Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
I grab the bottle and two glasses from the granite top. “Want a drink?”
“Yes, please.”
I fill two glasses of champagne for us and hand one to Jemma, who clutches the stem with a shaky hand. At least we’re both nervous. Now, I feel like less of a loser for being so damn freaked out over this date.
“I have to say something.” I turn to Jemma, and she sips from her glass. “I want you to have fun tonight. There’s no pressure. I want to show you a good time, and then I’ll walk you to your door. I don’t expect anything more.”
“What about a goodnight kiss?”
“I guess it depends on how you feel about me when I take you home.”
“A date usually ends with a kiss,” she whispers.
Only a few inches separate us, our mouths so close together now I can feel her breath on my lips. The air hums with an electric sensation that spreads up my arms, heat warming my face.
“It’s a good thing I plan to make this the best date you’ve ever had.”
She winks. “So far, so good.”
Ten minutes later, we park at the Wells Fargo Center, where the Philadelphia Flyers play hockey. I begged my dad to help me with my date. Since he’s the Flyers general manager, getting a few hours alone was easy. And he always has good ideas when it comes to unique dates.
Jemma glances out the window, her mouth opens in shock. “What are we doing here? Are we seeing a show?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I lead Jemma toward the side entrance. Murph, a man in his late seventies, waits for us. He’s worked at the Wells Fargo Center since my father played for the Flyers.
Since I’ve never been on an actual date, I asked Mr. Romance, aka my dad, to give me a few pointers. He’s always doing something special for my mom, something way over the top, so I knew he would have a plan for me to impress Jemma.
“Mr. Kane,” Murph says as he ushers us inside. He looks at Jemma and gives her a quick smile. “And who is this beauty?”
She blushes, holding out her hand for him to shake. “Hi, I’m Jemma.”
“Stop hitting on my girl, Murph.”
I laugh, and so does he. The old man is like a grandfather to me.
Jemma raises her eyebrows. “I’m your girl? How presumptuous.”
“By the end of the night, you will be.”
She chuckles. “Such an arrogant ass.”
“It’s part of the Kane charm.”
Murph escorts us through the halls until we reach our destination, and then he mutters good luck under his breath. I remove a silk scarf from my pocket. It’s red to match the color of Jemma’s hair. As I slip it over Jemma’s eyes, she reaches for the fabric.
“What are you doing, Trent?”
“Do you trust me?”
Jemma bites her lip. “Um… In theory, I guess.”
“You’ll love it,” I promise. “Just go with the flow.”
She gulps. “Okay.”
Jemma allows me to tie the scarf over her eyes, and then I take her hand, leading her to the main floor, right at the ice’s edge. The Flyers played at home last night. My dad convinced the crew to leave the synthetic ice for a few more hours before switching to the hardwood for the Sixers game tomorrow night.
Jemma rubs her hands down her arms, a shiver running through her. “Why is it so cold in here?”
I’m used to the cold. I could sit here in a pair of shorts and think nothing of it.
“Okay, so don’t freak out,” I whisper in her ear. “We’re about to step onto the ice.”
“Ice?” Jemma screams and attempts to pry the scarf from her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
I squeeze her shoulders to calm her down, and she leans back against my chest. I wrap one arm around her waist and rip the scarf away from her eyes. Her eyes widen as she searches the large, open room with seating for twenty-five thousand people. And we have it all to ourselves.
She gasps at the candlelit table at center ice. “Trent, you shouldn’t have. Wow! This is incredible.”
I owe this to her after the twin mixup before Thanksgiving break. Jemma deserves a thousand dates like this one.
Her mouth opens, but the words seem to fail her. Even I’m surprised by how well this turned out. My dad told me to leave everything to him, and he exceeded my expectations.
I lift Jemma into my arms because I can’t risk her falling on her face in those heels.
She tilts her head back, holding my gaze, and smiles. “I had no idea you could be so…”
“Romantic,” I say as I walk to the table. “I can’t take all the credit. My dad helped me plan this for you.”
“You’re changing my mind about you. I had you pegged for a player. I guess I was wrong.”