Page 56 of Mr. Swoony

“The entire table is covered in just hockey romance books. I knew we had women loving us because we play professionally, but I didn’t know they’re writing novels about us.” I wave it at her. “Just think, you can have the real thing, and other woman can only read about having me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Or I can just read the book and avoid the aggravation of the real thing.” The corner of her mouth ticks up as she reads the back of another book she’s pulled from the shelf.

“I wonder if the other guys know about this.” I pick up another book, then another one, and realize that the majority of the time, the hockey player is a playboy. How cliché. “Do they write about other sports too?”

She returns the book she was reading to the shelf. “I haven’t read in a really long time. Since reading a book is on my list to do before I turn thirty, that should tell you that I have no idea what’s popular.”

“I get it. Don’t be jealous, Lulu. They can’t get the real thing.”

She grunts.

“Excuse me.” A woman comes by, reaching for one of the books on the table.

“Sorry.” I slide out of the way and watch her pick up a Piper Rayne book. “Can I ask you a question?”

She looks at me warily from the corner of her eye. “Sure.”

“This is hockey romance… is it popular?”

Her eyebrows scrunch together. “Yeah, it’s popular.”

“It’s what readers want?”

She nods.

“What about football or baseball?”

“Hockey is the most popular, I think.” She seems confused as to why I’m asking.

I clap my hands together. “Thanks. That’s awesome.”

Eloise peeks around the corner. “You might want to get out of the way. He’s about to blow up from an overinflated ego.”

The woman just nods and takes her book, leaving the area.

“You scared that poor woman.”

Eloise has two books in her arms. I hold my hand out, and she passes them over. None of them are about hockey players.

“This is disappointing. No hockey players?” I return them to her.

She walks by me. “Like you said, I have the real thing at home.”

I follow her. “That you’re not taking advantage of.”

She giggles and walks toward the counter to pay.

“I can’t wait to tell the guys about this,” I say, following her.

She stops and checks out the display of bookmarks. “You are pretty giddy over finding out woman like to read hockey romance.”

“It’s cool, you know? I love my profession, and I know woman ogle me and stuff, but to be a hero in a book…”

“Technically, you aren’t a hero in a book. It’s not nonfiction.”

“Okay, balloon popper, way to steal all my excitement.” She hasn’t, but I can’t help ribbing her.

I’m still in shock about the whole hockey romance thing. I have a feeling the bookstore might be Tweetie’s new pick-up place after I tell him about it.

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