“Tragic. But don’t worry, I’ll keep you entertained. You pick the place, and I’ll bring my very best dating advice.”
“That is exactly what I don’t need.”
“Oh, but it’s exactly what you’re getting.”
Natalie sighs, but she’s smiling. “Fine. Dinner tomorrow.”
“That’s my girl. Oh, and before I let you go, guess what I did?”
Natalie groans. “Mila…what?”
“I googled him.”
Her stomach flips. She sits up straighter. “You what?”
“I googled your scary, broody hockey man. Number thirty-one, Jacob MacDonald. And wow, Nat when you pick ‘em, you pick ‘em. Did you know he’s an enforcer?”
Natalie’s stomach dips, a strange mix of nerves and something she doesn’t want to name fluttering in her chest.
“Your boy canthrow down. Apparently, he used to be one of the toughest in the league. Old ‘Jake the Snake’ was ruthless. Did you know he once bit off a guy’s finger? He was suspended for five games.”
Natalie slouches into the couch, fiddling with the hem of her sweater. She remembers the headlines when that happened a few years ago. How ridiculous the story sounded. It should scare her. Honestly, it kind of does. So why does the idea of him throwing punches for a living make her heart race in the worst... and best way?
“Great,” she mutters. “Just great.”
“I mean, I kind of get it,” Mila teases. “He’s got that whole ‘dangerous but hot’ thing going for him. Bet he’d be a real menace in bed.”
“I am hanging up now.”
“Admit you’re thinking about it.”
“Goodbye.”
Mila cackles. “See you tomorrow, babe. And hey, try not to dream about getting body-checked.”
Natalie ends the call and tosses her phone onto the couch beside her, burying her face in her hands. This is a disaster. A complete and utter disaster.
CHAPTER 11
NATALIE
Hitting the road now. Remember to get those groceries please
Jesse??
Don’t leave me on read please
JESSE
yup got it
NATALIE
Thank you
NATALIE
Natalie fumbles with the spare key in front of Jesse’s apartment door, silently cursing the invisible goblin that moved it to the deepest recesses of her bag. It’s been three weeks—not that long, technically, but long enough to miss him. Sure, they’ve texted and called every day, but FaceTime doesn’t exactly capture the full Jesse Mitchell experience: the noise, the mess, the way he microwaves popcorn at 2 a.m.
