Page 18 of Must Love Hockey
He watches me, too. And he gives me a slow, private smile, as if he can read my thoughts.
It doesn’t matter, though. The car pulls up outside my building, and our time together is over.
James thanks the driver and tells him not to wait. “I can get home on my own from here,” he says. Then he gets out and walks me up to the entrance to the small apartment building where I’ve lived most of my life.
I wonder what sort of building James lives in.
Then I kick myself for wondering.
I turn around to say goodbye, and we’re face to face, gazes locked.
He gives me a slow, sexy smile, but doesn’t say anything.
“I can't invite you in,” I blurt out. “I have a boyfriend.”
His grin widens. “I remember. But, see, he's the wrong guy for you.”
“How do you know?” I squeak.
“Because the right guy is me,” he says simply.
Swoon!
“But it’s okay if you're not on board yet,” he adds. “We’ll talk another time. Can I just have a friendly hug good night?”
“Sure,” I say, my mind racing. The conversation has taken a strange turn, and I definitely haven’t processed everything he just said. My poor little muddled brain is stuck onthe right guy is me.
Nobody has ever said something so sexy to me before. Never ever.
Now James is opening his arms wide, waiting patiently. So it’s up to me to step forward.
I do, because who could resist?
When I lean in, a pair of strong arms closes around me, and I bump up against a very hard chest.Yowza. And then? James leans down, brushing his face against mine, like a friendly cat. And when I turn my chin in surprise, a pair of surprisingly soft lips kiss mine.
It’s quick, I suppose. Just a brush and a brief press. But it still makes me shiver and gasp.
“Oops, I slipped,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. Then he drops his arms and steps back, leaving me shellshocked for a moment.
I just stand there like an idiot, trying to process that lovely little kiss.
“Goodnight, Emily,” he says softly. “Be well. Thank you for inviting me out to dinner.”
“Y-you’re welcome,” I stammer, blinking.
He tries the front door of my building, but it’s locked. “Do you have your keys?” He smiles at me.
“Yes,” I say, finally coming unstuck. I plunge my hand into my pocket and fish them out. He waits politely while I unlock the door. “Goodnight,” I say, just before walking in.
“’Night, sweetheart.”
I give him one last wave and a sheepish smile. Then I make myself go inside.
* * *
The next evening, when I come home from a long day of work and school, there’s an envelope waiting for me on the kitchen table. The envelope is Bruisers purple.
When I open it, there’s a ticket envelope inside, and two seats for a game next week. There’s a message scrawled on the envelope in black ink:For you and Mr. Wrong. —J.
