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I grab it with shaking fingers.
When we talked earlier, I don’t remember him mentioning sending me a gift, and I’d love to stand here and analyze what it means, but I should probably open the bag before I turn this into a big deal.
With a calming breath, I pull a few pieces of red tissue paper from the bag, and pull out a brand new Devils jersey.
My heart pounds as I unfold it, the weight between my fingers suddenly feeling heavy.
The number forty-four is on the sleeves and the back, with Craig written above it in big bold letters.
Holy shit. He sent me his jersey.
I’m sure it means nothing. I’m sure it…
A piece of paper flutters to the floor and I bend down to pick it up. It’s written in what I imagine is Foster’s sloppy handwriting.
Princess,
I’m sure that Remington jersey of yours is pretty worn out. Thought you might want something new to wear to the game tonight. Can’t wait to see you on the other side of the glass, cheering for me.
Your fake boyfriend, Foster
It’s a simple gesture, but it’s so much more.
Or at least it could be if this were the real thing. I know showing up in his jersey will help solidify Cramington for all the people on social media, and hopefully the people that matter. The people we’re trying to trick into thinking we’re an actual couple.
I know that, but I still can’t help my ragged breathing and the way my chest clenches around my heart like it’s trying to protect it.
The hard truth is that I dated Ron for months—like actually dated him—and not once did he invite me to a single game.
Never gave me his jersey.
Never invited me to sit in his seats.
Nothing.
But this… this is fake. This is a job, and yet I already feel more accepted than I ever did with Ron. I need to remember to write this down and try to use this feeling in my firefighter romance. The hero might not be able to give the heroine his jersey, but maybe there’s something else that I can use in its place.
“Oh, his jersey.” Gloria comes up beside me, swaying back and forth while holding Mason on her shoulder. “Seems like things might mean more to him than you were letting on.”
She bumps me with her hip and goes to sit on the couch. I swallow past the lump in the throat and hold my head high.
This means nothing to him. It’s just a job. I just need to keep repeating it until I believe it.
I can’t get tangled up with another hockey player.
I won’t.
Especially when I’m being paid to spend time with him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Istand up with the rest of the team. Coach Weller has given us another one of his speeches about kicking some hockey ass and humping this season into submission. He wants to make the playoffs, and I think this could be the year it happens for the Nashville Devils.
He’s got me thumping my fist against my chest and howling like an animal; like a demon straight out of the pits of Hell.
I’m pumped and ready to play.
The Boston Blazers are a hard team to beat, but we’re ready. I can feel it in my bloody veins.
