Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“She offered. Sort of.” DeLuca smirks. “Maybe that’s how you two get past Darcy’s little faux pas. You can bring that team-dad energy you’re so good at, make her laugh, and tell her that you really do need a date for that wedding. I mean—you can’t bring Mona to this wedding. Merritt and I will riot.”
I sigh, because my friends aren’t shy about the poor choices I make with my ex-hookup when I’m drunk and horny. But he has nothing to fear in this case. “Mona and I are done for good. And I’d never ask her to a family wedding. She’d get the wrong idea.”
“Damn right,” he agrees. “She meets your parents, you might as well start picking out a flatware pattern.” He punches me in the arm.
I shiver as we approach the Palmetto Room. “Why do they even call it that? It’s not flat.”
“Who knows. But you’re better off going to this wedding with a friend who’s less needy. Darcy is perfect, and you can bang her as a thank-you.”
“Don’t talk about her that way. She deserves our respect.”
“I got all the respect for her. She works for the worst man in hockey and still manages to smile. But apparently there’s another side to Darcy, and she only wants to show it to you. If it were me, I’d hit that. Two consenting adults just trying to survive a weekend of family drama and rubbery chicken.”
“Sure,” I scoff. “Now there’s a simple conversation.”
He laughs. “Didn’t say it would be easy. Just said it would be worth it.” He pulls open the door to the Palmetto Room, and we walk in.
“Remember—this is in the vault,” I say sternly. “And maybe it won’t come up at all. She might not even see that her message went to the wrong person, right?” I scan the room, looking for Darcy’s smile or a flash of her ginger hair. She’s easy to notice. I notice her all the time, come to think of it. DeLuca wasn’t wrong—she does have a sort of hot librarian vibe, and I dig it.
Sure enough, I spot her almost immediately, even in a busy room where two dozen people are milling around and talking loudly. But there’s Darcy. She’s holding a notebook and standing over the GM, who looks to be mid-rant about something. The guy is a hothead on his best day.
The moment I spot her, though, Darcy’s chin lifts, and her gaze locks on mine. And then she turns the color of the Calgary Flames logo.
“Uh-oh, I think she knows,” DeLuca says. “Hope your tux is ready for action.”
“Stop,” I hiss.
Poor Darcy takes a step back from her boss’s table, and then another one. The grouch barks something at her, but Darcy doesn’t even seem to hear him.
She turns and flees instead.
Chapter 4
Babe, You’re Catastrophizing
Darcy
Oh God. How could I have been so stupid?
This singular thought cycles through my mind as I lie face down on my hotel bed.
I can’t believe he actually saw the message, then guessed who sent it. How could I be so unlucky?
And so, so stupid.
The only silver lining—and it’s a thin one—is that the DM itself is silly. It’s sexual, but it’s over-the-top to the point of ridiculousness. Thank God for that. Because the truth is actually worse—that I want Eric in other ways, too. Not just in a vague, celebrity-crush kind of way. But in the way you want someone to see the real you.
I want to be the person he saves a seat for. The one he texts when something stupid happens. The one he trusts with the stuff that matters. I want that more than I’ll ever admit aloud.
My phone buzzes suddenly, and I flinch. If it’s my boss calling to ask why I disappeared mid-conversation, I might have to feign food poisoning.
But it’s not him. It’s Zoe. Of course it is. “Hello?”
“Why is your voice muffled?” she demands. “And where are you? I saved you a seat.”
“I’m in our room,” I say, cradling a pillow over my head as I speak. “I’m never coming out. And I can never look him in the eye again.”
Zoe makes a noise of concern. “He’ll probably never even see the message. He has a social media person.”
“Oh, he saw it.”
“How do you know?”
“He looked at me,” I insist.
“People do that. Maybe you’re reading too much into a glance across the room. Maybe he saw you and thought—I need to remember to turn in my per diem forms.”
“No way,” I insist. “He blushed, Zoe. He’s a blusher, like me. I know what I saw.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Okay. Well. That’s unfortunate. Why would he read his own DMs?”
“No idea.” I take a steadying breath. “Are you still at the dinner? What’s he doing? Anything strange? Is he gossiping?”
“Checking.” A beat of silence. “He just finished chatting with O’Connell about… something hockey. He mimed a slap shot. Now he’s carrying his dirty plate toward the bussing station, because he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t leave his dirty dishes for the staff to handle. And now…”