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What is it about hockey players? They could give calendar firemen and football quarterbacks a run for their money.
And given the piercing way he’s looking at me right now and the gentle hum of excitement buzzing through my body, I have a feeling babysitting this man is a very, very bad idea.
“This was stupid.” He turns and starts to walk away.
I narrow my eyes, pushing aside my humiliation at the fact that our kiss didn’t seem to have the same lasting effect on him as it did on me. I’ll pretend I don’t remember.
What else am I going to do? Confront him? I’m not that desperate.
“You must be Grayson.”
“Gray.” He turns back, his face empty of emotion.
“Gray,” I repeat. I don’t mean to give him a once-over, but how can I not? I need looking at him to become common and boring as quickly as possible.
Somehow I think it’s going to take a while.
He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket and stares at me.
“I’m Eloise.”
He lets out a sound I can only describe as a grunt and looks away.
I lean against the door jamb and study him. “Ohhh, I get it now.”
His eyes dart to mine. “Get what?” he snaps.
I nod in realization. “Why you need me.”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t need anyone.”
“Really?”
I feel like he’s just issued a challenge simply by showing up at the door. All at once, I want to accept this job, make Grayson Hawke fall in love with Chicago, and single-handedly save the Comets’ season.
Especially knowing how he kisses.
Intense. Isn’t that how Dallas described him? It’s the perfect word.
“Really.” He levels my gaze. “Especially not a babysitter.”
“Just someone to act as a buffer, right?” I ask. “Between you and . . . oh, I don’t know, the entire human race.”
His frown deepens, and I smile. Uh-oh. This could be fun.
I cross my arms over my chest, leveling his gaze. “Here’s the deal. Your team wants me to make you more likable.”
“That’s not what they want.”
“And for me to make sure you don’t say or do stupid things.”
“Not it at all.”
I wonder how far I can push. “Or, at the very least, make you less of a jerk.”
His eyes flash to mine. Not exactly anger there. Maybe . . . amusement? Or respect? Weird.
“That’s the crux of it,” I say. “I’m very likable, so I know a few things about this.”
