Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(10)

“Thirty-one,” I answer.

“Ew, you’re in your thirties?”

The fuck?

“It’s not like I said I was sixty,” I snap.

“Still . . . thirties, so old.”

“It’s not that fucking old,” I shoot back. Although, I’m starting to really feel those long nights on the ice lately.

“Still, ten years difference? That means when I was born, you were hitting the double digits. You could have been my babysitter. You’re a decade older than me, a near generation. Ew, I kissed an old man.”

“You kissed an experienced man,” I point out, growing irritated. “More than I can say for your ex who looked like he still watches Rugrats on Saturday mornings.”

“What’s Rugrats?”

“For fuck’s sake,” I say, dragging my hand over my face. “So what are you doing in college still? Getting your master’s?”

“No, bachelor’s in journalism, heading into my senior year of college.”

Jesus fuck.

She’s so young.

So fucking young that I know my boys would ask me what the fuck I was even doing talking to her. They’d give me so much shit if they knew.

“Bachelor’s.” I nod, trying to convince myself she’s way too young and I should just send her on her way. But as my phone dings next to me with incoming text messages, I’m reminded of my dilemma.

Sarah.

Sarah is back in my life even though I don’t want her to be.

“So you have an assignment?” I ask before taking a sip of my drink to help wash away my worries.

“Yeah. It’s the end-of-the-year article we need to write to earn our credit. Candace decided who got what topic, and as you can imagine, she deliberately gave me hockey as my assignment, knowing I know nothing about the stupid sport.” Not reading the crowd around her, that’s fine. “I hope her teeth fall out.”

I chuckle. “I could help you with that, you know. Since I play hockey and all.”

“But really, how experienced are you?” she asks.

“Pretty experienced. It’s my job.”

“Like . . . you’re a professional hockey player? I thought you were just, I don’t know, some club player or something people knew.”

I slowly nod. I’ve never met anyone who has at least not seen my face or heard my name. Vancouver plasters it all over the place.

“I play for the Vancouver Agitators.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and then they give me a slow once-over. “Like . . . the actual Agitators?”

“Yes, the actual Agitators.”

Her lips purse to the side. “Prove it.”

With a heavy sigh, I pick up my phone, ignore the texts from my boys, and type my name into the search engine. When it comes up with results—my face and Wikipedia info the very first thing—I turn it toward her.

She takes my phone and studies it. Her eyes flit up to me, then back to the phone. Then up to me, then back to my phone.

“Your hair is longer in person,” she says.

“That’s because hair grows.”

“You don’t have scruff in this picture.”

“Razors have to be used for something.”

Her eyes narrow. “I don’t see any tattoos in this picture.”

“Because they’re covered up. Jesus Christ.” I take the phone from her. “Are you really going to be that difficult?”

“Excuse me for wanting to make sure you’re not some impersonator trying to score women with a false identity of some poor schmuck who plays hockey for a living.”

“Poor schmuck?” I ask. The fucking audacity of this girl. “I have millions in the bank to prove I’m anything but poor or a schmuck. Also, you’re the one who came up to me. You’re the one who kissed me, so why the fuck am I the one defending myself?”

“Because in this day and age, you can’t trust anyone,” she says before taking a drink of her margarita.

“So what makes me think I can trust you?”

“Oh, you can’t.” She shakes her head and sets her glass down. “I’m a total wild card. Truly, the most ornery in the morning, especially after drinking. I tend to focus more on my needs than others, and even though I say I don’t want something, secretly, I always do. Completely untrustworthy, so if we’re done here, I shall retreat to my friend to see how he’s doing with his conquest to sit on Fernando’s penis.”

She starts to move, but I place my hand on her thigh. “Not so fast. You can’t scare me away with your nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” She dramatically clutches her hand to her chest. “How dare you speak of my life like that—”

“Cut the shit,” I say. “I did you a favor. Now you need to do one for me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, I can see we haven’t given good thought to the whole white knight thing.” She rolls her wrist for me to continue. “Please, regale me with your demands.”

Yeah, regale her with your demands, Silas.

I take a long, slow sip of my drink.

How the fuck can she help me?

My phone lights up beside me, and my eyes catch a glimpse of a text from Hornsby.

Hornsby: What the fuck are you going to do about the welcome dinner?