Talk Hockey to Me (Bears Hockey #3) - Kelly Jamieson Page 0,41

be honest.

I close my eyes briefly, my hands gripping the edge of my counter.

I can’t have feelings for this man.

Shaking my head, I turn.

I hoped I’d have a chance to talk to him about Josh Heller and Easton Millar. After he opened up about the mascot phobia, I thought maybe he was in a mood to share. But then Hakim and Kevin crashed our party.

I sigh and sit on my couch.

I’ll see him again, obviously. It’ll have to wait until then.

It’s Sunday night. I took a day off to cavort in the park in a bear costume, then eat pizza and drink beer with hockey players, something I’ve missed so much. I’m not going to work now. I’m going to watch more episodes of The Office, which I’m addicted to, have another beer, and go to bed early.

When I check my phone in the morning, there’s a text from Hunter, sent last night around eleven, when I was already sleeping.

We were friends in college. We’re still friends. Right?

I smile, then push out my bottom lip. What are we doing? I rest my elbows on my island and lean on them, my phone in both hands.

I’m filled with longing. I’m not even sure what for. For Hunter? For Hunter’s wondrous wang? For his friendship? Or…something else?

I message him back. Of course.

His reply comes quickly. Dinner tonight?

I don’t know what we’re doing, but I do know I want to see him again. Sure.

I add, I can make dinner here.

That would be great. What time?

Seven?

A thumbs-up emoji arrives.

Now I have to go shopping. I made my meals ahead for this week—it keeps me from eating junk because I’m too lazy to cook—but I’d rather serve Hunter something that will wow him. Hmm.

Hunter likes beef. I ate with him enough times to know that. And I have a great bistro steak recipe. I fling open my fridge door to do inventory. I have nothing I need except beef stock, so I make a short shopping list and soon I’m hiking down Sixth Avenue to the little gourmet grocery store. I select steaks, little potatoes, fresh thyme, a bunch of spinach, and a bottle of red wine. I pause at the bakery counter, eyeing pastries. Dessert? I should have something to offer.

Overwhelmed with delicious choices, I finally request two squares of chocolate caramel slice, then head back home. Okay, I have work to do.

Van Halston has emailed me to let me know he’s back in Chicago and wants to meet in early June. He suggests a couple of dates. I pull up my calendar. That would be perfect! I could visit Dad and meet Jenelle. I don’t know if Ryan will be there that weekend, but his schedule is ridiculous, and I have to meet with Van. He’s going to be an NHL superstar one day, and I want to be his agent. I want to guide his career. That would be such a fucking rush.

I let him know I’ll be there. Then I book a flight. And email Dad and Ryan.

I have to convince Van I’m the best one to represent him. Having a client like Hunter definitely helps.

I check in on a bunch of things I’m working on, including Hunter’s contract. I track the news of trades and signings, analyzing how this affects my clients and their various teams.

Then it’s time to clean up and start dinner.

I get the steaks out of the fridge and season them with salt and pepper. I clean the potatoes and toss them with a mixture of olive oil and fresh thyme. I chop shallots and wash the spinach, which I’ll lightly sauté with a bit of garlic and olive oil. That only takes minutes.

Then I jump in the shower. My hair’s still a disaster from yesterday, so I shampoo and blow dry it with my round brush to smooth and flip up the layers. A little eyeshadow and mascara, a bit of highlighter on my cheekbones and I’m good. I pull on a pair of ripped jeans and a black T-shirt that says YES I DO PLAY LIKE A GIRL, TRY TO KEEP UP. I’m not going to make it weird by dressing up.

I pour myself a glass of the red wine. I need some of it for the sauce for the steak, so I have to open it. I’m scrolling through social media on my phone when Hunter arrives.

My heart bumps as I open the door and see him. Goddamn, I could climb him like a