Dirty Talker (Slayers Hockey #4) - Mira Lyn Kelly Page 0,15

for the next few miles into town, about me, about my family. Every time I give her an answer, I see her filing the information away. But this thing only works if it goes both ways. And hell, I just want to know more about her.

I hit my signal and pull into the drive heading up to the Picket Inn. “Once we get to our room, it’s your turn on the hot seat.”

I’m expecting some bring it attitude coming back at me, but instead I get a strained, “Our room? There’s just one?”

Shit.

The lot’s mostly empty. Parking in a spot close to the lobby, I rub the back of my neck. “I got us two beds. It’s a suite. But—hell, I’m sorry. I guess I figured two rooms wouldn’t really sell the committed serious couple thing and didn’t think to check with you.” I should have.

She looks out the window, back down to Main Street, and then to the doors in front of us. “Word travels fast around the sports celebrity?”

I laugh because there’s that subtle emphasis again. From the first night in the club, any time she says it, it’s like there are air quotes around it.

“Word travels fast about everything around here. But especially Bill and Grace’s sons. My parents are bigger celebrities in this town than I am. Prom king and queen, varsity football and cheerleading coaches.”

“And you think someone from the hotel might talk if we had separate rooms?”

No might about it. They’d definitely talk. But it doesn’t matter. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Harlow. I can get another room.” And if, against all odds, they don’t have one, I’ll stay in the truck. I can’t stay back at my house with Kelsey there.

“No.” It’s like she’s trying it on for size. But then she turns to me, more relaxed. “No way are we going to give up the game on day one. You caught me by surprise, but it’s not like we’re sharing a bed. I’m good.”

I come around to help her down. “Promise you’ll let me know if that changes?”

“Promise.”

She hops out of the truck. Our bags are in the backseat, and when I go for the door, my hand brushes hers as she does the same.

“Sorry,” we both mutter, then proceed to do the very same thing again.

She has really soft skin.

Our eyes meet, a beat passes, and then we both laugh, and hell, it just feels good.

I shake my head, this time catching her hand on purpose and guiding it away from the door. “Big, strong jock here. Let the ego have a little something, yeah?”

She rolls her eyes and steps back. “A little something? Ha. I have the feeling your ego is pretty well-fed.”

“You know, you’d think that, right? But funny thing. Not so much since I met you.” I throw the strap of her bag over one shoulder and mine over the other, grabbing her smaller tote in my hand. “Poor guy is starving over here.”

She gives me the huff of laughter I’m going for. Then, “Wade, I’m so impressed with how you handle all three of those bags. I’ve never encountered such a manly show of strength.”

Jesus, I can feel him shriveling. But she’s not done.

“I might faint, I’m so overwhelmed by the testosterone in the air.” Fanning herself, she asks, “If I go down, will you be able to carry me too?”

Yes. And hell, if there was any truth to her being mine, I’d already have her over my shoulder, giving that perfect round ass a spank for the mouth she’s giving me. But she’s not. She’s doing me a favor. And not the kind that involves going down.

Why did she have to say it that way?

Shouldering in through the front door of the hotel, I come face-to-face with Mr. Peterman.

This guy has been giving me the stink eye since I was old enough to walk, and I’ve never figured out why. Or why I care. But here I am, shifting where I stand as he gives me a grizzled scowl from the check-in desk.

“Name?”

“Wade Grady.” Like he doesn’t know. He keeps staring, irritation evident in every breath. “Reservation through next Sunday.”

He turns to a PC that’s right out of the 80s and finger-pecks on the clackity keyboard. Snorts. “A suite.”

Beside me, I swear I catch Harlow’s shoulders give a shake.

Glad she thinks this is funny.

“Yes, sir. Also, we don’t need anyone in to make up the room this week.”

There’s another stare that has me feeling