And then he hangs up, leaving me feeling stupefied.
I slowly lower my phone and stare at myself in the mirror.
Holy shit, did I just accept a new job?
I bite down on the corner of my lip. What was I thinking?
I know what I was thinking . . . the job was too good to turn down but, God, now I have to tell Penny. I have to tell my boss. I have to tell Halsey. Not that . . . not that I’m sure he’d care. It’s not like I work directly with him. Still.
Just the thought of Halsey, though, makes my stomach churn with nerves.
The past few days have been slightly eye-opening for me.
Halsey has been different. And not in a bad way, just, for lack of a better word, different. I know that makes no sense, but I thought I was getting used to his quiet spirit. That was until he spoke to my landlord and helped me pick out a dress. Now I don’t know how to act around him. I feel awkward because I liked it.
I liked the way he protected me.
The way he stood up for me.
The way he treated me like I was precious.
And what does that say about me?
As a woman in the sports industry, fighting and clawing my way through it, I’ve felt very strongly about lifting women up, protecting our fight for equal opportunity, and here I am, mildly swooning over him standing up for me.
There’s a light rap on my door. “Blakely, you okay?”
Speak of the devil.
I stand from the chair and open the door, poking my head out. That’s when I see him in a dark blue suit with a black lapel, black button-up shirt, and black shoes. His pants cling to his thighs and then stop just below his ankles, showing a touch of skin. His shirt isn’t fully buttoned, as the top two are left open, giving me a slight view of the impressive chest beneath his clothes. He’s left his scruff on his face but has cleaned it up, and his hair is gelled, faded on the sides with a thick tuft styled in amessy way, making him look so incredibly adorable...but also lickable at the same time.
“Hey, do you need help with your dress?”
His deep voice crests over me like a warm shower, heating the blood in my veins.
What the hell is happening to me with this man?
“Uh, yeah, do you mind?”
“Not at all,” he says as I open the door.
I give him another once-over, this time, lingering on that little patch of skin over his chest. Clearing my throat, I say, “You look nice.”
My palms start to sweat, which is insane because I’ve seen this man in a suit many times. So many times that I think I’ve seen him in a suit more than in a hockey jersey. So what’s different now?
I’ve said he’s attractive before.
I’ve noticed how hot he is when he takes his helmet off on the ice and his hair is wet from sweat, his eyes zoning in on his competitors.
And I’ve clearly lived with this man to know that he smells like a freaking dream fresh from a shower of aphrodisiacs.
So what’s changed?Is it because I’m no longer looking at him from behind my very clear I-have-a-boyfriend glasses?
He presses his hand to the buttons on his suit jacket and looks down at himself. “Thank you. I tried to pick something that would go with your dress but not be too matchy. I can change if this doesn’t work for you.”
“No, it works.” I wet my lips as I give him another scan. Oh, it works on so many levels.
“Good.”
