Page 54 of Daring the Hockey Player

She saunters out of the dressing room, her pajamas presumably shoved into one of her shopping bags. Instead, she has on black leggings and an oversized maroon sweater that falls past her ass—an ass that she shouldn't hide. I silently pray she doesn't still hate me for my earlier remark.

"Where to?" I ask.

She glances at my hands, holding one of the department store bags. "Did I forget something at the register?" she asks.

"Nope, I just did a little shopping for me."

She smiles, her eyes lighting up. "What'd you buy?" She peers at my bag, but there's tissue paper on top, hiding the surprise inside.

"I'll tell you on one condition—nope, never mind."

"What?" Her mouth drops. "You can't leave me hanging like that, Jasp. Give it to me."

Oh, I'd like to give it to her all right, but not like she thinks. I bite down on my tongue and keep the shopping bag out of her reach as she tries to grab it from my hands.

"I let you see that silly dress on me. What'd you buy that's so embarrassing? Was it underwear?" Amber laughs, and it's natural and real. There's nothing fake about her, ever. I love that about her, how she can be so carefree, even after what happened this morning.

"It's not underwear or lingerie," I say.

Her eyes light up. "Oh, that would have been good! I wouldn't have thought you'd wear women's lingerie." She nudges me and heads for the door. She opens it before I get there and gestures for me to step out first.

I don't argue with her, although I like to hold a door open for a lady. It's at least a small form of chivalry that shouldn't be dead.

"For the record, I don't wear women's lingerie," I say, leaning closer, not wanting anyone to overhear our conversation because it's way too embarrassing out of context.

"See, I'll never know that until you show me," Amber says with a straight face, her eyes glancing up at me. "Show me what's in the bag, or show me your panties." The smile reaches her lips from ear to ear.

"Nice try," I chide. "Not happening. This precious gift is mine."

"Wait. So, it's a gift?" Amber doesn't miss anything. "Is it for your brother? My sister? Me?" The last one comes out a bit squeaky, like she's just throwing it out there and doesn't believe it could be for her.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss."

I keep walking, heading back toward the Porsche, and she's right beside me, hurrying to match my strides. I slow down, realizing that I'm nearly a foot taller, and she seems to be jogging to keep up.

"That's an interesting use of terminology," Amber says. I can't tell if she talks more when she's nervous or just really wants to know what I have in the bag. "Is it for a girl?"

"What is this, twenty questions?"

"Yes!" she says and snaps her fingers. "Let me guess it in twenty questions, and if I get it right, I get to see what it is. If I'm wrong, then I'll leave it alone."

Yeah, I doubt that.

"Fine," I grumble. This had better be worth it. "Yes."

"Yes, to the twenty questions, or yes, it's for a girl?" she quips. We approach the car, and I hit the unlock button on the key fob.

I make sure to pop the trunk and drop my bag in there, where she can't reach it, and look through the contents while I'm driving.

"That's another question," I warn her. "Yes, to the girl."

Her eyes widen, and she purses her lips. Amber drops her bags into the trunk beside mine and hurries into the car. The air has gotten chilly with the sun hiding behind the clouds. I didn't bring a coat, but she had enough forethought to buy warm clothes, at least, while at the store.

"Girl. Okay, next question. Are you dating anyone?"

It's not the first time she has asked me that question, but maybe she thinks that changed over the past couple of days. "No." That's the only answer that she gets, yes or no.

"Okay. Is the gift for family?"