Page 21 of In My Hockey Era
I feel like I’ve crash-landed on Mars.
I tighten my grip on my bag and head inside, where the warm air and scent of fresh coffee hit me instantly.A staffer directs me toward the media room, and as I round the corner, I nearly run straight into a wall of solid muscle.
Correction—Bennett Wilder.
“Whoa,” he says, catching my elbow like I might actually need steadying.Which Idon’t, because I am a professional who does not get thrown off by irritatingly attractive hockey players.
I step back, forcing a neutral expression.“Wilder.”
“Quinn,” he says, his mouth curving into a smirk.“You came.”
“I said I would.”
“Still could’ve bailed.”
I raise an eyebrow.“Tempting, but I’m a woman of my word.”
“Good to know.”His eyes flick over me like he’s assessing, like he’s seeing me differently than last time.If he notices the whole dress and boots ensemble, he doesn’t let on.“Nervous?”
I scoff.“About a book club?Please.”
“Right.Big, scary group of romance readers.Terrifying.”
I huff, sidestepping him and continue down the hall.“You should be worried.If they find out you didn’t actually read the book, they’ll eat you alive.”
Bennett chuckles, falling into step beside me.“That’s where you’re wrong, Quinn.I read every single page.”
I glance at him, skeptical.“Yeah?Prove it.”
His smirk deepens.“Ask me anything.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to decide if he’s bluffing.But before I can challenge him, Vivian appears in the doorway of the media room, waving us over.
“Perfect timing!Let’s get started.”
Bennett winks at me before stepping inside.
And, for reasons I refuse to acknowledge, my stomach flips.
It’s showtime.
I adjust the mic clipped to my collar and try to ignore the fact that my heart is hammering against my ribs.This is fine.Totally fine.Just me, sitting in a crowded room full of romance readers, about to talk about a book I barely tolerated.
And co-hosting with Bennett Wilder.
I exhale slowly, shifting in my seat.The Stampede’s media room has been transformed into a cozy book club setting—round tables, catered snacks, and an intimidating number of people staring up at the small stage where I’m seated next to the man who has been ruining my life for the past week.
Okay, maybe that’s dramatic.But ever since our stupid late-night phone call, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.About the way his voice sounded when he called mebadass, about how easy it was to talk to him once I stopped being annoyed.
And now, here we are.Face to face again, a week later, under the worst possible circumstances.
Bennett shifts beside me, all effortless charm and obnoxious confidence.He’s wearing a Stampede quarter-zip, sleeves pushed up over his forearms, and his ridiculous thighs are spread wide in his chair like he owns the room.Technically, I guess he does.
I, on the other hand, am gripping my notes like they’re a lifeline.
Vivian stands at the podium, smiling at the crowd.“We are so excited to kick off our very first Stampede Book Club event with all of you!”
Loud cheers explode around the room.I gaze out, my eyes scanning the faces.These girls look so excited to be here.Several even appear to be wearing shirts they’ve made—emblazoned with sappy quips like: In My Hockey Romance Era, Introverted, But Willing to Discuss Hockey Romance, and, possibly the most offensive: Save a Zamboni—Ride a Hockey Player.
