“We pooled our money,” Maisie tells me. “Zoe too. Time to go on a good date, Izzy. He’s all yours.”
“Nope. No.” I hold out my hands, backing up a step. The woman behind me with the sign nearly knocks me out as she storms off. “Thanks, but no.”
“Ladies?” This time, it’s Mr. Leechman at the microphone, flagging us to join Jack and Annie on stage. “Come on up so you can claim your bachelor.”
Kate grips my hand and drags me through the crowd. I swear all of Merritt Point is watching, their eyes pinned to me. I’m not sure if I’m breathing, but I’m still standing, so odds are good there. For now. The September morning suddenly feels like I’m locked outside in January and can’t find my keys. A crisp cold bites through me until it sinks into my bones, and I swear my fingers and toes are numb.
“Well, you couldn’t write this any better,” Mr. Leechman announces. Usually, he calls bingo at the senior center, but judging by the smirk on his face, he’s enjoying the crowd’s rapt attention. “Congratulations, Jack! You’re going on a date with Miss Isla Sinclair. I’m sure she has a bodice ripper or two at her store featuring a big, strong hockey player like you. Have any good recs, Izzy?”
An uneasy giggle ripples through the crowd.
I know it’s meant to be funny. I know this is for a good cause. I even know, deep down, my friends mean well, but holy shit do I just want to scream and run away right now.
The noise of the packed common rushes back in around me, but I keep my eyes glued to the stage. Boots edge into the corner of my vision, and the salty sea air is overwhelmed with cologne. It smells expensive—crisp and rich. Then again, that makes sense considering who’s wearing it.
Jack Murphy.
This isn’t happening.Can’tbe happening.
There’s not a chance in hell I’m going on a date with this guy. I don’t care how much…
Then I make the mistake of looking up at that smile. And those damn dimples.
And I forget… everything.
Chapter 3
Jack
Do I regret last night? No.
Have I been to bed? Technically, it wasn’t mine, and I didn’t sleep, so… also, no.
None of that really matters right now because I think I’m seconds away from puking on my brand-new fucking boots in front of everyone in my hometown.
“… Who will win a date with my brother, Jack Murphy?”
The crowd shifts in front of me as I join Annie on stage. Or maybe I’m swaying on my feet. I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth and grin at my sister. I tug at my T-shirt, making eyes with the twenty-something brunette nearly eye-fucking me from the front row with my number, thirty-three, painted on her cheek.
I’m fine.
I don’t want to be here. But if this keeps Heather off my ass and my sponsors happy, I’ll do it. I can be Mister All-American Boy Next Door for a few hours. Though I mostly feel like an idiot with a camera-ready smile plastered to my face.
My little sister, Annie, squints her brown eyes at me, thenquickly covers the microphone with her hand. “Try not to puke on Fred and Mrs. Phillips.”
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve thrown up on Mrs. Phillips, my high school biology teacher. Never want to see another frog in my life after that dissection lab.
The thought isn’t exactly helping with my fucking hangover either.
I don’t miss the faded club stamp on the back of Annie’s hand. “Where’dyougo last night?”
“Out.” She punches me in the gut, smiling at the crowd, before turning back to glare at me. “Who’d you sleep with?”
“Eww, gross. You’re my little sister.”
Annie, then Mr. Leechman, oversees the auction. I play to the crowd, even when Mr. Leechman makes some cringy remark about the winner who joins me on stage for a quick photo before she leaves with her friends. I don’t even have a chance to say hi or get a good look at her.
I chat with a few people from town, sign some autographs, take a picture with a toddler who definitely peed on me, then slip away and search for Annie. I want to go home, take a shower, and sleep off the rest of the day. Training and preseason shit is almost done, and I’m staring down the barrel of my ninth NHL season—my fifth playing forward for the Boston Breakers.
