Dirty Talker (Slayers Hockey #4) - Mira Lyn Kelly Page 0,23

I’m back at the hotel, tipsy from too many sugary drinks and still giggling thinking about the “police officer” who showed up at her sister’s house during dinner, I am so glad I went.

Wade and I texted a few times early on in the evening, but then Grace caught me and commandeered my phone, texting her son in no uncertain terms that this was a girls’ night and he could have me back when the party was over. She’s feisty and so much fun.

Dressed for bed but still a little wound up, I check my phone wondering if Walt had as much fun at his party as his bride-to-be had at hers and if all Wade’s plans for the night turned out the way he’d hoped.

I wonder if he’ll be back before I go to sleep.

If we’ll talk through the wall the way we did the night before. I kind of hope so, because it was surprisingly nice getting drowsy to the sound of his voice.

He has a really nice voice.

Okay, definitely still tipsy.

The door to our suite unlocks and I sit up, a frisson of excitement sweeping over me. After a quick knock, Wade lets himself in and—

“Whoa, are you okay?” I ask, stumbling out of bed as I take in the train wreck that is my fake boyfriend. His hair is standing in total disarray, there are lipstick smudges on his face, and his button-down shirt is hanging open… no buttons to be found.

Wade throws the slide lock and slumps back against the door with a long breath. Tired eyes meet mine, and when he brings up his hand in the universal stop signal, I see his sleeve is literally torn at the cuff.

“I swear, it’s not what it looks like.”

“It looks like…” Like maybe someone needs to call the real police.

“Someone told the dancer at the club I was a hockey player.”

Huh? And then it hits me.

Ooh… The “sports celebrity” thing is real.

“She’s a Slayers fan? Or just a really hardcore Wade Grady fan?” I whisper, trying to shut down the pinch of jealousy I’m experiencing at the sight of all that lipstick.

Wade lets out a dry laugh. “She’d probably never even heard my name before. I only started getting real ice time in the games this past season. But knowing I’m a pro, sometimes people get caught up in it.” His eyes cut to mine, his smile coming back online. “Present company excluded.”

“No, I’m impressed. I am.” Fine, not so much about the sports. But in other ways.

“You’re killing me, Harlow.” He pushes off the door and walks through to my room with a weary laugh. “I want you to know, this isn’t what I was going for. I asked her to back off. Tried to be nice. Told her I had a girlfriend.”

At my shocked cough, he shakes his head. “What? For the purposes of this week, I do. And so we’re clear, I would never disrespect the woman I was with by flirting up or encouraging this kind of crazy shit.” He holds up his arm, examining the torn fabric, and mutters a curse.

Then he’s shouldering out of his shirt, and I’m trying not to notice the muscles across his chest flexing and shifting as he frees one powerful arm and then the other.

“I really appreciate that.” I do. “But, um…”

His head comes up. “Yeah.”

I can barely say it out loud. “I put… twenty dollars in Officer Johnson’s man thong thing.”

Wade blinks. Shakes his head and blinks again before barking out a laugh so loud I’m afraid he’ll wake the whole hotel.

“I feel bad,” I gasp, laughing too. Okay, not that bad. “You were such a good fake boyfriend while I’m this, this tart.”

When he finally catches his breath, he sits back on the desk across from the bed. “Hey, how’d it go with the bachelorette party anyway? You girls have fun?”

I start to answer but, with the way his arms are braced at his sides with those massive legs stretched out in front of him, I’m getting lost in the deep-cut ridges of his abdominal muscles.

So many.

He asked me about the party. Right.

It takes me a second to get my eyes up past his neck, and when I do, I find Wade watching me with one raised brow and a smile that says I’m so busted.

I sigh, holding up my hands. “Okay, I’m impressed. For real.”

He grins. “Finally.”

Taking a last look at the shirt, he tosses the wrecked garment in the bin beneath