“What did you think of the game, Sutton?” I ask her, noticing that she flinches slightly when she hears her name.

Putting her phone down, she says, “It was amazing. I’m unfortunately hooked.”

“I can get you tickets any time you want them,” I tell her. “That seat in particular if you like it.”

“Oh, that would be awesome,” Monica squeals in delight, clapping her hands.

I don’t even spare her a glance but keep my eyes focused on Sutton, repressing a laugh over the way she winces when that unholy sound comes out of Monica’s mouth.

“That would be nice,” Sutton says, “although I’d love to bring my little brother sometime.”

“I can get you two tickets anytime. Just let me know,” I tell her and I’m blinded by the smile she gives me.

“Thanks,” she says. “That’s really nice.”

Yeah…me and nice, that doesn’t sound right together, but if I can get her to smile at me like that just from offering a couple of hockey tickets, I’ll keep doing it.

“Oh. My. God,” Monica says dramatically, and both Sutton and I swing our gazes across the table to her. “I cannot believe I’ve been sitting here this entire time and haven’t even asked Alex for an autograph.”

She looks at me with expectation, but I’m not sure what she expects me to do. Whip out paper and pen from thin air? I feel Sutton moving beside me and look to see her rustling through her purse. She pulls out a small pad of paper and a pen, and pushes them across the table at me.

“Yay,” Monica squeals again, and this time I’m the one who winces. Then she leans across the table and says, “And I wouldn’t be averse to you putting your number on there too.”

Okay, that’s just awkward but I give her a chastising smile as I quickly scrawl my name and number—jersey number, that is—on the pad of paper. “Now, now, Monica, save the heavy-duty flirting for some other time. Sutton and I do have business to discuss.”

“Oh,” she says, her voice small and thin. Thank God the squealing seems to be done for now.

Ripping the paper off, I hand it across the table to Monica and she greedily snags it from my grip, her eyes roaming over my signature like it’s a prime piece of beef or something.

Seriously, woman, it’s just some ink on a piece of paper.

Monica tucks the paper in her own purse and then turns her gaze back to us, flicking her eyes between Sutton and me. We return her stare, neither of us saying a word until a heavy, awkward silence lies between us.

Finally, I say, “Hate to do this, Monica, but can you excuse us now? We really do have some important business to discuss and I’m running short on time.”

Monica’s mouth drops open, disappointment practically oozing out of her pores. But then she stiffens her spine just a bit, realizing that she’s effectively been dismissed from our presence.

“Monica…it was nice meeting you tonight,” Sutton says kindly. “And I hope to sit next to you again during a game.”

“Sure,” Monica says as she slides out of the booth, looking at Sutton briefly then turning her gaze back to me. “I’ll just be hanging out at the bar if you finish up and want to have a drink or something, okay?”

“Sorry, but I’m meeting some teammates a bit later and have to leave soon,” I tell her—which is an outright lie I feel no remorse for telling—and she finally takes the hint that I’m not interested. She nods her head and spins on her heel, pushing her way through the crowd until her blond curly hair is no longer visible.

Taking a deep breath, I let it out and say, “Wow. Just wow.”

Sutton giggles and I turn to look at her. “Sorry. I let it slip where I was going after the game and she wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“No worries. She’s gone now.”

“Want to move to the other side of the table?” she asks me, her hazel eyes looking almost a deep green in the ambient lighting.

I most certainly don’t want to move to the other side, already mourning the loss of her touch against me, but it would be silly to sit side by side in this booth and try to discuss the anti-drug campaign. So I slide out, take my suit coat off and toss it onto the seat opposite Sutton before sliding in behind it.

When I’m facing her, she places her hands on the table and pushes the pad of paper across the table toward me. Sutton nods her head at it and says, “Can you give me an autograph for my little brother?”

“No,” I tell her, pushing the pad back toward her.

Those eyes now light up, turning gold as anger flashes through them. “Oh, you’ll give an autograph to a sexy woman who will happily sleep with you tonight, but not to a little boy?” she snarls at me.

Chuckling, I hold my hands up in self-defense. “Easy there, tiger. I only meant no as to an autograph on a measly scrap of paper. How about a signed jersey instead?”

Sutton’s mouth flies open and her eyes go wide. “What? No, that’s too much. The paper is fine.”

“This is for your little brother, right?”

“Yeah,” she says softly, her mouth forming into a smile filled with tenderness. It causes tiny warm fingers to start massaging deep within my chest.

“And by that look on your face right now, I’m thinking the jersey is definitely not too much.”

“I…if you’re sure. I didn’t mean for you to give him something so extravagant. I can’t afford a jersey, but he’s such a great kid. And a huge fan, and I’d so get him a jersey if they weren’t so expensive, but maybe you could sign just a picture or—”