Dirty Talker (Slayers Hockey #4) - Mira Lyn Kelly Page 0,1

for a wedding without worrying about her getting the wrong idea. Also, she’s married, so don’t bother trying to poach her.”

“Ha-ha-ha.” Dick.

“There she is.” Axe whistles, holding up a hand to where a dozen girls are making their way up the private staircase. It’s a tide of short dresses, stacked heels, and giddy laughter rolling in.

I should get out of here. Let these guys have fun while I go home and—

Whoa. No way.

From the sea of feminine faces, one stands out from the rest.

I know her. Sort of.

Harlow Richards works at the bank. Not on my accounts. But I’ve seen her on the private banking floor. Ridden the elevator with her. Noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring and might have tried chatting her up a time or two.

Tried being the operative word there.

It’s her. I recognize those burnt-umber eyes and the way she twists the soft spill of her hair over her shoulder. That lush mouth when she takes a sip of whatever girly drink is in her stemmed glass.

I wonder what kinds of plans she’s got over the next few weeks.

Ha, forget that.

The only thing I know about this girl is her name, and that’s because I talked it out of the coffee cart dude from the lobby. I might need a date, but no way am I bringing some unknown quantity home for more than a week with my family. Not without a solid stamp of “psycho-free” from a reliable source anyway.

Still, she’s got my attention.

It’s curiosity more than anything else. With the way my hockey career is finally coming together, I don’t have the bandwidth for a relationship. But a night or maybe just a couple hours?

Who knows.

Harlow’s not smiling. Not scoping out the exclusive area of the club like she can’t soak it in fast enough. Not devouring me and my buddies—because, despite the fact that they won’t share their sisters, that’s what they are—with starstruck, or even curious, eyes.

Maybe this isn’t her scene either.

But she’s veering off from the party, walking our way.

Walking toward Axel, who’s standing up to greet her. Only he said his friend was married and… Then I realize she’s not alone. And it’s her friend who’s sort of happy-dancing into Axe’s open arms with all the thanks for setting her up with the VIP access for her friend’s party.

My teammates invite the girls to join us, and I settle back into my chair. I might be screwed as far as a date for my brother’s wedding, but maybe this night has some potential yet.

Harlow

Jocks. Like this night wasn’t bad enough already.

Taking a greedy swallow of my Snowflake Martini, I slide into the open spot next to my work wife and wannabe life coach, Annette Quinto, offering an absent wave to the guys parked around the table as they introduce themselves. Under any other circumstance, I’d at least feign polite interest, but tonight—and possibly for the first time in my life—I just don’t have it in me.

Whatever. Pretty sure these athletes’ egos can handle it.

Turning my phone over in my hand, I glare at the department-wide email congratulating Junior on the job that until sometime in the last twenty-four hours had been mine.

“Turn that thing off,” Nettie chides, grabbing my hand in hers and muscling the phone back to sleep. “Forget about the promotion. I know it sucks. I know it’s not fair. But give yourself the night off from thinking about it.”

Right. A night off was the plan.

I don’t take them. Ever.

Finishing off my second Snowflake, I don’t feel any better. I haven’t loosened up the way Nettie swore I would. Worse yet, I still care.

And I hate that.

Almost as much as Junior’s smug wink when he’d walked past me on the way to his new office.

When will I learn?

Nettie’s talking a mile a minute to the guys surrounding us, becoming best friends with them the way she does with everyone else. The way I don’t do with anyone.

The blond one with the goofy smile asks about the party, wanting to know who the bride-to-be is and which girls are single.

“Yeah.” The grumpy-looking one beside him waves to the guy in the chair. “Grady here’s after a date for his brother’s wedding next week.”

“I’ll go!” Nettie squeals, and I can’t help but laugh. She’s a grab-life-by-the-horns kind of creature, and it’s one of my very favorite things about her.

She would not be sitting idly by while someone with less than half her experience took the job she’d been working toward for