But I was determined to stay angry with him.
After all, he had lied to me.
“Did you hear what he lied about? Two pretty big things.”
“Well, you obviously made it apparent that you hate hockey players and girl, I don’t know why. That man is hot as Hades. And then some. He could be the peanut butter to my jelly. The cream in my coffee. Hell, the cream in my mouth, sugar.”
“Margie! Stop.”
“Well, you’re not claiming him.”
“And you’re married.”
Margie waved her hand before tossing the trash. “Oh, that. Party pooper.”
Why had I felt a twinge of jealousy along with the extended version of feeling electrocuted?
Because you miss you. Because you like him.
Because you hunger for him.
Sadly, all true. When I’d seen his entourage in the parking lot, I’d been sick to my stomach. When he’d signed that girl’s breasts, I’d been mortified.
And I’d wished it were me.
What did that say about my moral turpitude?
“What about him being a shifter?” I pressed. At least I knew I’d get the truth out of Margie. She was that kind of woman.
“Well, I’ve been involved with some pretty furry men in my life. They are much more adventurous in the bedroom if you ask me.”
“I think this is a bit different.”
She leaned forward, winking at me. “Is it really? What’s a little fur now and again? Besides, if what Steven said is true, you don’t need to worry about running through the woods buck naked.”
Memories of the night before floated into my mind, heat rising on my face. It had been a whirlwind adventure alright. “I just don’t know.”
“Don’t wait too long to decide. That man is a hot commodity right now. My guess is, if all goes well tonight with this game, you won’t be able to get within ten feet of him.”
I thought about what she’d said while my phone buzzed. I’d invited Tawny to come since her boyfriend was already covering the game as a reporter. Then afterwards, we were going out for drinks where she’d help me decompress about being such an idiot.
“Remember what I said. I’ve never seen a boy so into a girl. That has to be worth something. Oh, yeah. Did he really replant the flowers last night?”
Since I had the phone in my hand, I flipped to the photographs I’d taken. “He did.”
She whistled after a few seconds. “Yeah, that boy meant what he said. He loves you. Maybe watch some of the game.”
“I’m working.”
“And they always have the game on in the concession booths. Plus, I happened to notice you’re working closest to the ice. You’ll have a bird’s-eye view of the game.”
“I’ll be too busy.” I cringed seeing her accusatory glare.
“Have it your way, but you could be missing out on something special.”
Love.
What could he know about love? I mean seriously? What could a bad boy hockey player know?
