I feel it—that sharp twist in my chest again. “I need to ask you something.”
“You told me once you move fast when you know a good thing, but I need to stop you right there. We can’t get married yet.”
I chuckle, shrugging out of my jacket and tossing it on the chair. “There’s this charity gala next week in Boston. Black tie. It’ll be a whole thing, and I don’t want to go alone.”
Her brows furrow. “So don’t.”
“Well, big sponsors and donors will be there, and the rest of my team. I’m required to go and make an appearance. Plus, I should really show everyone I’ve seen the error of my ways if I want to move forward with the rink project.” I rake my hand through my hair.
“Well, I’m not sure I can get Zoe to cover for me. I’ll need to check first.”
“You don’t have to answer right now,” I tell her. “But I really want you there. With me.”
That last part comes out raw, more honest than I meant it to be.
Finally, she rolls onto her side and snuggles deeper into her pillow. “You want to take me to a gala for our second date?”
I force a grin. “It’ll be fun.”
“Mmm. We’ll see.” She stifles a yawn. “Night, Jack.”
The call ends. I stay frozen, my phone gripped in my hand, my heart pounding. I’m supposed to be the guy who doesn’t give a shit. The one who doesn’t get attached. The one who would have left with any of the women who found me this week while I was out with the team.
My phone pings.
It’s a picture of Izzy’s bedside table. The drawer is open, and her vibrator’s missing.
Izzy: Are you going to wear a tux for this gala? Because that’s all I’m thinking about right now.
Jack: Are you sexting me?
Izzy: Shh, don’t interrupt my orgasm, Murphy.
Jack: Better practice, because when I get home, we’re going for five.
Chapter 16
Izzy
In New England, once the leaves change in the fall, there’s usually a storm that blows in called a leaf stripper. It’s big and windy, leaving the trees bare as they brace for the brutal cold ahead with nowhere to hide.
I’m about to find out if I can survive it.
My stomach is a wild tangle of knots as the car waits in line to drop me off at the venue. I was going to drive, but Jack insisted he’d send a car. Told me to enjoy the experience of being a spoiled hockey girlfriend, then sent me a new Chanel clutch for tonight. The card that was tucked into the package said the ribbon reminded him of the ones I like to wear in my hair.
I fiddle with my earrings and turn on my phone camera one more time to check my makeup. It slips from my hand, my palms sweaty. I’ve been two seconds from throwing up for the whole forty-minute drive.
November has swept in. It’s cold and gray, and it hasn’t let up. An icy breeze whips around the tall Boston buildings as soon as I step out. I do my best to grab the hem of my dress andsprint in my stilettos without turning my ankle on the cobblestone street. As soon as I step inside, I check my coat and peek around. It’s a giant three-story foyer, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Boston Harbor. The soft glow of a giant crystal chandelier bounces off the chrome details, and jazz echoes through the empty space from the rooms upstairs.
“Are you here for the gala, miss?”
I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place so fancy in my life. “Yes.” My voice shakes, and, god, I really would feel better if Jack were next to me. That’s something I didn’t think I’d ever admit to, but here we are.
I miss the smug bastard. Annoyingly.
No, that’s not true. I think he’s quickly becoming a good friend, and I misshim. Like an ache-in-my-chest kind of missing. Between the away games, practice, and last night’s game in Boston, we haven’t seen each other since Halloween.
I’m escorted to an escalator to take me up to the party. I can hear the hushed, polite chatter and soft instrumental music. I reach into my clutch to find my phone, ready to text Jack about where we should meet, when I glance up.
