Page 43 of In My Hockey Era (Must Love Hockey #1)
THE BOOK CLUB RETURNS
Lucy
I take a slow sip of my iced coffee, standing off to the side of the packed bookstore, watching as an employee arranges stacks of books on the table near the front. A massive banner overhead reads: Stampede Book Club – Live Discussion with Lucy Quinn & Bennett Wilder!
The words still feel surreal, even as I glance around at the crowd—hundreds of fans packed into the space, buzzing with excitement, some wearing jerseys, others clutching well-worn paperbacks to their chests.
This whole thing started as a joke, and yet, here we are.
Officially together. Officially co-hosting a book club event.
I glance over at Bennett, who is leaning against a bookshelf, looking ridiculously good in a fitted black Henley and jeans, signing someone’s copy of Playing for Keeps and chatting animatedly with a fan.
He grins at something she says, then catches my eye from across the room.
And damn it, my stomach does that stupid flippy thing it’s been doing ever since I stopped pretending I wasn’t completely gone for this man.
He winks.
I roll my eyes.
His grin only widens.
Vivian claps her hands near the front of the store, bringing the event to order. “Alright, everyone! Welcome to another Stampede Book Club event! And this time, we have a special treat—we’ve got not one, but two co-hosts tonight.”
The crowd cheers, and Bennett nudges my side as we step up to the front together.
“C’mon, Quinn, don’t look so excited.”
I shoot him a side-eye. “Oh, trust me, Wilder. The thrill is palpable. ”
A few people in the front row laugh, clearly picking up on our usual banter.
Ben smirks. “That’s the spirit.” Then, into the microphone, he announces, “Alright, so how many of you actually read Playing for Keeps for this month’s discussion?”
A sea of hands shoots up.
“And how many of you,” he continues, turning slightly toward me, “are still skeptics when it comes to sports romance?”
I scowl. “Why are you looking at me?” I ask into my own microphone.
The crowd loses it.
He grins, resting his forearm on my shoulder like he just knows he’s about to make my life difficult. “Because, babe, you’re the one who swore up and down that hockey romance was unrealistic.”
The fans gasp. Someone in the back yells, “Blasphemy!”
I hold up my hands. “Okay, okay, let me clarify. I just meant that real hockey players don’t talk like romance heroes. And before you all argue, I live with this guy now. I have proof.”
Bennett places a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “Excuse me? I’m a delight.”
I ignore him. “Listen, it’s great that you all love these books, and I respect the genre, I do. But I just don’t get it.”
Bennett shakes his head, grabbing his mic again. “See, this is where she’s wrong. Because we are literally living a sports romance, and she refuses to acknowledge it.”
I scoff. “Oh, really?”
“Oh, really,” he echoes. “Think about it—cocky athlete meets stubborn, bookish girl who claims she doesn’t like him, but secretly does.”
A few people “aww” from the crowd, and I shoot them a betrayed look.
“Enemies to lovers,” Bennett continues, counting off on his fingers. “Public tension, forced proximity, undeniable chemistry, and then, bam! ” He snaps his fingers. “They fall for each other and live happily ever after. That’s our story, Quinn. Face it.”
I cross my arms. “We weren’t enemies. ”
He smirks. “Oh? What was that thing you said about me on your podcast?” He taps his chin like he’s thinking. “Oh, right. ‘The most annoying athlete in the league.’ ”
The audience bursts out laughing.
I groan, hiding my face in my hands. “I hate you.”
“You love me,” he corrects, grinning, then turns back to the crowd. “Anyway. The point is—sports romance? Completely realistic. In fact…” He pauses, glancing at me with something softer in his expression, something that makes my stomach twist in the best way.
“I’ve read a lot of books,” he says, voice quieter now. “But she’s my favorite plot twist. I didn’t see her coming, but now I can’t imagine the story without her.”
A collective gasp ripples through the crowd.
Someone actually screams.
I freeze, my heart slamming against my ribs.
Bennett? Not phased at all. He just grins at my wide-eyed expression, then leans in and presses a kiss to my lips—right there, in front of everyone.
The bookstore erupts.
I mean, absolute chaos.
People are shrieking, chairs are toppling over, someone yells “I KNEW IT!”
And me?
I’m clinging to his shirt like an idiot because I’m pretty sure my knees have just given out.
A second later, he pulls back, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
I stare at him, stunned.
“You…” I shake my head, still catching my breath. “You planned that.”
His lips twitch. “Had to give the people what they wanted, Quinn.”
The fans go insane.
And okay, maybe sports romance isn’t entirely unrealistic.
Then I realize something important. Love—like hockey—is about risk, trust, and knowing when to take the shot.