Dirty Talker (Slayers Hockey #4) - Mira Lyn Kelly Page 0,59

will be set up. And the Gradys are all smiles and hugs as we walk over to where some relation on one side or the other is coordinating the dry run.

I step off to the side where a smattering of dates hang back, watching as the bridesmaids and groomsmen are paired up and given instructions.

There’s a tiny blond girl with bright blue eyes running around like an adorable terror. And when Wade catches her on her next pass, parking her in the crook of his arm… well, that is some potent stuff.

I don’t notice that Janie’s come up beside me until she pulls me away from the group.

“Janie, this place is amazing,” I say, meaning it completely.

She nods, looking around. But when her eyes cut back to mine, there’s apology in them. “Harlow, when we started planning this, I had no idea Wade was dating someone.” I find Wade across the clearing and immediately know what she’s referring to.

He’s standing a polite distance away from Kelsey, but they are definitely paired up.

Janie bites her lip. “If I’d had any idea how she would behave when he brought someone home, I would never have—”

“Janie, no. Seriously, don’t give it a second thought. Kelsey and I are fine.” Mostly. Fine enough, anyway. “It’s all good. Promise. Now get up there.”

She gives my hand a squeeze. “Pay attention. This could be you guys in not too long.”

The rehearsal goes off without a hiccup, and the dinner after is at a local barbecue place where Janie and Walt had their first date. I catch Bill wiping a tear from the corner of his eye when Walt stands up and gives a speech about why he’s so lucky to be marrying Janie. Grace beams and Wade squeezes my hand, giving me a look that makes me believe anything is possible.

Back at the hotel, I sleep in Wade’s arms and wake up to him peppering kisses across my body.

Saturday is a day of smiles and joyful tears, dancing, and laughter. A day that ends with Wade loving me right on into the next morning and me wondering how this can be my life.

And then our ten days is over.

Chapter 23

Wade

Harlow spends most of the ride back to Chicago handling email from her phone. We have lunch at a dive known for their cinnamon rolls and hold hands across the table, talking about the wedding. We stop at the gas station where we had our first practice run at the physical stuff and end up making out in the truck until someone honks and we remember where we are.

It’s pretty excellent.

But nothing beats that moment when we cross into city limits and Harlow asks me if I’ll stay the night with her. Hell, yes, I will.

I stay that night and the next, and the next after that, Nettie comes over with a bottle of wine and a sleeve of Pringles, which she devours as Harlow gives her the highlights reel of our trip and fake-to-really-real relationship. Or the PG version anyway.

She’s back at work, happy to be doing the job that should have been hers from the start. I ask about her dad, but she hasn’t actually seen him since she’s been back.

My guess, he’s being a prick because she didn’t drop everything to come running the second he called.

Probably a good thing we’re planning to give it some time before I meet him.

For now, my off-season life is getting back to normal.

Harlow left for work an hour ago and I’m getting an early workout in with the guys. “Grady, put a few pounds on the bar. Christ, Piper could lift more than that.” Piper is Boomer’s little sister, and he’s talking shit because I lift a fuck-ton more than he can. Not that that’s ever stopped the guy. “The sport drink guys are gonna yank your endorsement with those girlie arms.”

“Uh-huh.” The sport drink guys flew in to meet with me yesterday and asked how few clothes I’d be willing to wear in their ads. I think I’m okay.

The only thing giving me hives is my Slayers contract. My agent, Pete Greer, says not to sweat it. They’re offering, it’s just a matter of the details. The guy’s been at this a long time, so I believe him, but still. I’ll feel a hell of a lot better when the ink is dry and I’m celebrating with Harlow over a bottle of bubbly.

I move in beside Bowie for squats, and we’re talking about how strange it’s