Page 17 of Breakaway Hearts

REESE: And how exactly are you gonna shut it for me?

A heady blush hits my face like a firestorm. Reese and I have joked like this the entire time we’ve known each other, but now that we’re “dating,” the whole thing feels almost too intimate.

I send a quick text back, telling him my ETA, then head downstairs to call a car.

* * *

Unfortunately, my plan to meet up with Reese before the game hits a snag almost immediately.

I bite my bottom lip as the security guard manning the entrance to the back part of the arena glowers down at me. His arms are crossed, his brows drawn together, and he’s giving me a look that suggests he wouldn’t hesitate to tackle me if I try to slip past him.

“Look,” I say with a nervous laugh. “I’m sure you get this a lot, but I actuallydoknow Reese Sutton. I’m his, uh, girlfriend. He told me to meet him in the family lounge before the game.”

The security guard mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘fucking puck bunnies,’ and irritation prickles under my skin. Sure, I may be lying about being Reese’s girlfriend, but this guy doesn’t know that. And it’s because Reese asked me to.

“Maybe I should call him,” I say, even though I have no idea if Reese will have his phone with him as he prepares for the game. Probably not.

“Maybe I should call the police,” the security guard counters, not budging an inch.

“I hardly think that’s necessary, Michael.”

The guard—Michael—whips his head around at the sound of Reese’s voice, and relief floods me. I stand on my tiptoes and give him a little wave, and he winks at me as he emerges from the staff door.

“Oh.” Michael clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sutton. I didn’t realize—”

“Hey, no worries. You were just doing your job,” Reese says in his usual friendly way. Then he looks at me, his voice dropping a little. “But Callie is my girlfriend, so now that you know, I’d expect you to treat her like the other WAGS. Including giving her access to the family lounge.”

“Of course.”

Michael gives me a grudging nod, looking a bit embarrassed, but he ushers me through the door as Reese leads me into the back area.

“Way to make an entrance, Firefly.” Reese chuckles as the door closes behind us. Instead of taking me to the family lounge, he stops where we are, turning to face me and leaning against the wall.

“You know me.” I give an airy wave, even though the butterflies that have been in my stomach all day are still flapping wildly.

He opens his mouth to speak, but then his gaze drops lower and his eyebrows shoot up.

“What are you wearing?” he asks, pressing away from the wall and stepping closer.

I blink. “Your jersey. Like we agreed on.”

“That’s my first jersey.”

“I know.” I swallow. He’s still staring at me, and I can’t quite read his expression, so I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing that I wore this. “You gave it to me, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” he murmurs, his gaze still scanning the jersey. “You kept it.”

I huff out a little laugh. “Of course I did. It was the jersey you wore in your first winning game. I couldn’t get rid of that.”

“It looks worn out. Have you been wearing it? I’ve never seen you in it.”

“Oh.” A flush warms my cheeks. “I wear it as a sleep shirt sometimes. Is that bad?”

I wince, worried that I’ve been disrespecting his jersey or something, but it’s not anger I see in Reese’s expression.

“No, it’s…” He trails off, shaking his head. Then he clears his throat, lifting his gaze back to my eyes. “It’s fine. But since you’re my girl now, you need to have my name on your back.”

He turns me around by the shoulders and traces his faded name on the jersey he gave me years ago. It’s so well-worn that the lettering is barely legible, but I can feel his fingertip following the curves of the letters and his number—25—through the material of the shirt. A little shiver runs through me, and I suck in a breath, hoping he didn’t notice it.

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