Page 70 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

“We can stay in if you’d prefer. Although we’d have to go upstairs. My TV is bigger than yours and⁠—”

“No, a bar is great. Fantastic. Can’t wait.”

He frowns at me as I ramble while grabbing my coat and purse.

When I walk past him, heading toward the door, he doesn’t move.

“I thought you were worried we were going to be late and miss the puck drop,” I remind him.

“I…yeah,” he stutters, rubbing his newly trimmed jaw. “I just…You look hot as hell in my jersey, darlin’.”

“Oh,” I breathe, my cheeks heating. “This old thing?” I tease, pulling the fabric from my body. “Someone gave it to me. I didn’t even know who you were at the time.”

He takes a warning step toward me.

“Bullshit. Admit it—you’re my biggest fan, aren’t you?”

“Honestly, no. That award would probably go to my brother. He’s like, low-key obsessed with you. If you ever decided to bat for the other team, he’d be all over you like a rash. I mean, he still would now, given half a chance, but I think he’s very aware of which team you play for.”

His eyes bounce between mine, searching for…something.

“I think the rules of the game changed recently,” he says cryptically before finally making a move to follow me out of my apartment.

“Shall I drive, or are we getting⁠—”

“There’s a car waiting for us downstairs,” he tells me, quickly catching up with me.

“Okay.”

He follows me into the elevator, and the second the doors close, I swear the air is sucked from the small space. All I can see and smell is him.

And goddamn does he look and smell good.

“So, what are the predictions for tonight?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation on the safe topic of hockey.

“I’m hoping for a win,” he says, his voice rough, forcing my eyes to him.

I have to crane my neck back to meet his eyes because I pulled on flat boots, and when I do, I find him staring intently back at me.

“Maybe some overtime, just to make the night last a little longer,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“O-oh.”

Fire licks through my veins, my heart thundering against my ribs. It quickly becomes abundantly obvious that I’m not going to survive this “friendship” with Calvin Keller. He’s too good at sneaking his way beneath my defenses and talking to a part of me that I closed off from men a long time ago.

“Come on,” he says when the doors have been open a few seconds and neither of us has made a move to exit.

A spark shoots up my arm the second his giant hand engulfs mine, tugging me from the elevator.

Harold’s eyes widen when he sees us together, our hands entwined, but he doesn’t say anything, just wishes us a good night before we slip out of the building, and Calvin pulls the car door open for me like a gentleman. Safe to say, that is the first time that’s ever happened to me, and I swoon.

I am so fucked.

21

CALVIN

“Where the hell are we going?” Sienna asks as we head out of town. We’ve passed more sports bars that will be showing the game than I can count. I’m pretty sure she was expecting us to stop at one of them. Instead, we keep driving farther and farther away from our side of town.