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“I don’t know. He seemed flustered. Maybe I should dial down the flirting.”

“Your flirt game is stronger than titanium, but you should consider dialing it up. I know you can talk a man out of his drawers, but you need to talk him out of his money.”

I listened intently as Monica attempted to give me more sugaring tips, but it was difficult to digest because I didn’t want to treat Hart like a trick.

Yes, sex and companionship were being exchanged for money, but it felt grimy to treat the man I’d been getting to know like a walking dollar sign. It’d be different if he were a dickhead, but Hart had been nothing but a gentleman.

And the beer flight? Sir, if you want me to marry you, just say that.

“He hasn’t been an asshole to you, has he?” Monica asked hesitantly.

“No, not at all,” I said, offense gripping my tone.

“Okay, my bad. No need to bite my head off. I just needed to make sure I didn’t have to pull up. You know I have the Forces in the trunk.”

I laughed as I finished my ale.

“Good to know, but I doubt I’ll be calling you for an assist.”

“Are you going to let him try before he buys?” she asked suggestively. I groaned and crossed my legs beneath the table. Monica snorted. “That’s a yes.”

That’s a hell yes.

I hadn’t been able to stop objectifying Hart since stepping onto the patio. He was too distracted with his phone to notice the sharp intake of breath I took when I finally laid eyes on him. And thankfully, he missed the way I nearly broke my ankle in four-inch heels as I stumbled towards him.

I thought I’d be prepared, considering I spent hours scrolling through his daily thirst traps on IG, but nothing prepared me for the real deal. He was dressed in all black, highlighting his broad shoulders and fit 6’5’’, 230-pound physique. I licked my lips, knowing he could pick me up and have me folded like a pretzel without even trying. His wavy brunette hair was mussed but neatly styled, and his defined jawline was smooth and clean-shaven.

It’s a shame because I bet the man is irresistible with a five o’clock shadow.

I was taken aback when he fixed those striking brown eyes on me. They were gorgeous with flecks of amber, so unique and exotic that I wouldn’t mind staring into them for eternity. He must’ve hypnotized me because the next thing I knew, he lifted me off my feet. When I snapped back to reality, I realized there was glass all over the floor and Hart was profusely apologizing. I was so sprung for the man that I hadn’t realized my toe was bleeding. It was only a minor scratch, but he reacted as if I were bleeding to death, and to be honest… I didn’t mind. It wasn’t every day you had the sexiest hockey player in the league bumbling over you and putting bandaids on your boo-boos.

“Hey, Monica. I gotta go. He’ll probably come back soon,” I said, tuning back in.

“All right. I’ll check in on you in a few hours.”

I smiled faintly.

“Thanks.”

I’d barely put my phone back in my purse when Hart returned, smelling like cigarettes and bitter disappointment. His frown had faded, replaced by a wistful melancholy. I felt compelled to comfort him. I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. His burning gaze lifted to mine, then slid down to our joined hands. Relief washed through me when he squeezed back.

I slipped my hand from his grasp, selected the next beer in the flight, and ran it under my nose.

“This smells delicious.”

The corner of his mouth tugged into a fleeting smile.

“Take a guess at what it is,” Hart challenged. I was about to answer when DeAndre returned with our soup. Earlier, we’d polished off the most delicious grilled Pacific Northwest oysters with a savory lemon butter sauce.

It’s the oysters. That’s why I’m spontaneously ovulating over this man.

“Excuse the interruption. I have prepared a Dungeness crab bisque with saffron and fennel,” he explained, setting the bowls before us. “Ms. Vera, would you like sherry in your bisque?”

“No, thank you.”

“How would you like your steak prepared?”

“Medium rare, please.”