Page 28 of Playing for Keeps

I already knew what was coming and resisted the urge to bury my face in my hands.

“…hockey,” she finished, smiling.

Emma’s eyebrows arched. “Hockey?”

“Why not?” Grace said brightly, her grin giving her away. “It doesn’t get more Canadian than that.”

Emma shook her head and let out a small laugh. “The problem is, I don’t know the first thing about hockey. Aside from the fact that it takes place on ice and involves a stick and a puck.” Her green eyes sparkled with amusement as she looked back at me.

I leaned back a little and smirked. “Well, that’s a start.”

Grace wasn’t finished yet. “You’re in luck, then, because my brother here happens to be a hockey player. A professional one, in fact. Can’t you, Max, explain it to her?”

I swallowed hard, trying not to look like a deer in headlights. “Uh,” I said, dragging out the word. “Sure. If Emma wants to.”

She looked at me with curiosity, maybe even a little caution. “I’ll think about it,” she said.

Of course Grace wasn’t satisfied with maybe. “Or,” she suggested, “you two could exchange phone numbers. That way, Emma can call you if she wants to learn more.”

Emma thought for a moment before nodding. “All right.”

Grace beamed like a cat with cream.

I fumbled my phone out of my pocket and handed it to Emma with what I hoped was a casual smile.

The room seemed absurdly loud while she typed – cutlery against china, a nearby table breaking into applause for a speech I hadn’t even noticed had started.

She gave the phone back to me, and I saved her number immediately.

Emma tucked her own phone back in her purse and stood up gracefully. “I’m sorry, but I need to go back to my table,” she said. “It’s been lovely meeting you both.”

“Go on, before someone at your table files a missing person report.”

I stood up too, instinctively, and that’s when I saw it – the slit in her dress. Long, high, and revealing just enough to set my brain on fire.

I stood very still, as if moving would give me away.

As she walked across the room, her hips swayed a little and I couldn’t look away. The green fabric caught the light, and her legs moved smoothly and confidently under it.

Christ. This woman.

I forced myself to take a breath, but it didn’t help. My body was still wired, as if I had just finished overtime on the ice.

Grace, of course, noticed everything. She leaned in and smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Well,” she said, still smug as hell, “that was interesting.”

I dropped into my chair, running a hand over my face like it might ground me. “Don’t start.”

She didn’t even try to hide how happy she was. “You really like her.”

“Grace.”

“You really do,” she repeated, singsong, practically glowing. “Emma. The bookstore girl. The one you’ve been going on about for weeks. Don’t bother denying it.”

I groaned and threw my head back. “I didn’t ‘go on about her.’”

“You did. You absolutely did. Max, this is amazing. She’s brilliant, she’s gorgeous, and she clearly likes you back.”

“She was being polite.”