Page 71 of The Wingman

“Let’s take a photo in our jerseys,” Pippa says, pulling out her phone. “We look cute.”

I lean in and smile as Pippa snaps the picture. A moment later, the arena lights dim, the fans start to cheer, and the announcer calls players’ names as they hit the ice.

“I’m so glad you’re joining us for games,” Pippa says in my ear over the noise of the arena.

I give her a shy smile. “Me, too.”

“Number forty-two, Hayden Owens!” the announcer calls, and I clap and cheer.

Hayden skates past and our eyes lock. His gaze goes from my jersey to my hair before he winks, and my heart skips a beat.

When he scores a goal in the second period, I jump to my feet, whooping and cheering. Rory and Alexei skate over to him to celebrate, but he grins through the glass at me.

My good luck charm, he mouths, pointing at me.

After the game, Hayden enters the box reserved for players’ friends and family, and his eyes find me immediately.

“Hey.” His gaze flicks over my hair. “You look beautiful.” He shakes his head. “Yourhairlooks beautiful,” he says, correcting himself.

“You didn’t even comment on my eyebrows.”

His mouth twitches into a smile. Layla fixed them, and they’re back to their normal color, tinted a few shades darker than my pale blond. “I liked the purple.”

“No.” I swat at him.

His responding playful grin is so disarming.

“No one liked the purple. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Nice jersey.” He tilts his chin at me. “Whoever got that for you must be a really great person.” He gives me a flirty smile. “Handsome, too.”

I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Yes, and very modest.”

The flirtiness fades from his grin, leaving only warmth and appreciation. “I liked seeing you in it tonight.”

My heart does a funny dip, and I play with the hem of the sleeves. “I liked wearing it.”

Hayden deserves to have someone out there rooting for him. He deserves to have the same thing Rory and Jamie have, even if he isn’t looking for a partner or commitment.

His comment on Valentine’s Day about a relationship not looking so bad catches in my mind, followed by the flash of disappointment in his eyes when I urged him away from it.

The gifts, the parties, the dates. He’d make a great boyfriend, if he wanted that.

“Let’s grab drinks with everyone,” he suggests, eyes moving over the lines of my jersey. My gaze drops to his casual navy bomber jacket and the image on his t-shirt beneath it.

“Wait.” I frown and reach for his jacket zipper, pulling it down slightly before a mortified noise slips out of me and I clap my hand over my mouth. “You’re not wearing that.”

He puts on a confused expression, but his eyes glitter, and the corners of his mouth tug up. “What do you mean?”

I open the sides of his jacket and stare at his t-shirt. An image of me with purple hair and purple eyebrows stares back. My lips are parted and my eyes are wide as I reach out to stop him from taking the photo.

The photo he snapped last night.

“Hayden!” My voice is strangled. “Where did you get this?”

“Oh, this?” He looks down at his t-shirt like he just realized he’s wearing a freaking photo of me on his chest. “Huh. How’d that photo get on there?”

I dissolve into laughter as my hands go to the hem of his shirt and I start to pull it off. “Take it off. Right now.”

---