Mister Hockey (Hellions Angels #1)(21)

“Take a message?” She peered down from the step stool, halfway through setting up a new display all about the biological diversity of the Rocky Mountains. Right now she was trying to staple a cardboard cutout of a chipmunk, but the darn gun kept jamming. “Got my hands full.”

“I tried,” Daisy persisted. “But trust me . . . you’re going to want to take this.”

Breezy glanced back, unsettled by the high-pitched strangeness in her tech’s voice.

“What’s wrong? Tater Tots ready to start chopping heads?” Jed West’s surprise appearance had circulated through the branch, but so far her boss hadn’t made any particular mention of the coup.

“Define wrong.” Her assistant ogled her like she was a stranger. “Could it be described as having the captain of the Hellions calling me?”

Breezy narrowly missed stapling her thumb. “Excuse me?”

“Jed West is on line three.”

Breezy’s knees became the consistency of Jell-O. She leaned against the bulletin board and took a steadying breath, trying not to melt off the chair she was standing on.

“You must have left quite an impression the other day.”

Images fast-forwarded through her mind. How his stubble grizzled her cheek. How his tongue slid hot and insistent over hers. How freaking adorable he looked doing menial domestic chores. How he sounded when laughing over nerdy high-end kitchen gadgets.

But why call now? It had been two days of radio silence since he’d smooched and skedaddled.

Must have forgotten something. Except that she hadn’t noticed any items left behind or they would currently be part of an “Oh Mah Gawd I Kissed Jed West” Altar of Perpetual Thanksgiving in her bedroom.

“I’ll be right there.” She took a breath and stepped down.

An unreasonable hope flickered, but she blew it out before it could become much more than a spark. No way was he actually interested, right? In her?

And yet here she was, belly tight and breasts aching and heavy. And it wasn’t because he was so hot that he made trees look for shade. For years she’d lusted after him. The perfect fantasy. The Viking-strong body. The lickable jaw. The shiver-inducing voice. The hero.

But what about the guy behind the fantasy? He was a good one. Great actually. The whole package. Nice. Funny and sweet. She’d once read that he’d been an Eagle Scout, and after meeting him in person, of course he had been.

But the first rule of crushing hard on someone who is unattainable is admitting the truth. She was lucky to play with fire. But she had to be smart not to get burned.

As she walked to the desk, the reasons for his call ran through her mind. Sex? Or maybe silence.

Ah. She nodded to herself. That one made sense.

He was notoriously tight-lipped about his personal life. No doubt he wanted to make sure she didn’t go sharing details of their hookup with Neve, having it leak into the press.

At least she could honestly admit she hadn’t told a soul.

She wasn’t sure why. Bragging rights on such a stunt would be a beautiful thing. Her family cred would spike off the charts.

She reached her desk and stood, hand hovering over the phone, and licked her dry lips. The little light blinked on line three.

I wanted to be special. A stupid feeling. An indulgent impulse. But their kissing had felt like a real moment. And if he did this sort of thing a lot, well, she didn’t. Hadn’t.

What did he want?

Only one way to find out. Time to harness the power of her ovaries and get this over with.

“Hello? This is Breezy.” For once she lived up to her name.

“Hi. It’s me. Jed. West, J-Jed West.”

Her heart started to pound. She recognized an awkward verbal stumble, she was a master herself.

“Can I help you with something for a change?” Her hand trembled, then her teeth joined the party with an audible chatter. It was as if the room had dropped to minus twenty, crazy considering she was overheating. A small bead of sweat trickled under her bra strap, down the small of her back.

“Yes. I. Okay.” He cleared his throat. “I have to get a present for a child. And he is a boy. This particular child. And a, uh, big reader like you. I’m wondering if you have any notable recommendations.”

“Age?”

“Uh, eight.”

“What does he like?”

“I don’t know.”

“You want a book recommendation for a child you don’t know?”

“I know the child. He’s my nephew. But we’re not close. We don’t see much of each other and I don’t know much about kid books. I didn’t read much at his age.”

She was a reader, not a writer, but knew enough from that tight tone to understand there was a story there.

“Let’s simplify. Funny or adventure?”

“You choose.”

“What about Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing? It’s by Judy Blume. Long-suffering brother facing off against a seriously pesky little brother. It’s usually a big hit among that age demographic.”

“Tales of a . . . Fourth Grade . . . Nothing.” He repeated back slowly as if he was writing it down. “Great. Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” She winced. God, could she sound dumber? “Glad I could be of help.”

“You take care now.”