Page 5 of The One Timer

But never mind that. This is my night to forget about her home, or rather, where she lives, because it hardly feels like a home, and I don’t exactly feel like part of the family—more like the hired help.

“I have to go, Aunt Bea.” I disconnect the call as she screeches not to call her Aunt Bea, and I cringe. Shit. Why did I do that? I know she hates the name. God, I’m such a child, lowering myself to passive-aggressive behavior. Shaking my head, I return my attention to the ice and my friend, determined to make the most of the night.

I turn my phone off, toss it back into my bag, and then throw an arm around Merry.

“There he is,” she says. “Your birthday hunk.”

I laugh, and the horn blows, signaling the end of the warm-ups.

My gaze follows Chase automatically until he heads to the gate along with the rest of the team. Merry pushes me toward the rail overlooking the tunnel where the players exit the ice.

She’s close behind me, urging me on like the bad angel—the remedy or the spoiler, take your pick—to my icy conscience.

She whispers, “It’s not too soon to start flirting,”

I stretch, standing on my toes in my old canvas sneakers to watch him jump off the ice and jog on his skates through the tunnel to the locker room. He glances over his shoulder, and our eyes meet. It’s like he knew I was watching him. He flashes a smile, and I flash mine back.

Then he winks.

And somehow, my body translates that mere wink into full-on foreplay like he reached out and touched me in all the right places. Shit.

“I feel hot,” I murmur.

Merry laughs as we return to our seats. “Of course you are. That hot boy winked at you with all kinds of intentions. You still have it, girl.”

“Truthfully, I don’t know where I got the nerve to flirt—even from afar.” Even though Merry pushed me, it’s not the first time. I’m accustomed to pushing back.

“I think you like him.”

“Like him? I don’t even know him. Except for what Mrs. W tells me and from watching him play hockey on TV. And that’s another good reason not to flirt—or to like him—he’s my employer’s grandson and a pro hockey player way out of my reach.”

Merry wraps an arm around my shoulders, a stretch for her because she’s several inches shorter than me. Okay, she’s almost a foot shorter, but who’s counting?

“Give yourself some credit. If you wanted him, you could have him. Grandma has nothing to do with it—we’re not discussing marriage here or even dating. We’re talking about one night. Your Cinderella ball night.”

I laugh because what else can I do? I can’t possibly take her seriously. Tell that to my girly parts, which are now quivering in anticipation. But it’s more than anticipating good sex that has me on edge; it’s how the whole notion of being with Chase Whittier feels—like a sacrilege, almost.

He’s the perfect man, according to his Grandma: loving and smart, clearly scores a ten-plus on the looks chart, highly successful, and generous. Mrs. W insists he has a good heart, and damn if I didn’t see that in his eyes.

“Okay, so I may have a crush. But it’s definitely one of those crushes from afar never meant to go anywhere.”

“Except for tonight. This could be your dream night, your one shot at making the crush dream come true. It would make this an epic birthday to remember, and I want that so much for you, to have a seriously epic memory.” She stares at me a beat, waiting for my reaction, but my heart is beating too fast, racing toward the danger zone of crashing through my wall of discipline.

“You deserve it, Em. You need an amazing night to remember to balance out all the awful you’ve had to deal with.”

“Maybe.” What just came out of my mouth? I can’t believe I didn’t say no, that my iron wall of resistance is breaking down. “I’m on stolen time with stolen nerve—and sitting in stolen seats—and Chase knows it. He knows these are his grandma’s seats, and he has no idea who I am. Except he knows I don’t belong here.”

“So what?” Merry says, her expression giddy because she recognizes that I’m bending. “It won’t matter. He’ll never find out who you are or how you snitched the tickets.”

“Not snitched. Technically, his grandma gave them to me. Sort of. I was supposed to give them to her neighbors, the Fosters, but their house was in chaos when I knocked on the door. Sherry said they couldn’t go to the game because her sister was about to have a baby, and they were all on their way to the hospital. She said I should keep the tickets, so…ipso-facto, the tickets are mine. Right?”

“Absolutely.” Merry hugs me, sensing a breakthrough.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. Or better yet, I won’t need a story because no one’s going to care. Mrs. Whittier will never know. Chase will never know.

But if I meet him, he will ask me, right?

“Let’s say I do manage to meet up with Chase after the game somehow—and not in my dreams—what do I tell him when he asks me how I got his grandma’s tickets?”