Dirty Talker (Slayers Hockey #4) - Mira Lyn Kelly Page 0,5

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The back room is mostly empty, and he’s right, quieter too. When we’re seated, I open my mouth, but he speaks first. “So, I’m Wade Grady. Kind of got the feeling you might not have remembered.”

“I am so sorry, Wade,” I start, leaning forward over the square table. “Honestly, I never drink like that, and—”

“Yeah, you might have mentioned that last night.”

A server breezes by the table, and Wade checks with me before ordering us two iced teas.

This guy knows that I like mine with lemon and two sugars, and I didn’t even remember his name. I’m the worst.

He’s giving me a smile as genuine as I’ve ever seen. “But hey, don’t sweat it. I mean so long as you remember my name—which is Wade—when you meet my mom, right?”

Ugh. It takes everything I have not to squirm in my seat.

“So actually, about that.” I put some steel into my spine. “This isn’t going to work.”

His easy smile stays where it is, but for a blink, there’s a tension around his eyes and then it’s gone.

“No?” He sounds casual, calm, as he folds those big arms over the table between us and leans in. But this isn’t what he wanted to hear.

I take a breath. “I got carried away last night. It had been a… bad day. And we were having a lot of fun. I just got caught up in it.”

“We were. But you do remember we didn’t fool around, right?”

“No, I know.” I meet his eyes again. Chicken out and glance away. “You strike me as a decent guy. Really. But last night was an anomaly. I can’t go home with you. Please understand, this is about me. Not you.”

“I don’t know. Seems like some of it has to be about me.”

His brow arches, tugging the corner of one side of his mouth up with it.

Geez, he’s got a really nice mouth.

“No, really, it isn’t.” I was being rash. Reckless. “My behavior was out of character, and I feel terrible. I know you were hoping to find someone to help you out, but as much fun as we had last night—” And it was fun, with every second I spend across from this man, more of the night comes into focus—the surprisingly easy conversation, the jokes, the laughter. The logic that I typically apply to every situation, though? Not so much. “I wasn’t thinking clearly and I shouldn’t have volunteered. I’m sorry.”

Wade leans back, blowing out an exaggerated breath. “See. I was just about to let you off easy, but”—he gives me a meaningful look that somehow tickles more of that unexpected laughter from me—“then you mentioned how much fun we had. Again. That’s twice inside of five minutes. And Harlow, that sounds like the kind of fun we shouldn’t bench quite so fast.”

I cock my head, unable to resist. “Oh really?”

A nod. “Really. I get it. You’re the responsible one with the goals and priorities. You’re the girl who doesn’t say yes. Ever. I remember. And if anyone can relate to having career goals prioritized above all else, it’s me.”

I blink, my heart doing an uncomfortable skip hearing him voice my thoughts back to me. Heat spills into my cheeks. I can’t believe I told him that stuff.

But really, it isn’t any more shocking than agreeing to be his fake girlfriend.

“Here’s the thing, though. At some point, you need to give yourself a break. Even if it’s just a short one.” He leans his forearms on the table, and my brain sort of short-circuits seeing his pale blue oxford strain around his biceps.

I’ve seriously never seen arms like that before.

“Come on, what could be better than a little fun that just happens to coincide with a convenient opening in your schedule when you have no other plans, obligations, or expectations you’re trying to meet? It’s perfect.”

“Wade—” I pause, holding up a hand. “O’Dwyer called you Grady. Which do you prefer?”

Just keeping things polite, respectful, and professional.

Again with that smile. “My teammates call me Grady. But you? Wade, please.”

A shiver runs through me. Time to rip off the bandage.

“Wade, I’m very sorry, but I’m not spending a week with a man I’ve barely met… no matter how much fun he is.”

He nods. Watches me from beneath a criminally thick fringe of lashes.

And then the corner of his mouth curves.

Harlow

Ninety minutes later, I’m parked at Nettie’s kitchen table, staring into her wide eyes still smudged with last night’s makeup.

“Wait, what?” she croaks, but quietly since Frank is talking on