Page 26 of The One Timer

“Are you kidding? I thought you were a sharp kid. If she got wind of me being interested in marriage, she’d go into wild matchmaking mode, and I’d be set up with an endless train of eligible men.”

I exchange grins with Em. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Maybe it’ll work.”

“I don’t see you all excited about her matchmaking tendencies—I’ve seen how she always puts you together with Sheryl Foster.”

The comment makes me uncomfortable as I feel Em’s eyes on me. “Never mind about that. We’re not talking about me. I only wanted to make sure I wished you a happy birthday in a timely manner. I pride myself on being the first every year.” It’s what I’ve done ever since we lost our parents to try and make up for the loss and to console her on her birthday.

She grunts and then sighs. “Thank you, Chase. Consider your mission accomplished. Now, shut up and let me get back to sleep.”

“Good night, Kath.”

“Night.” I end the call and face Emery. “What do you think of my sister?”

“Queen of the Whiskey World? Quite an ambition.”

“She’s almost in charge of W, the Whittier whiskey brand. My uncle is in the process of handing over the reins. None of his kids—my Whittier cousins—are interested. Even my uncle wasn’t that interested until my dad passed, and he had no choice because Grandpa was older and needed help.”

“Is that what you’re going to do after hockey? Work for your family’s business?” Her eyes look earnest, like the answer is important to her or as if she knows it’s important to me. The question is impossible to answer.

“I have no fucking idea.”

“You have plenty of time to figure it out. Though…” She pauses and gives me that woman of mystery look, and I feel like I’m definitely missing something, like there’s a crucial missing piece to the puzzle of Emery…but what?

“What’s your last name?” I ask.

Her spectacular eyes flash, and I see the golden sparkle shutter like she’s bringing down the blinds on the sunrise.

“Let’s leave this at first names only,” she says, curving one corner of her mouth like we’re spies conspiring in the dark.

The only way I can respond is with an answering smile. But I’m up for the game, and if we’re playing mystery spy, I’m not done playing because curiosity grows like an insatiable monster in my gut. “But you know my last name, so it’s only fair.” I growl the words near her ear, taking in the scent of her, the distinctive scent I’ll never forget.

She murmurs a laugh. “You, of all people, know life isn’t fair, honey.” She strokes my cheek in consolation. “Besides, we agreed this is one night only, remember?”

“Right.” I bite my tongue before I blurt out something crazy like I’ve changed my mind. The last thing I want to do is pressure her since she’s made it clear she’s only interested in a one-timer.

Fuck. What am I thinking—that’s all I’m interested in, isn’t it? It’s all I can afford this season. Especially with this girl. Because I have a feeling a fling with her would be more distracting than I can handle. And that’s not just my dick talking. Though my dick has made it very clear it’s outrageously distracted by this girl.

“Tell me about your grandpa,” she says out of nowhere.

“Damn. That’s a mood-changer.”

“I know, but I have this feeling you should talk about him, and I’m a real good listener.”

Her eyes penetrate me in a way that makes me feel like she’s reaching into my soul and soothing it with that magical gold sparkle, as if she cares deeply, as if I’m everything in the world to her. Shit.

I clear my throat. Whether she’s right or wrong about me needing to talk, she’s too compelling for me to do anything else.

“Before he died, Grandpa told me that he was proud of me, proud of my hockey career at B.C., and he knew I’d make the pros.”

“That means a lot to you, but there’s so much more,” she says, no question in her tone.

I nod. No sense pretending otherwise—or trying to figure out how she knows. “He went on to tell me that when my hockey career was over, I’d have plenty of time to make my mark in the family business and carry it forward with my sister for the next generation.” Changing my voice to mimic the old man, I say, “‘I’m counting on you to carry on the family legacy—in hockey and in whiskey.’” I laugh, and she smiles and communicates so much with her eyes and that gentle expression that calms the fear in me.

The knot in my gut untwists, but only partially because the prospect of running the family whiskey empire is so daunting. I know my strength, and it’s hockey, not corporate business.

I admit, “The thing is, as much as I’ve enjoyed whiskey, I have no interest in the whiskey business. And I don’t have much of a head for it.”

I can handle the Xs and Os to strategize a hockey game all day long, but looking at the company’s annual report literally gives me a headache.