Page 20 of In My Hockey Era
He sighs.“My ribs.I’m sure it’s just a bruise.”
I step closer.He doesn’t back away.I’m hyper-aware of the fact that we’re standing much closer than we ever have before.He’s sweat-damp, and still in his gear, which makes him much taller and broader than normal.He towers over me on a good day, but now he’s basically a giant.
“For someone who claims to be fine, you’re standing pretty stiffly,” I point out.“Lift your arm.”
He hesitates.I don’t.My fingers brush the hem of his jersey, and I swear I feel the muscles in his abdomen tighten.
“Careful, Quinn,” he murmurs.“I might start thinking you actually like having your hands on me.”
I roll my eyes.“Youwish.” But my face is warm as I move my hand beneath his jersey and press my fingers lightly against his ribs, feeling for anything that might be more serious than a bruise.
His breathing is a little shallow.His muscles tighten beneath my touch.
When I glance up, his eyes are on me.
Something flickers between us—something new.
He’swaytoo flirty for someone with a possible broken rib.
Hockey players are so infuriating.
I clear my throat and step back.“You’ll live,” I say, making a show of wiping my hands on my jeans.“Try not to get pancaked again, though.”
He smirks.“I’ll do my best to stay on my feet.But if I don’t… will you be around to check me out again?”
The innuendo is clear.I scoff, turning to go before he can see that my cheeks are burning.
“See you around, Wilder.”
And then I’m walking off, heart beating way too fast for someone who’s supposed to be a professional.
8
FORCED PROXIMITY
Lucy
Tonight’s the night.
The book club meeting.I’d had to trade shifts with Troy to make this work, and for reasons known to me, I’m more frazzled than I expected to be.
I take the time to blow dry my hair and then stand in my closet for a long time, my brain annoyingly stuck on Bennett.
Our phone conversation last weekend was enlightening, unexpected.
I’d given him crap and he’d teased me right back, like we’d been friends for years.His voice was deep and smooth, with the kind of easy confidence that made everything he said sound like a challenge.I’d been a while since I’d had that much fun talking to a guy.But of course, he wasn’t just any guy.I was sure he had a whole army of puck bunnies in his phone available to him at the drop of a hat.Gross.
While I riffle through my closet, I realize something.He’d expect me to show up in my usual jeans and a Stampede sweatshirt…which is why I should prove him wrong.Just to keep him guessing, prove to him that he doesn’t have me all figured out.
I decide on a sleek black dress that barely skims my knees and pair it with tall brown boots.I’ve been told my legs are one of my best features and now they’ll be on full display.Ha!Take that Bennett Freaking Wilder.
At the last minute, I grab a tube of lipstick and lean in close to the mirror to apply it.Sure, I can talk stats and roast players like one of the guys, but I still love a killer red lipstick.It’s like putting on armor before going into battle—especially when dealing with men who underestimate me.Tomboy with a touch of glam—my superpower.
Max watches from his spot on the couch, his fluffy tail wagging as if he knows I’m about to walk into enemy territory.
“You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with hockey players trying to turn book clubs into a PR stunt,” I mutter, scratching behind his ears before heading out the door.
The Stampede’s training facility is lit up like it’s game night, the parking lot packed with cars.I spot a few fans lingering outside, chatting and laughing, books clutched in their hands.The realization that people are actuallyexcitedabout this sends another wave of disbelief through me.
