Page 5 of The Wingman

I froze. I didn’t want to embarrass him, so I said yes, and the next morning, I broke it off for real.

Concern flickers in Hayden’s gaze. “He never took you out on a real date?”

I tap my tongue on my upper lip, holding back the truth. They’re best friends, and I don’t want to make Hayden feel like he has to choose between us, so I’m glossing over the details of the breakup.

Across the table, he watches me carefully.

“I mean—we were in school, so we were broke and busy with studying and hockey. If we got dressed up, it was for hockey events.”

His pretty blue eyes linger on me, and his jaw flexes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It doesn’t matter now.” I wave him off.

Idon’t want to linger on the past. I’m twenty-six years old—it’s time for me to make up for lost time and have all those fun dating experiences I missed out on.

His mouth slides into a lazy, flirty smile. “You want flowers, Darcy? I’ll buy you flowers.”

I huff a laugh. I can always count on Hayden to lighten the mood. “You know what I mean. I want to get all dressed up, go to a nice restaurant, be told I look pretty, and then go home and have sex against a wall.”

He chokes on his beer, coughing.

“Or, like, in the shower.” I shrug with a baffled expression. “I don’t know. Wherever people have super passionate hookups. And then I never want to see that guy again.”

He’s still coughing, and his cheekbones are going pink.

“Are you okay?”

“Yep,” he croaks, not looking at me.

“You said it yourself. I need to have fun.”

“Fun withme. Going out after games and watchingThe Northern Sword.” Our favorite book series is now a TV show. His smile dims a notch. “Not with some guy who talks over you and looks like he’s trying to guess your bra size.”

A thrill shoots through me at the edge to his voice. It’s so unusual for him. He’s just protective because we’re friends, though. “He was staring at my hips to see how big of a baby I could push out.”

Hayden grits his teeth and takes another long sip of beer.

“You always know what to do or say. You’ve slept with hundreds of women.”

He groans. “Not hundreds.”

“A lot. If we gathered them together, they probably couldn’t fit in this bar?—”

“Okay.” His expression turns flat. “I get it.”

“I’m not sex shaming you. I want tobelike you. How do you get better at something? Do what the pros are doing. Learn from the best. I don’t even know where to start. I don’t know how to approach a guy.”

He watches me for a long moment, running his hand through his messy golden-blond hair. He looks like he’s about to say no, but a guy walks past our table, and Hayden’s gaze hardens before his eyes meet mine.

“Alright.”

“Really?”

“On one condition.” He leans toward me, eyes sparking. “Move in with me permanently. There’s no point in you finding your own place when I have the spare room. Besides, I don’t like living alone.”

This again? Hayden lives in the penthouse, and his apartment is gorgeous. Two-story windows overlooking the city, a massive kitchen and living room, a sprawling patio with a hot tub and garden. Even the guest bedroom is nicer than any hotel room I’ve ever stayed in.

When I called him last week from Calgary to break the news about Kit and me, he insisted I come out to Vancouver. He didn’t even hesitate. He must have heard something in my voice—something frustrated, disappointed, and broken—and he convinced me that a new city was exactly what I needed.

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