Page 107 of Rule 4: Never Get Stranded with a Sports Reporter

He pulls me into a crushing hug the moment I’m close enough, lifting me slightly off my feet.

“Jesus, I missed you so much,” he murmurs against my neck. “I know it’s only been since this morning, but today was...” He pulls back to look at me, hands cupping my face. “Terrible. Absolutely terrible.”

“What happened?”

“Dinner with Tanaka.”

“The billionaire?” My jaw drops. Tanaka is on the covers of magazines. He’s a huge deal. There’s a reason why the Blizzards have the nicest arena in the country.

And Jason had dinner with him?

“Like a team thing?” I ask.

“What?” He shakes his head. “No way. That man has serious regrets about investing in a sports team. It was just me and his family.”

“Oh.” I grin. “Just you and his family.”

“Uh-huh.” Jason’s expression darkens. “I’ll tell you about it later. But first—” His face lights up again. “I have a surprise.” He takes my hand and practically drags me toward the kitchen. “Look what I brought back.”

On the counter sits an elegant white box tied with ribbon, the kind that screams expensive bakery.

“Desserts from Tanaka’s dinner,” Jason explains, already untying the ribbon with eager fingers. “They probably didn’t think I’d accept the offer to bring them back, but I did.” His grin turns mischievous. “Actually, I told them they were for my significant other.”

My heart skips. “You said what?”

Jason’s cheeks flush pink.

“Jason...” I stare at him, warmth spreading through my chest.

“Is that correct?” he asks hopefully. “You are, right? Fuck, this will be embarrassing, if...”

I take him into my arms and kiss him hard. I pull back, and his eyes are dazed. “Yes, Jason, I’m your significant other.”

His eyes soften, and my body melts.

I kiss him again.

Tessa still has a point. I know damn well Tanaka thought Jason was talking about a girlfriend. Still... My heart is a gooey mess.

“So, these fancy desserts are for your significant other?” I tease.

“They are.” He opens the box with a flourish. “And I can’t eat them anyway because of my diet, but I want to watch you enjoy every single bite.”

Inside are perfect little works of art—delicate pastries with gold leaf, that wouldn’t look out of place in a museum.

“You’re going to feed me fancy desserts?”

“I’m going to feed you fancy desserts in bed while we watch hockey,” he corrects, already picking up the box. “Come on, significant other.”

I laugh and follow him to the bedroom, Tessa’s warnings forgotten. Because Jason called me his significant other—to another person, out loud—and that must count for something.

We settle onto his king-sized bed, the dessert box between us and the Montreal versus New York game on his massive TV. Jason carefully selects a small cake topped with what looks like marzipan and holds it out to me.

“Open up, significant other.”

“If you keep saying that, I’m going to get a complex,” I say, but I’m grinning as I take the bite.

“Good complex or bad complex?”