Page 46 of Wild Blades

Wade breaks myfaster than a NASCARthoughts. “Your friends went home with mine. I don’t know your home address and you were too wasted to be left unaccompanied, so I brought you here.”

Okay, that makes sense.

“Thank you.” I’m never drinking again and I’m getting a restraining order against Michael. I won’t really, but it’s a great idea.

Looking down, I take a peek through the narrowed slits of my eyes to reveal what I’m wearing, relieved to find I’m in a tee shirt. I hold out my arm to examine the shoulder. Not a tee shirt, but a blue and yellow hockey jersey. Eagle’s colors with Wade’s player number eighteen printed on it in white.

“We didn’t, you know?” My heart beats in time with the continuous low thumping through my head and I can barely bring myself to look at him.

“No, we didn’t have sex. You’re my publicist, remember? Also, fucking unconscious women isn’t something I’m into,” he confirms, if not a little sarcastically, folding his towel neatly as he disappears into the adjoining bathroom. “You did strip down to your underwear then dance for me though.” His echoes travel into the bedroom. “I was almost tempted.”

I cover my face with my hands.

Dancing? What was I thinking?

Clearly, I wasn’t.

From my side, I hear him reenter the room. “Don’t be embarrassed. You’ve got moves. Nice ass, by the way. Underwear looks expensive. Designer?” There’s so much humor in his tone, but I want to curl up into a ball and die.

“Italian,” I answer without meaning to. I grimace, annoyed at myself for telling him.

Peeking through my fingers, Wade pulls a black tee shirt on, making every inch of him look delicious as the fabric skims his perfectly sculpted frame.

My eyes seem annoyed that he’s covered himself up, as they seem to have a mind of their own when I am around him, which is becoming an issue.

I curse under my breath. Dragging my hands down I uncover my face, and look away, silently praying to myself that he doesn’t see my distress.

Stupid athletes and their abs. Well, just stupid Wade and his abs.I can’t help it. My eyes like them, and him. He’s very distracting.

“There is skincare and makeup for you in the bathroom.” Spraying his aftershave on his face and clothes, I watch his reflection in the mirror.

“Makeup?” I ask him in shock.

“Went through your personal Instagram page, not your business one. Made a list of things from the brands you use and had the concierge match them to products that are similar from the spa. You wear super fancy products, by the way,” he says flippantly while I sit there, in complete shock. “And there are a pair of high-waisted Givenchy flared jeans, tall, obviously, which I know are your favorite. Well, so you said on one of your social posts, so I am hoping that it’s true, and a cashmere Givenchy turtleneck sweater in black hanging up in the wardrobe. Looks similar to a gray one you have on in a video you did about Givenchy makeup.” He points to the open closet and there they are, hanging up like fashion outfit perfection. “I hope they fit; I based the sizes on your dress from last night, which is also hanging up. Do you get good money from the influencer stuff? It seems to be a thing with girls these days.”

Shaking my head, unable to grasp what is going on, I ignore his question. “You did that for me?”

“The hotel spa does hair and beauty, and the hotel boutique does women’s designer clothing. Didn’t have to go too far.”

“Right.” He still went to all that effort for me, which is kind of… lovely and astonishing.

Wade grabs a pair of black Converse boots and pushes his feet into them. “I’m going shopping, need new Cons,” he says while tying his laces. I can clearly see about thirty neatly stacked boxes of Converse and some Nikes, all lined along the far end of the bedroom. “Just a few of my collection.” He notices where my gaze travels to.

“You like sneakers?”

“Love the fucking things. Got another two hundred pairs in storage.”

Wow. Didn’t see any of that on his socials.He should talk about that to show people his personality and hobbies. He’s more likable and relatable than he knows.

“Right. I’ll leave you to see yourself out. Call reception and have them order you a cab and put it on my room.” Rising to his feet, he pulls a black hoodie off the chair and puts it on. Guy lives in casual clothes. I've only ever seen him in a suit, before and after a game, and on the first day we met when he was wearing a dress shirt and pants. Last night was the first night I’d seen him in jeans. It’s mainly sweatpants and shorts. He must be freezing.

“Wait,” I call out, stopping him in his tracks. “Can I come shopping with you?” I have nothing scheduled for today. I was going to tinker with some pruning and potting in my backyard, which looks quintessentially like a British country garden.

Wade frowns, then it grows deeper. “You want to come shopping with me?”

“Yeah. I don’t have any plans today.” I fiddle with my fingers. “We’re going to be working together for the entire hockey seasonand spending countless hours together.” Marcus even told me I’ll need to travel to most of the away games to manage Wade at the press conferences. “I think it would be a great idea to get to know one other better, don’t you?”

Pushing his hands into the snug front pocket of his hoodie, he doesn’t speak for a minute and then he finally says, “Okay.”

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