You Had Me at Hockey (Bears Hockey #2) - Kelly Jamieson Page 0,7
what got me drafted, given that I’d barely played hockey in the year before the draft. If it was, I’ll take it; this was my goal, and being hurt and unable to play for so long was a huge obstacle, but I always knew I could do it. And I am.
I have to remember that and be grateful for what I’ve accomplished instead of being resentful about this huge change to my nicely settled life.
I’m eager to play my second game with the team on Thursday night. My first game got some of the nerves out but wasn’t my best work. This may not have been in my plan, but I want to contribute.
Chapter 4
Sara
I’m meeting Josh Heller at the studio where I record my podcasts. It’s a small place, all they do is podcasts, but I really like the guys that run it. I walk the three blocks from the 42nd Street subway stop and enter the nondescript office building then ride the tiny, ancient elevator to the eighth floor. They have the whole floor here, so I step out of the elevator into a waiting room with stylish couches and chairs and cool track lighting. One wall is lined with framed pictures of various podcast covers, including mine: Random Acts of Sara, with the hot-pink background and stylized image of my face.
They don’t have a receptionist, but I know Oliver will come and get me. I’m early because I’m always early. I unwrap my scarf, take off my jacket, and hang it in the small closet, then take a seat, pulling out my phone from my purse. I’m scrolling through Instagram when the door opens. I look up to see Josh Heller enter.
Now, I’ve done some research on him. My podcasts seem haphazard and off the top of my head, but I do plan what I’m going to talk about, so I need to know something about my guests. I already know Josh Heller has teeth. And he’s goddamn gorgeous.
My belly flutters as I jump to my feet to greet him. “Hi! Josh, right? I’m Sara.” I stick out my hand. But my palm feels sweaty. “Wait.” I rub it on the thigh of my jeans. “There.” I extend it again.
He blinks, lifts one eyebrow, and takes my hand without a smile. “Nice to meet you, Sara.”
His hand is big and warm and not sweaty. I like it.
He is big…I’m average height, five feet, six inches, and he’s got to be well over six feet. And did I mention he’s gorgeous? I don’t get how this is fair when he bashes people around for a living. He wears a layer of scruff that’s almost a beard. His thick eyebrows sit low over brown eyes and his lips…holy fuck cakes, his lips…they are the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen on a man.
He pulls off his knit hat to reveal thick dark hair that falls over his forehead. I want to reach out and gently push it back.
“Likewise,” I say. “Wow, I did not expect you to be so good-looking.” Which is stupid because I saw pictures of him, but in person, he has a magnetism that I can feel right between my legs.
He barks out a dry laugh. “Okay. I guess I could say the same.”
I wave a hand. “Please.” I only got a few hours of sleep last night and my Boi-ing Industrial Strength Concealer isn’t hiding that. I have a zit on my chin and my hair needs washing. I usually don’t give a fuck how I look, but today I kind of wish I’d taken a bit more time with my appearance. “So. Have a seat.” I gesture at the couch. “We’re a bit early so we can chat. Oh, wait, you can hang up your jacket there in the closet.” As usual, I sound like a goof. Stuff just comes out of my mouth.
He takes off his jacket and I watch him like he’s doing a striptease, practically salivating as he reveals nice shoulders and arms in a gray sweater with a shawl collar. When he turns to hang up his jacket, my gaze dips to his ass, which is…magnificent. Those jeans…oh my God.
I feel like fanning myself, but I need to at least pretend to be composed.
“So you’ve just moved to New York,” I say.
“Yep.” He sits on the couch adjacent to me and leans back. “Still figuring things out.”
“It’s a bit overwhelming at first. I remember.” I make a face.