Twisted Collide: The new sports romance in the Redville Saints series

I’m surprised when he follows me. Even more surprised when he doesn’t bitch, moan, or complain.

I expected something to that effect, but nope. There’s nothing.

It’s not that he’s void of emotion, but he seems different. Not friendly or anything, just quiet.

Maybe he’s deep in thought. If only I had a mind-reading device, then deciphering his moods wouldn’t be so difficult. I thought I was confusing, bouncing from one emotion to the next, but this guy might give me a run for my money.

I try to think back to when his demeanor changed, but nothing jumps out. The other day, he got weird after he mentioned I’m the coach’s daughter, and today, he asked me about my relationship with my father.

I wonder why he’s thinking about this.

Maybe it’s been on his mind since the reporter. Maybe he’s probably bothered by my birth status due to the fact that we hooked up.

That’s it. I bet he thinks I’m upset about that too. He couldn’t be further from the truth. Whether we slept together has nothing to do with why I’m upset.

Which makes me wonder, what does he know? It’s obvious he and my father/sperm donor are close, but did he tell him anything? Does he know we only just met? What about my mom? Does he know I was practically kicked out of the only place I’ve ever known to live with a man and woman I’ve never met? I bet he doesn’t.

He told my father he didn’t want to know, and something tells me he wouldn’t ask after that.

I bet good ole Dad isn’t dying to tell him anyway. He probably wants to keep our family reunion a secret.

Guess they aren’t as close as Dane thinks. However, it’s not surprising that the faux son isn’t treated much better than the blood daughter.

It sucks to be us.

Leading Dane to the room where I have the tailor set up doesn’t take long. I knew that getting him to leave the premises would be a challenge, so I arranged for the man to be brought here.

Didn’t take much convincing. In a smaller city like Redville, fitting the star defenseman for a championship-winning hockey team is a big deal.

Once we’re down the hallway, I throw the door open.

“Right this way,” I tell him, stepping in and then out of the way so that he can move ahead.

Inside is an older gentleman. I’d put him around sixty or sixty-five years old. He’s got salt-and-pepper hair and a matching speckled beard. He’s not very tall, taller than me, that’s for sure, but that’s not saying much since I’m petite at five foot three.

“Dane, this is George. He’ll be fitting your tuxedo for the event.”

Dane walks over and extends his hand. For as grumpy as he is, he’s being a perfect gentleman. My eyes widen, and a barely audible sound leaves my mouth. What is happening?

Mr. Grumpy doesn’t look so grumpy right now. Wow, I was not expecting this level of agreeableness.

I guess I shouldn’t be shocked. He was very charming the first night we met, so he obviously has it in him not to be an utter ass.

“I was booked by your assistant, Miss Sinclair, to make a custom tuxedo. Would you first like to try on a few fits and see which style you like?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dane says, not even sounding sarcastic one bit.

“I set up a makeshift changing room. I hope that’s okay. I can step out if you want more privacy.” I point at the curtain I set up in the corner of the room.

“I’m fine.”

I lean up against the wall to give them room and not to be in the way when Dane lifts his black T-shirt over his head.

What is he doing?

Then he starts to unbutton and unzip his jeans, and I realize he intends to try on the tuxedo in the main part of the room.

My cheeks feel flushed, and I can only imagine how red they must be. Great, I probably look like a tomato. Can someone put me out of my misery now? Think of something unsexy . . . spider. I grimace. Good, that’s better than drooling.

“Um, do you want me to, um, leave?” Please say yes. I can’t see this man naked or at least practically naked. I’ll never survive that. It’s bad enough that I want him fully dressed, but if I have to see him in his briefs, hell, I might combust.

“You’re fine. Nothing you haven’t seen before.” At his words, I cough, and he smirks.

Great. Now he’s playing this game. And in a very public place. How does he know this man won’t talk outside these walls? He might be older, but money talks. Then again, keeping in Dane’s good graces also pays well.

I cross my arms in front of my chest and smile back. “Yep. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”

That wipes the smirk right off his face.

Point to me.

George walks over to the rack and hands him the first shirt.

I’ve been trying not to look at his body, but my curiosity about which shirt is in his hands has me pulling my gaze down.

Damn.

I shouldn’t have done that.

His arms flex as he stretches it out to grab the material, and when he pulls back, his whole chest is on display to me.

When we spent the night together, it was way too dark to see anything, but now that I have a clear view, I wish I didn’t look.

I knew in my heart he’d be perfection, but perfection has nothing on this man.

His body is just . . . wow.

That’s it. No other word comes to mind. Wow.

With perfectly cut muscles, he’s tall and lean and just—did I say wow?

I need to pull my gaze away because if I don’t, he’ll catch me, but I can’t.

This man has a gravitational pull, and I’m stuck in it.

My eyes continue to travel south, trailing down his torso until I’m met with the most phenomenal V I’ve ever seen.

Stop looking, Josie.

“Josephine.”

Is it hot in here? I swear the heat has turned on, but I know it’s not the case since we’re in an office outside a hockey rink.

It’s freezing in here; I’m just burning up because of the way he looks at me. His stare sets an inferno in my belly. It lights me up.

What I’d do to have one more night. One when I can experience this man in all his glory, not just a quick little romp on the grass.

To take my time with him.

Kiss down his chest.

I’d lick the dip in his V—

“Hellfire.”

That has me snapping my head up, and I meet the smoldering blue eyes that haunt my dreams. The way he looks at me makes my knees feel weak.

“You okay over there? You look a little flushed.” Then he gives me a knowing smirk.

Like a bottle of cold water poured over a candle, the fire is snuffed, all trace of the flame gone.

Bastard.