Good Boy (WAGs #1)(62)

The resulting picture is a little off-center. So I crop it a little. And while I’m in the photo editor, I try a couple of filters until I find the one that best accentuates my boo-tay.

It’s not that I’m trying to impress Blake. It’s just that I’m artsy.

I hit send, and the reply is almost immediate. OMFG. If you need me, I’ll be in my bunk with my hand on my junk.

This lights me up inside, and then almost as quickly fills me with guilt. Damn it. Do I want to date Blake? Sure I do. But it’s a terrible idea. Because…

Picking up my phone one more time, I dial Dyson. It’s only eight o’clock in California, so he answers right away. “Yo, Jess! How are you doing in the frozen north? Or should I say, who are you doing?”

“Cut to the chase much?”

“What is the count up to now?”

“The count?”

“We were at three last time we spoke—the chair, the wedding and the Hummer.”

I sigh. “None of your business.”

“Oh, I think it is. Besides, I’m on a fifteen-minute break before I start the other four hours of my shift. Give me a happy thought. Are we up to four? Dare I hope for five?”

“Well…” I clear my throat. “It depends how you count.”

“Ungf.”

Indeed. And he doesn’t even know about the bed. We got a little sticky eating ice cream that night and ended up doing it again in the shower.

“Was it awesome?”

“Completely. But there’s a problem.”

“He doesn’t want to do it again?” Dyson yelps. “Then he’s an idiot.”

“That’s not it. Now he says we’re dating. That’s not cool, right? You can’t just inform someone that they’re half of a couple.”

There’s a silence on the line. “I’ll be half a couple with Blake Riley if you won’t. That man is smoking.’”

“He’s as hot as they come,” I agree. “But he’s assuming too much! Who does that?”

“He must be really into you.”

I open my mouth to argue and then shut it again. Is he really? For all his loud-mouthed bluster and total lack of a filter, Blake is actually pretty hard to read. Everything is light and airy and surface-only with him. Other than his confession about his ex and the fake baby mama drama, I’m not sure I’ve ever had a deep conversation with the guy.

Maybe deep is overrated…

Maybe? Truth is, I’ve only ever dated intense, creative types. Guys like Raven, who could sit for hours talking about his feelings and pondering whatever existential crises he was going through at that moment.

But…another truth? Sometimes that got really old. And boring. I can’t remember laughing with Raven the way I laugh with Blake.

I always thought I’d end up with an artsy kook like myself. And sure, Blake’s as kooky as they come, but in a different way. He’s bold and loud and totally obnoxious at times. But he’s also hilarious, sweet, kind, loyal, great in bed…

A groan slips out. “I don’t know, Dyse. I…don’t trust it. He’s a famous hockey player. I’m a nursing student who underperformed on her final exam.”

“Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry. Did you get your grade back already?”

“No. I’m just bracing myself. The worst will be if I have to tell my parents this spring that my scholarship money isn’t going to be renewed. I’m going to tell them over the phone so I can’t see Mom’s face.”

Dyson clicks his tongue. “Panic much? You probably squeaked by. You studied hard.”

“Maybe.”

“We have to work on your self-confidence.”

“I’m confident!”

Dyson laughs. “Not so much, kitty cat. You dump your boyfriends so fast so they can never dump you first. And now you’re absolutely wigging out about your whole future, when you don’t even know yet what grade you got on the test. That, my sweet love, is not confidence talking.”

Now I’m practically sputtering into the phone. “That is not an accurate diagnosis!” I don’t know who I’m more upset with right now—Dyson or Blake. “I’m confident. Ask anyone.”

“Uh-huh. This from the girl who didn’t like to cross the middle school cafeteria alone. You used to make me walk to the girls’ room with you and wait outside.”

“Dyson, if it’s fair to criticize the things we did in the seventh grade, I’m going to have to call you out on that awful polyester blazer with the satin lapels.”

There’s a puff of outrage in my ear. “I was wearing it ironically.”

Great. Now I’ve made him mad, too. Everyone is mad at everyone else. “Look, I’m really tired. Sorry to whine in your ear.”

He sighs. “Get some sleep, Jessie. But my vote will be the same in the morning. I think he likes you. And I’m pretty sure we’ve been having this same chat since middle school.”

Well, ouch. “Goodnight, Dyson.”

“Night, kitty cat.”



Two nights later I don’t really feel like going out, but I promised my brother I’d accompany him to an event thrown by the wives and girlfriends of the hockey team. Jamie is an honorary member of the WAGS club. As far as I can tell, they have two purposes. First, to drink together at every home game. Second, they do charity work. Tonight is some kind of planning session for their annual holiday Christmas party. It raises money for the same children’s hospital where I visited the cancer ward for my very first hospital assignment.