Dirty Talker (Slayers Hockey #4) - Mira Lyn Kelly Page 0,3

have resumed giving Dateless a hard time. But rather than getting pissed, he shakes his head and starts to laugh.

It’s this deep, rumbly, good-natured sound that’s really kind of nice and makes me want to laugh too. After the day I’ve had, that’s no small feat.

I look back at Dateless, catching his eyes on mine again.

He rubs a hand over the neat clip of his trimmed beard.

He really does have a nice face. Nice eyes. Nice smile. Nice laugh. Nice shoulders that stretch his fitted shirt in a pretty nice way.

Shifting in his seat to hang a nice arm over the back, he appears to be gearing up to something. I’ve got a fair idea what.

I hold up a hand, turning to Client Dude. “Is he?” I wave my glass toward Dateless and ask again. “Is he a good guy?”

Shrug. “Yeah, sure he is.”

Okay then.

Downing the rest of my drink, I turn back to Dateless. “I’ll go to your wedding.”

Chapter 2

Harlow

Oh my God!

My eyes blink open wide and immediately slam shut beneath the harsh glare of the morning sun and a headache that’s hammering through my entire body. My heart starts to race. There’s no way… I didn’t actually… I wouldn’t… Not in a million years.

Except I’m pretty sure I did.

My stomach lurches and, fighting the tangle of sheets around my legs, I scramble for my phone. Check the calendar.

Oh no.

A ten-day stretch starting Thursday is labeled with one word, all caps: WEDDING.

No.

No.

Only yes. There it is, right along with a short text string that includes my name going out and a quick note of extreme gratitude coming in, along with the address of the place we’re meeting for lunch today at noon.

What’s not in that text string? His name.

This isn’t good.

In fact, this is exactly the sort of thing that would have my father sneering in disgust and adding lack of responsibility and poor decision-making to his list of my shortcomings.

Ugh.

Calling Nettie isn’t going to happen. I’m too embarrassed. Besides, I already know she’d tell me to cancel the lunch and wedding via text. Block his number and put it out of my mind. But there’s just one problem. While I don’t remember Dateless’s name, I do remember that he seemed like a pretty decent guy. And more than that, I remember how it felt yesterday opening my phone and being blindsided.

The least I can do is show up and tell him to his face.

Wade

“Grady, isn’t that the chick you hooked up with last night?” Axel Erikson juts his chin toward the buttoned-up brunette peering around the bar at the lunchtime crowd.

It’s summer, off-season, and while the Five Hole is a hockey bar through and through, this time of year it’s a pretty mellow hangout and serves a spectacular club. Plus, it’s about a five-minute walk from Wagner Arena and six from my place.

I straighten, easing off my stool.

“We didn’t hook up. But that’s her.” And truth? I’m relieved. I wasn’t sure she’d show.

Axe grunts. “Wouldn’t have pegged her for a bunny.”

Huh?

Harlow’s already walked over to the bar where O’Dwyer, another teammate, has been swiping on Tinder for the last half hour.

“She’s not.” This girl wasn’t working for a chance to stamp another name on her Slayers bingo card. She didn’t know which sport we played, got the team name wrong twice. She didn’t have the skintight clothing or fuck-me hair, and the way she looked at me when the guys cleared out and it was just the two of us talking? The words Not Interested don’t begin to cover it.

My ego flinches at the memory of her emphatic assurance that she wasn’t into me. At all. Not even a little bit.

I had to stop her after those pretty brown eyes ran over me in a slow appraisal and she stated that whole “body business” I had going wasn’t her thing.

Got it. All six times she’d said it.

And while a square kick to the ego is never fun—for the purpose of this trip to my hometown for my brother’s wedding? It works that Harlow isn’t into me.

At all.

Thing is, with the ultra-conservative outfit she’s rocking, I’m surprised when O’Dwyer pats the stool beside him.

Please. Like she’d ever sit down with that guy.

Time to go rescue my fake date.

“Dude, she just sat down.”

I swallow, not appreciating Axel’s cackle one bit. “I see that.”

But I don’t get it.

O’Dwyer’s the worst. Not only did he give up the puck that cost us our playoff spot this year, but the guy’s a douche.