Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(85)

“I’m feeling some warm fuzzies about Dallas, too,” I admit.

“What kind of wedding are you having?” Georgia asks. “Big? Small? Are you going to wait for the summer break? Hang on—you could get married on your birthday. Ten years to the date you met! That would be romantic.”

“Well…” The question of starting the adoption clock is going to be a consideration. I love that Tank wanted to do that for us—that he’d leaped out of bed and bought a diamond ring to show me that he was onboard. “We might not wait,” I hedge. But I won’t go into detail until I get a chance to discuss it with my…

Fiancé. Wow. I can’t believe I have one of those.

Becca makes me get out my phone and pose with the ring as she takes some pictures. “Hold this coffee cup,” she says, framing another shot. “And now this flower.” She grabs a rose out of the centerpiece on the table. “Your manicure needs a touchup,” she clucks. “We’ll do that after breakfast. A girl can’t show off her new ring with chipped polish.”

Georgia rolls her eyes. “It’s really okay to ignore her. Becca, let the girl have breakfast.”

I look over my shoulder, and my inner Cinderella practically strokes out at the sight of Tank approaching the table, carrying a tray that’s loaded down with dishes, and wearing an expression that’s both happy and relaxed.

Jewelry may sparkle. But nothing beats the sight of a strong man carrying coffee and breakfast. Nothing.

O’Doul puts down his coffee cup and starts a slow clap. After a second, he’s joined by Silas and Leo Trevi. And then everyone joins in. Jimbo—the equipment handler—stands up and whistles.

“Thank you, thank you all,” Tank says, setting the tray down. “It was a beautiful goal last night. I’m glad you appreciate that.” He gives me a cheeky wink.

“Who knew?” Leo says.

“I did!” Becca chirps. “I knew it all along.”

“I doubted him,” Castro says, shaking his head. “But I’m happy to be a little bit wrong about this.”

“A little bit?” Coach Worthington says from the end of the table. “Son, he’s making you look bad. Your girlfriend is probably wondering where she went wrong, thinking you were a catch.”

“Coach!” Castro gasps, looking over both shoulders. “Keep your voice down.”

Everyone howls. And then they give Castro even more shit about having the balls to propose. Poor Castro.

“Did Dave hear the good news, yet?” Georgia asks as Tank sets an omelet in front of me.

“Nope,” I admit, as Tank claims the seat next to mine.

“Dave is going to flip his lid,” O’Doul says with a chuckle. “His little sister marrying a hockey player. Can I be there when you tell him?”

“Sure, man,” Tank says. “You can ice my face after the punch.”

Everyone laughs, but I make a mental note to call Dave from the airport later and tell him the good news. Although it’s tempting to tell Zara instead, and let her cushion the blow.

I’m not that big a wimp. But it’s tempting.

“What about Henry?” Tank says quietly, his hand finding my knee. “Let’s take a picture for Henry.”

“Oh,” I whisper. “Let’s. Becca, would you mind taking one more?”

Tank hands over his phone, and then he wraps an arm around me, holding my diamond-clad hand in sight of the camera.

And we smile together.





After brunch, we head back up to the room to get our things. I’m going to Ottawa for that tournament, and Tank is headed to San Jose for another game.

When it’s time to meet the team bus, I go downstairs with him, even though I have another hour before I have to check out. I feel so happy, I don’t want to let him out of my sight.

“Oh, jeez,” he says under his breath after we enter the lobby.

I’m just about to ask what’s wrong when I see a pretty brunette straighten up and walk toward Tank. She’s wearing a stylish dress, heels, and delicate little pearls in her ears.

Jordanna.

On instinct, I put my left hand into the pocket of my jeans.

But she only has eyes for Tank. “Mark. Hi,” she says a little breathlessly. “Do you have a second?” She finally glances at me, and the glance wonders if I wouldn’t just get lost, please.

“I need to make a call,” I say stupidly. Then I turn away.

“No, Bess,” Tank says. “Hey—”

I disregard him and ferry myself over to a sofa that’s a short distance away. It’s not far enough. I can hear Jordanna loud and clear. “I’m sorry to interrupt your morning.”

“Then why did you?” he asks tightly.

“Because I have two things to say to you, okay? And you don’t answer my texts.” I’m watching her out of the corner of my eye, and she looks shaky and uncertain.

And, damn it, now I actually feel sorry for her. I want to hate her for breaking Tank’s heart. But if she hadn’t, all my wishes wouldn’t be coming true.

Also, I want to hate her for knowing how to walk in those spiky heels.

She takes a nervous breath. “Nice goal last night. You looked great out there. I watched on TV.”