Page 51 of Daring the Hockey Player

Jasper nods, pulling out of the driveway. "Okay, then you have renter’s insurance, and you plan on turning in the receipts for reimbursement," he guesses.

"That's a thing?" I shake my head. "No one mentioned getting insurance for the apartment."

Jasper remains quiet as he pulls up to the front gate, punches in the code, and it opens for him.

We drive in silence until he finally pulls up out front of a diner. He gets lucky because someone just pulled out, and there's a space in front of the restaurant. The place looks decent from the outside, and my stomach grumbles.

"Wait here," he says, and I stare at him like he has grown two heads.

"Um, why?"

He shuts the engine off, gets out of the car, and hurries around to my door, opening it.

"Okay, you can unbuckle your seatbelt," Jasper says with a laugh. He almost looks nervous with his boyish grin adorning his face.

I unsnap the buckle, and before I can step my feet onto the ground, he lifts me into his arms. "What are you doing?" I shriek with laughter.

"You don't have shoes on, and I'm not risking you catching tetanus or hepatitis or something on the sidewalk."

I wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me into the diner and finds us a booth. He gently places me down to sit at the edge, and I swivel around to face the table.

"I don't think you can get tetanus or hepatitis from bare feet," I say, smiling.

"Well, you could get frostbite."

"Sure, if it were twenty degrees colder. Not that I'm complaining. I've never had a man carry me around."

Jasper scoots into the booth seat across from me as the waitress brings us both a menu.

"I'll have coffee, extra cream, and sugar."

"Coffee, black." Jasper smiles at the waitress, who is old enough to be our grandmother. But the woman jots everything down and makes her way back behind the counter. "Let me guess, you prefer your coffee not to taste like actual coffee."

He's poking fun, and I don't mind it. I'm happy for the distraction, especially after last night and this morning.

I bite down on my bottom lip, remembering the feel of sitting on his lap, and open the menu, attempting a distraction.

"What's good here?" I ask, and the room feels warm, a bit stuffy even. I hadn't noticed it earlier, but I was outside being carried in by the hottest NHL player in the league.

"Everything," Jasper says. "But my favorites are the crispy waffles with cherries, chocolate chips, almond slivers, and whipped cream."

I shake my head, smiling as I glance up at him. If I ate the way he did, I'd be twice my weight, but he also works out a lot, and he plays hockey, which has to burn a ton of calories.

My gaze travels down his torso, imagining what it would feel like to press my fingers, my palms, over his warm skin.

"You're staring," Jasper says.

And I blink rapidly, glancing back up at his eyes.

He's grinning, and he sits back, stretching, the smile never leaving his face. His eyes shine, the brown looking more like warm chocolate under the harsh restaurant lighting, yet somehow, he always looks good.

"What's on the agenda for today, I mean, other than taking you shopping?"

"You don't have to go with me," I say. I can't imagine that he wants to go shopping with me. He's just doing it because, well, I'm not even sure why he agreed to it. Emerson was supposed to join me, but she probably got busy. I don't need a chaperone.

The waitress brings our two cups of coffee along with a small bowl of single-serve creamers and different varieties of sugar and sugar substitutes.

"Shopping?" Jasper laughs. "It's what I live for."