Mister Hockey (Hellions Angels #1)(6)
Breezy gave an internal nod in solidarity. Amen, sister.
After Jed announced his reading choice, his gaze skimmed the crowd before landing on her, in the back corner, arms locked to her chest to keep her heart from jumping out of her rib cage. Her stomach constricted. Talk about a visceral stare. It felt as intimate as a private caress. She could have sworn that he winked, but yeah . . . right.
Earth to Breezy, come in, please.
Guys who looked like Jed West didn’t flirt with girls like her. By sixteen, her place in the social pecking order had been cemented. The friend. The funny one. The one packing junk in the trunk, who bought her own drinks at the club, and always got charged cover.
As if to confirm her theory, the moment vanished. He turned away, offering a view of his outrageously chiseled profile. The amount of scruff roughening the edge of his carved jaw was absolute perfection.
Opening the book, his rich velvety baritone imbued every cringe-worthy sentence with a sense of yearning and noble sacrifice. As he slowly flipped through the pages it was almost enough to convince her she’d been wrong to be such a hater.
“Guess this makes up for me forgetting your birthday for the past three years?” Neve leaned in beside her.
Breezy gave a giddy nod. “You get a pass for Christmas and birthdays forever more. Jed West is in my library. How did this happen?”
“What can I say?” Neve shrugged smugly. “Occupational perk.”
“Of course, let the record show that I had no idea you were interviewing him today.” Breezy leveled a bemused side eye. “That’s a pretty big skeleton to hide in your closet.”
“Way I saw it, I had two options if I fessed up.” Her sister stared back without a shred of shame. “One, leave you green with envy or two, wonder if you’d turn up and stalk us from a back booth at Zachary’s.”
“You watched him eat?” She bounced on her toes and clapped her hands. “Details, details. Was it perfect?”
“There was chewing. Mouthed closed.” Neve gave her chin a thoughtful rub. “Oh! He ordered orange juice. Fresh squeezed.”
“Eeep!” Breezy swallowed herself, after a muffled moan. “You know I love juice.”
“Guess you two are soul mates.” Neve used only a pinch of her usual sarcasm, a small smile played on the edges of her mouth. “Honestly, I’m thrilled to have gotten to do this for you.”
Wild applause broke out as Jed finished the last line of the book. It went on and on before eventually dwindling into an uncertain silence. Finally, he cleared his throat, seeking her out with a single raised brow. The implication was clear—what now?
“Oh! Right!” Breezy jolted from the wall, adrenaline flushing through her system. Time to host a short Q & A with the object of her most depraved lust while her butt cheeks chomped the skintight Lycra. “Let’s take a few questions.”
Every hand in the room shot toward the ceiling. Some kids waved both. Jed answered queries ranging from “What’s your favorite number?” “Five,” (same as his jersey), to “What’s your favorite movie?” “The Big Lebowski,” to his pregame rituals “Dressing left-to-right,” and “Never shaving during playoffs.”
When he absently combed his fingers through his hair, the faintest scent of freshly tilled earth crossed the podium. No wait, make that a cedar grove in snow. She sniffed deeply, catching base notes of Earl Grey, her favorite tea, before mentally shaking her head.
Stop! The head of the children’s section wasn’t allowed to get hot and bothered while promoting literacy. Or to sniff the special guests.
Neve made a subtle “wrap it up” gesture.
Breezy stepped close, tall enough she didn’t have to whisper in his ear. A perk of being a five-foot-eleven giantess. “Ready to make a break for it? My sister will hustle you out.”
He glanced over, covering the microphone and frowning slightly. “What about signing autographs?”
“Oh. I don’t want to impose on your time.” Impossible to tear her gaze from the way his lucky hand scrubbed his chin scruff, bristly brown hairs that looked as if they’d feel delicious dragged across bare skin.
“Wouldn’t be right,” he muttered to himself. “These are kids.”
That’s it. She was dead—an official ghost, one who’d roam the library as a happy phantom because she’d kicked the bucket in the best of ways, discovering her celebrity crush was an actual good guy, not just playing one on television.
The only improvement on the present moment would be if he happened to punch a fist to his sternum as if struck by a mortal blow. After a rueful head shake, he’d chuckle, a sound like a bag of gravel dragged through honey. “Breezy Angel,” he’d murmur, as if her name was a Shakespearean sonnet. “Why . . . you’re the one. The one that I’ve been waiting for my whole life.”
“How do you want me?” he asked, speaking slow as if repeating himself.
A hectic heat fired up her neck. “Excuse me?”
He arched a brow. “Up against the wall?”
Her mouth opened but words formed a traffic jam in her one-lane throat.
“Jed! Take position by the exit!” Neve clapped her hands and strode toward the conference room double doors, in her element bossing people left and right. “Hey, listen up! Westy has graciously agreed to sign a few autographs on your way out. Form a line and keep it to one per person. Also, remember to stay dry and drive home safe. Thanks so much for coming out.”