Page 27 of Slap Shot Scandal
Weston scowls, his little dig backfiring. “Please don’t. Pretty sure theMiami Vicevibe isn’t it right now.”
My cell buzzes and I leap at the distraction, checking my messages.
Gia: Tour at noon? A few good options I think you should see
I tap out a quick response with shaky fingers.
Harbor: Sure, sounds good. Where should I meet you?
Gia: The Cove Towers lobby
Harbor: Great. See you soon
Dropping my phone into my purse, I rise to face Weston. He’s still watching me. Stick in hand, a smirk on his too-handsome face.
“You late for your meeting now?” He tosses his stick back and forth between his palms and I’m transfixed by the white blur.
“What? No. The meeting got bumped. That was Gia. I’m taking a tour of housing options at noon.”
“Noon?” He pauses, a brow lifted.
“Yes…”
“Huh. Me too.”
I fiddle with the bangles on my wrist. “You’re touring houses today? With Gia?”
“Yes.” Weston squares his shoulders, plants his stick between his feet.
“Small world. I suppose she’s trying to consolidate her appointments.”
“Suppose so.”
I bite at my lip, shifting from foot to foot. His eyes hold mine for a long second, then he clears his throat and glances away.
“We’re both heading in the same direction. I can give you a ride if you want—my car got delivered.”
I almost choke on my own saliva. “Really?”
“I mean, yeah. It would make sense. We’re both here and we’re going to the same place. Save gas and all that.”
Trapped in a car with the grumpy hockey star who apparently makes my brain short-circuit.
Terrible freaking idea.
But, somehow, I can’t refuse. Instead, I shrug and act way more nonchalant than I feel. “You offering because it’s efficient? Or is this a power play to avoid hot pink and teal?”
“Strictly efficiency, Hurricane.” He puts his helmet back on and pivots, going back to practice. But he steals a quick glance back at me over his shoulder.
“Besides, I look good in pink.” He winks and skates away, leaving me standing there absolutely shook.
I think the grumpy hockey captain may be thawing.
At any rate, I have a ride to the condos. And I’m probably reading way too much into his carpool offer. It’s a rideshare, not a date.
Yet my chest feels lighter than it has in months—and that terrifies more than the current PR crisis.
I can’t get distracted.
