Page 63 of Jackpot Joker

Oh. Well, I guess if other people are going to be there, then it’s less of a date. Still…

“Say yes, Jasmine.”

I sigh, then huff out a “fine,” and hate how stupidly gorgeous he looks when his grin broadens.

“It’s a date,” Dario says before taking another bite.

“It’s not a date.”

Chapter 31

Jasmine

Ifucking love hockey, though there’s no way I’m telling Dario that. Penny and I used to go to the games when her then-boyfriend played, and something about their precision on the ice, their strength and speed, and the way they don’t hesitate in a fight really resonated with me.

Now I’m at the arena where the man who broke Penny’s heart plays professionally, and I’ll be watching him with my client, whom I occasionally get off with. What could go wrong?

The crowd’s intense as everyone piles into the arena for the game that will determine whether the Vegas Venom make it to the playoffs. Thankfully, Dario’s high profile allows us to bypass that and enter through a private door leading us backstage.

I expect us to climb some stairs to a box where other members of the Caruso Family are tucked away for the game, but I’m shocked as Dario guides me down a stairway instead. “Aren’t the boxes usually higher up?”

“They are,” Dario agrees, nodding to people as he passes them down the stairs.

“So, why aren’t we headed in that direction?”

Dario stops when we reach the eighth row and guides us to our seats directly at center ice.

I snort when he sits down. “Couldn’t spring for glass seats?”

He’s undeterred as he smiles at me. “The view is better here.”

“Better than from the box?” My eyebrows lift, and he shrugs.

“The box seats are nice, but the game is more enjoyable when you can hear the fans really get into it. I like the full experience. Now, sit down.”

I roll my eyes but sit next to the man who looks ridiculously good in hockey apparel. You wouldn’t think he’s a billionaire, hotel-casino owner whose family runs an underground crime organization. He simply looks like a fan tonight who brought a date to the game.

No. Not a date.

“Do you want anything before the game starts?”

“A beer would be good. And maybe a pretzel. With cheese.” I smile at him. “Please.”

He smiles, and I remind myself again that this is an outing with a client and most definitely not a date with a man I find incredibly endearing who has made it very clear that he is a fan of both my body and my brain. “Coming right up.”

I shift in my seat to give him room to leave and head to the concessions, but instead, he pulls out his phone. “Oh, did you want me to go get it?”

“It’s on the way.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs. “We may sit down here, but I’m still a box-owner. Someone will be here with our order shortly.”

I shake my head at the pampered prince and move my eyes to the ice. Both teams are currently out there taking shots at an empty net, grinding their hips against the ice in so-called stretches, and skating around with huge smiles on their faces.

When a black jersey passes by, I can’t help but catch the red letter C on the left chest and stand up. Rising to my feet, I cup my hands around my mouth and shout. “Boo! You suck, Ryder!”

Dario chuckles beside me. “Have something against the captain of the team?”

“You could say that,” I mutter, taking my seat but still giving the evil eye to the man on the ice.