Page 47 of The Wingman

Miller turns back to me with delight shining in his eyes. “Sorry, you were saying?”

I pull the brim of my baseball hat low on my forehead and sink into my seat, the unspoken signal forI’m taking a nap; don’t bother me, but Miller flicks my hat up.

“Owens.” His smile dims a few notches as he searches my expression. “What are you doing?”

In my mind, I see Darcy’s petrified expression when the engagement ring appeared on her plate at dinner. “Nothing. She’s not ready for a relationship.”

“So help her be ready. Show her what it could be like.”

My throat knots with worry. “The last guy tried that, remember? And she freaked out.”

Miller hums, thinking.

If she didn’t want long term with Kit, every woman’s dream guy, how’s she going to feel after my shiny newness wears off?

Ward appears in the aisle and hands us each a folder. “Gentlemen.”

“Coach.”

He moves on, and I flip through the game packet—folders with our travel itinerary, room assignments, game schedule, and notes on each game. A Polaroid slips between the pages.

A surprised laugh bursts out of me at the picture of that stupid fucking gnome tucked into my bed, head on my pillow, wearing an eye mask.

On the back, Darcy’s writing readsGood luck! I’ll be watching your games (and sleeping in your bed). - Daniel

She must have done this when I was at practice or something. I can’t stop smiling. My thoughts stray to the video I took of Darcy last night while being serenaded.

I pull my phone out.Daniel better not jerk off in my bed while I’m gone, I text Darcy.

Her response is immediate.Where’s he supposed to do it? He has needs.

My grin broadens, and all the weird feelings from last night and this morning melt away.On the patio like a normal person.

She responds with a GIF of Jim Carrey gagging, and I beam at my phone, pop an earbud in, and pull up the video of her from last night, looking mortified while serenaded.

The morning coffees because she knows I’m useless before caffeine, the t-shirt from our favorite book series, our dumb shared jokes like the creepy gnome—my life is better when we’re living together.

I always say Kit’s my best friend, but he’s not. It’s Darcy.

I’m not dumb enough to continue denying my feelings for her, but I won’t act on them and mess up the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

CHAPTER 22

DARCY

Hayden appearsin my bedroom doorway a week later and I slam my laptop closed.

“I didn’t even hear you get home.”

“I know.” He quirks a curious grin at me, tilting his chin at my laptop. “Are you working?”

I’m trying to figure out why the Vancouver Storm are so bad at power plays when they use all their best guys on them.

While watching Hayden’s games on TV this week, something about my old analytical models called to me. It’s easy to get lost in the numbers when I’m concentrating, and I’ve found myself working way past bedtime almost every night.

This week, one thing has become crystal clear: they’ll never get to the playoffs if they can’t improve their chance of scoring during power plays.

“Just some paperwork thing,” I lie.

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