Finn drops his chin and shakes his head. “Oh, Logan…” He sighs.
“Yeah, I did,” I say, because while her name may have escaped me, her long blond hair splayed across my pillow and those gorgeous legs wrapped around me did not. “And it was great. What about you?”
He gives me that sly Finn smile. “I’m not complaining. I definitely wasn’t lonely.”
Before he can elaborate, the line shifts and our next fans step forward. I refocus and lift my gaze to the woman approaching me.
The second I see her, the noise in the room fades, and drunken visions of blond hair are forgotten. Any hint of annoyance or exhaustion disappears, and everything else drops out until it’s just her.
She’s petite with honey-blond hair pulled into a loose knot that lets soft pieces fall around her face. Her eyes are a warm brown that hit me right in the chest, and for a second, I forget where I am.
I swallow. “Hi.”
She startles slightly at my voice. I reach out a hand automatically. She flinches. Barely, but I feel it. She covers it with a smile that doesn’t quite land.
“Hi,” she says, forcing her lips to curve upward.
“Thanks for coming out,” I tell her. “What’s your name?”
She bites her bottom lip and hesitates before answering. “Tessa.”
“Well, nice to meet you, Tessa. You a big Crane hockey fan?”
She presses her lips into a thin line. “Um, not exactly.”
I grin. “Not exactly? So you came here just for me, then?”
Her breath catches, barely audible, and she cuts her gaze toward Penny as if she’s checking whether she’s allowed tolaugh. She doesn’t. Her fingers tighten around the jersey instead, and she shakes her head.
“Oh, okay.” It comes out softer than I intend. I nod toward the jersey in her hands.
She hands it over quickly, almost urgently. “Can you sign this, please?”
“Sure. Should I sign it to you?”
“Um, no. To—” She stumbles over the word. “To Preston, please.”
“Ah. Preston.” I try to sound casual. “Is he a brother?”
She shakes her head once. “Boyfriend.”
Of course she has a boyfriend. Someone so beautiful wouldn’t be single.
“So where’s Preston? He didn’t want to come meet me himself?”
“He’s working.”
I nod, though something in the tightness of her shoulders makes me want to push for more. “Well, hopefully he appreciates you waiting in a long line for him. Seems like he owes you a date night.”
She doesn’t smile. Not even a flicker. Her gaze drops to the table, fixed on the marker in my hand like she’s afraid to look directly at me again.
I sign the jersey and add a note to Preston, though every part of me wishes I were writing her name instead. “I appreciate you coming out. Were you able to watch the game last night?”
She doesn’t answer. Not even a nod. She just reaches forward, quick and tense, to take the jersey back from me. Her fingers brush mine for half a second—cold, trembling.
As she does, her sleeve shifts just enough to reveal her wrist.
A faint bruise.
