, didn’t he? HIS jersey.”

I glance down at the red fabric still draped over my body. “Maybe.”

Her shriek nearly bursts my eardrum. “ELLIOT WALTMAN! This is HUGE! Are you going to wear it? Please tell me you’re going to wear it. Jason’s face would be absolutely priceless. I would pay actual money to see that.”

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