Double Pucked: A Roomies-to-Lovers Hockey Romance by Lauren Blakely

Author:Lauren Blakely [Blakely, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lauren Blakely Books
Published: 2023-06-04T16:00:00+00:00

21

MY DIGITAL STYLIST

Ryker

It’s lunchtime and I’m not due at practice for two more hours. Gives me plenty of time to handle this task with Trina. Should be a quick and easy errand.

But as I walk up Fillmore Street toward An Open Book, I don’t feel the same way I’ve felt the previous times I’ve headed into this bookshop. All those other times, I was stopping by alone to pick up books from the wish list at the library. This time, though, it almost feels like a date.

With her.

But that’s a ridiculous feeling. We’re not having a date in the middle of the day. This is just her lunch break on a Tuesday and she’s helping me out. Still, as I pass a quirky gift shop a block away, I double back to check my reflection in the window, adjusting the cuffs of my Henley then running a hand over my beard. And maybe through my hair too.

There. I’m ready to see Trina.

I resume my pace, and I try to ignore the way my pulse speeds up as I near her store, because that’s a dumb reaction to a fucking store.

Game day attitude on, I push open the door, swing my gaze around the endless shelves, teeming with stories and information and history and words that I just want to gobble up, till I find her. She’s in the romance section, near the front of the store, and she’s adjusting a sandwich board sign. It’s for the Page Turners Book Club. There’s a lipstick-mark design on the sign, and it says this week, they’re meeting Friday at six. Trina tugs the board an inch or so, then pushes her red glasses up the bridge of her nose and studies it.

Damn, she’s adorable.

I kind of just want to watch her in her element for a minute, but that seems stalkery. Especially when she peers toward the door, then spots me and shoots me a smile that makes me feel things I shouldn’t be feeling.

Like, possibility. Such a dumb, dumb thing.

I try to shuck it off as she raises a finger, letting me know she’ll be just a minute. I give a nod because it’s not a big deal. This is just her helping me with a little project. An image makeover—that’s all.

She heads behind the counter then calls me over, reaching under the counter and grabbing some books. “Here are the books you picked out. I pulled them for you.”

“Oh. Thanks,” I say. I sent her the list this morning, but I guess I figured we’d go around the store and grab them together, and now I’m hoping this doesn’t shorten our not-date. But even if it does, it’s fine. It’s completely fine.

“And when I ring you up, I’m going to take a picture of you,” she says, walking me through this whole image thing she mapped out the other night. “And you don’t have to smile. Or look like you’re posing. It’s just a candid shot.”

She makes it sound so easy, but my shoulders still tense.

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