Dirty Talker (Slayers Hockey #4) - Mira Lyn Kelly Page 0,6

the phone in the other room. “You said yes? Harlow, you don’t ever say yes. To anything. No drinks with the department on Friday after work. No softball in the summer. I only got you to come out last night by threatening to bring the party to your place if you didn’t… You can’t say yes to a week with some stranger.”

Which is exactly what I’d been thinking when I told him no at lunch. But then he’d started talking and… next thing, I was asking what to pack.

“This isn’t some strange guy,” I defend with more gusto than the situation probably merits. Definitely. “He’s one of your clients. A pro-athlete on… one of Chicago’s favorite teams.”

She blinks. “Jesus, Harlow. It’s hockey. He plays hockey for the Chicago Slayers. He’s a forward with a contract up for renegotiation this month. And he’s not my client. He works with Leo.”

Hockey. Right.

There it is.

“Even better. A contract means he needs to keep his nose clean.” Why am I arguing this?

“Well, yes,” she agrees slowly. “He does.”

“See, he’s harmless.”

Nettie scoffs. “Harmless?” Her thumbs fly over her phone and she sits back. “What is this guy, six-two, 200 pounds?” She holds up a picture of Wade on the ice, a scowl cut through every feature. “Makes his living fighting it out for a puck and slamming other six-two, 200-pound dudes into the boards to do it. Harmless isn’t really the first thing I think of.”

I straighten in my seat, pushing my mug an inch to the right. I hadn’t really thought of it that way. But on an instinctual level, I just don’t think this guy is trouble.

He seems like fun. And like he needs a favor, bad.

Besides, “If I’m wrong and Wade turns out to be a jerk, then… favor revoked. I’ll leave.”

Her eyes narrow and she reaches for her coffee. “Are you serious right now?”

I take a breath and shake my head. “I know this is crazy. I know it’s not me. But God, Nettie, I’m just so sick of weighing every choice I make against how it might impact my future. Whether it aligns with my goals. If it’s sending the right message to the right people.” What my father will think… “I’m so sick of always doing the right thing and never seeing the results I’m waiting for.”

“It’s just a matter of time before Junior fucks up. Sorry. But PHR Bank and Trust is going to want you back in that position.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to wish that. And I can’t count on it. But— Nettie, I’m just tired. I’m exhausted from being me, and I guess a weeklong vacation of pretending to be someone else feels like exactly what I need.”

She clucks her tongue. “Are you going to tell your dad?”

I shift uncomfortably. “If he asks.”

Nettie has the good grace not to point out he won’t.

Chapter 3

Harlow

The men I date fit a certain mold.

They went to the right schools, have the right professions, know who my father is, and are almost as careful weighing the risk-to-reward ratio in asking me out as I am in who I say yes to.

I never have gorgeous men pressing me for inappropriate favors like this, and it’s kind of exciting. Maybe that’s why, against all logic, Thursday morning I’m seated at one of the Toasty Bean’s sidewalk tables, waiting on Wade Grady to pick me up.

I’ve spent the last four days on the brink of calling the whole thing off. But then I’d get a text, email, or call from Wade showering me with “fun facts” and “miscellaneous tedium”—he lost his first tooth in a fistfight with his cousin and has to take an allergy pill when he bales hay—and I’d end up asking half a dozen more questions, most of the time laughing so hard at the answers I couldn’t catch my breath. And then for the next few hours getting caught up in the idea of having ten days with this guy who’s promising me fun in exchange for a fake serious relationship.

Only now, as Wade pulls up in one of those oversized white pickups, I’m pretty sure this whole thing is crazy. But what I can’t understand is why I’m going through with it anyway.

“Hey, Good Girl,” he calls from over the roof, hopping out to round the beast.

I catch the server’s eye and tuck a few bills under my mug as Wade jogs up. He pulls one of my bags from beneath the table, grabbing the