Page 11 of The One Timer

Why? If I’m going to meet him, to flirt, to…everything, including spend the night with him, then why don’t I want him to see me right now? Truth: I don’t want anyone to see me right now.

I want to be a different person, to transform into the Cinderella princess version of myself when he meets me, except without a public spectacle, without cell phones aimed at us. I want it to be just him and me, Emery—no last name.

I want him to meet the raw me, down to my essence. Not the nursing student. Not the poor girl who sleeps on her aunt’s couch. And most definitely not the girl who takes care of his grandma.

I don’t want him to know I’m the girl who stole his grandma’s game tickets to be here without her knowing about it.

I want only to be the girl who is about to seduce her grandson and take every ounce of pleasure from him she can before she turns back into the pumpkin she is.

I’m going to take this pumpkin for a wild, one-time-only ride and run it for all it’s worth before the night is out. Before the clock strikes midnight and reality returns.

I swear I’ll make it up to you, Mrs. Whittier.

Chapter Five

CHASE

There she is. Exactly where Danny told me she’d be. Hiding, though not very well. I don’t know how she thinks she can hide because she stands out like a beacon as if she’s outlined in neon lighting with arrows pointing at her. In fact, there are more than a few men—and ladies—taking notice of her, their eyes roaming the crowd and then stopping short when they get to her.

“Do you feel like a traitor scoring the winning goal against the team your family and you have always supported?” The reporter snatches my attention with the question.

“All’s fair in love and hockey. I grew up a fan of the Brawlers all my life, but that ended the day I put on my Whalers jersey.”

“And how does your grandmother, Molly Whittier, feel about it? Is she here?” The reporter looks around, expecting Gran to pop up behind me like I’ve been hiding her.

“She’s at home watching.” I look straight at the camera and give her my best smile. “Hi, Gran. The hat trick was for you.” It’s true. It’s all for my family, the ones gone and the ones still here.

The reporter asks a couple of other questions about my stats and expectations. I do my best to answer without getting distracted by the knowledge that the mystery lady is waiting for me.

Coach Nash nods at the reporter and motions to Sabien to replace me in the media hotspot. I move aside, bumping my friend’s shoulder on my way past him. A solid gut roll signals my excitement as I slip past the press and others to finally meet up with the lady wearing my number. Circling the crowd, I make my way to the wall where she stands.

Sliding against the wall, I move closer until I stand within a foot of her. My mouth goes dry as I get a close-up look. Jesus, she’s gorgeous. I watch her as she thumbs her phone, using the moment to take her in, to collect my nerve, not sure what I’m up to. Sure, I’m curious about who she is because she was sitting in our family seats, but I’m not kidding myself.

There’s more to it. I’ve never seen skin as perfect as hers, lips so plump, red, and juicy like a cherry, making my mouth water with wanting to bite them.

As I lean casually, watching her unaware of me, my heart raps against my chest wall, fast and loud.

Shit. Calm down. I take a deep, silent breath to get my cool back. She stops thumbing her phone and glances up to where Coach Nash and Sabien are talking to the press. Her eyes dart around like she’s looking for me, and she realizes I’m not standing where I was. She frowns, then her face falls, and she heaves a disappointed sigh. I bet she thinks I bailed on her. Shit.

Am I a dick for enjoying her obvious disappointment that she might have missed me?

“I’m right here,” I say, keeping my voice low.

She jumps and turns to me, dropping her phone. “Oh shit. I mean, hello.” She says and bends to pick up the phone, but I beat her to it, bending to pick it up and holding her arm as we both straighten.

My eyes lock on hers while it registers that hers are gold—fucking sparkling-gold eyes—and I hand her the phone.

“Sorry for surprising you.” I’m not sorry at all, not the way she looks at me as if I’m the second coming of Bobby Orr or maybe the new Brad Pitt. I’m more than juiced that she came to meet me, that maybe she wanted to meet me as much as I wanted to meet her.

“I’m Chase Whittier,” I add.

“I know.” She smiles like I’m a circus clown, and I wonder who her dentist is because her teeth look more like pearls. She’s too young to have fake teeth, right? I shake my head. “And you are?”

Her smile disappears faster than a tray full of steaks at a hockey barbeque. But I wait her out, watching the crazy workings of her mind play out on her face. Worry, hope, longing…more worry.

I finally say, “Look⁠—”

At the same time, she blurts out, “Emery.” Then stops.