“What?” I face her and frown. “Fuck. Did I do something wrong?”
“No, sweetie. You did something very, very right. It’s always the girl wearing the guy’s jersey, not the other way around. This is so cool.”
I glance down at the jersey I ordered two weeks ago—an XL Stars jersey with Hartwell’s name and number on the back in our hometown white. I’ve had the idea since they announced the themed night, but I didn’t want her to think I was wearing it as a joke or to poke fun at her.
“Do you think she’ll like it?” I ask, suddenly nervous about how she might react. Emmy doesn’t strike me as a grand gesture kind of woman, and I really hope I’m not overstepping some invisible boundary we’ve put up. “I have a spare jersey in my locker I can change into.”
“She’s going to love it,” Maven assures me.
“Is she here yet? I tried to come in early so I could see her before we dress.”
“No, but it should be any minute now. She rides with Piper, and they have this weird habit of rolling up at exactly the same time every night.”
“Thanks, Mae.” I bend down and kiss the top of her head. “How’s my June Bug?
“We went shopping for her flower girl dress the other day, and you’re going to die when you see it.” She gives me a sly smile. “Speaking of June Bug, a little birdie told me you had a special visitor for New Year’s.”
“I might have,” I say. “We?—”
I hear her before I see her.
Emmy’s voice travels down the hall, and I look over my shoulder.
One second the hallway is empty, then I blink, and she’s there. Red hair everywhere. A white turtleneck and pinstripepants with a matching vest. A gold necklace around her neck and leather sneakers that make me go weak in the knees.
“Fucking Christ,” I murmur under my breath.
“I heard that,” Maven says, and I flip her off.
It’s been months of seeing her in business casual, in pretty dresses and different pairs of heels, and my heart still skips a goddamn beat at the sight of her.
I think I might have a chronic condition brought on by Emerson Hartwell.
“Hey, Mae,” Emmy calls out, and she waves. “Miller? What are—” She stops in her tracks and blinks at me with those green eyes. Her gaze hovers on my shoulders then snaps to my face. “What are you wearing?”
“Hm?” I keep my back to her and shrug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She stomps across the hall, and it takes everything in me not to laugh at her feistiness. She tugs on my sleeve.
“This is my jersey.”
“Is it?”
“Maverick. What are… Why are you wearing my jersey?”
“Because it’s Heroes and Legends night. You’re my hero, Hartwell, and you’re definitely going to become a legend. You already are, but technically I don’t think we can classify one season in the NHL as legendary. Kind of bullshit if you ask me. Also, I distinctly remember you asking when I was planning on having your name across my back, so here we are.”
“Why… I—” Her fingers trace the block letters and the number seventeen then trace them again. “The only person who’s ever worn my jersey is my dad.”
“And the eight thousand fans out there,” I say.
“I mean another athlete. One of my peers.”
“Men in other leagues wear women’s jerseys all the time. That trend should start in the NHL too, don’t you think?”
“This might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she whispers.
“You deserve nice things, remember?” I glance to the side and see that Maven and Piper have disappeared. I didn’t even notice they left. “It’s a fucking honor and a privilege to play beside you. There was never any doubt about who I wanted to represent. It’s you, and it’s always going to be you.”
