Page 10 of The Fake Husband Play (That Steamy Hockey Romance #1)

The wave of recognition is so strong it snatches the breath out of my lungs. It’s her. There’s no doubt about that now. It’s my Mystery Girl from Magazine Street, looking even prettier up close.

And sadder.

And sweeter.

One look in her sad but startled eyes, and I’m pretty sure I’d give my signing bonus to make sure she never cries again.

At least not without me there to hold her.

I remind myself that love at first sight is for teenagers and stalkers, but there’s no denying the rush of warmth that fills my chest as I ease into the shadows beside her.

“It’s you,” she breathes, blinking fast as she adds, “from the party, I mean. I um… I saw you walk in.”

“I saw you, too,” I say, but stop myself before I add that I also saw her on the street a few days back and developed an instant, borderline-weird obsession. No need to share everything. “You’re tall. Taller than the rest of the cocktail waitresses, I mean, so…”

“I am,” she adds, still looking a little stunned.

Good, hopefully she’s too stunned to realize how badly I’m flubbing the flirt so far. Pull it together, Graves. You are fluent in two languages, so start communicating.

“So, tell me what’s got you down,” I say, sliding down the wall to sit beside her, doing my best not to notice how good she smells, like fresh herbs and laundry detergent and a hint of floral perfume. “Is it just the job stuff? ”

She winces and gives a quick shake of her head. “No, we don’t have to talk about my problems. I mean, you’re here to enjoy the?—”

“Stop it. I want to. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t,” I cut in, nudging her knee with mine. “Come on, let it out. You’ll feel better after. I always do.”

She pulls in a shaky breath, and her story tumbles out.

She lost her job as a fact checker at a news station due to downsizing, has spent the past few days parsing through insurance paperwork that reads like “sadistic Ikea furniture instructions written by people who literally hate other humans,” and has a six-year-old daughter who needs regular access to medical care.

A daughter.

It’s a surprise—she looks way too young to have a six-year-old—but not a bad one. I love kids, and I was once the child of a single mom myself.

“And so, I emailed the head of HR to get some clarity on everything, because it just didn’t make sense,” she continues, rubbing at the back of her neck.

“And she just got back to me, saying I’ll have to pay a hundred and two percent of my premium to maintain coverage through CObrA.

A hundred and two percent! On top of all the copays for my daughter’s medications, and I just…

I don’t know how I’m going to make that happen.

I mean, I can only get cocktail gigs every once and a while, and it seems like no one is hiring right now, and I… ”

She trails off, her lips trembling as she fights to keep fresh tears at bay.

“I’m so sorry, chère ,” I murmur, meaning it. “That’s damned hard. And not right. No kid should have to worry about getting the medicine they need. Especially not in a country as rich as this one.”

“Right? I mean, it’s just so awful and sad.” She turns to me, her eyes shining. “But you are so nice. Like… so nice. For real nice.”

“I try to be,” I say, with a soft laugh. “Like my mama always said, it doesn’t cost a damned cent extra to be kind. And we need more kindness in the world.”

“My foster mom used to say that, too,” she says, a smile curving her lips. “And now, I say it to Mimi. Mimi is my little girl’s name.”

“It’s a pretty one,” I say, wishing we knew each other well enough for me to offer her a hug.

Yes, I’ve been having impure thoughts about this woman for days, but right now, I just want to hold her and promise her everything will be all right.

We’re quiet for a long moment, smiling at each other in the dim room as the air charges with something I can’t name but don’t want to lose. Something that makes me want to touch her face, to whisper that I’ll do whatever I can to make sure her baby never suffers and she doesn’t, either.

Mystery Woman isn’t a complete mystery anymore; she’s a beautiful, funny, fierce single mom, working a part-time catering job in a tiny pair of shorts to provide for her sick kid, and I’m pretty sure I just finished falling head over heels for her.

But before I can figure out a way to tell her I want to help without hurting her pride, her phone rings.

Her eyes go round at the sound, a digital rendition of a song that was popular a year or so ago.

“Oh God, that’s Nancy, my babysitter’s ring.

She only calls when I’m at work if something’s wrong.

Shit!” She answers on the second ring in a breathless rush, “Nancy? What’s wrong? Is Mimi okay, are you?—”

She breaks off with a soft gasp.

I can’t hear the other side of the conversation, but one look at her rapidly paling face is all I need to know it’s not good news. In the span of a few seconds, her expression transitions from worried to panicked.

“I’m on my way right now. Hang tight.” She’s already moving, scrambling to her feet while balancing the phone between her ear and shoulder.

“No, Nancy, don’t worry about the cost of the ambulance.

You were right to call 911. You don’t have a car and you can’t carry a kid spiking a hundred and four fever down to the bus.

I’ll meet you at the hospital as fast as I can.

I just have to find my boss and tell her I have to go. ”

She hangs up and starts for the door. “I’m sorry, I have to—” She trips over my foot in the cramped space, but I catch her before she hits the ground.

My hands go around her waist, pulling her close to steady her. For a moment, we’re chest to chest, her hands braced on my shoulders, both of us breathing faster from the sudden contact.

“I’ve got you,” I say, meaning it more than I should.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” she whispers, but she doesn’t step away. “I have to tell Charlotte that Mimi is sick and find an Uber or something. The bus will be way too slow.”

“Where are you headed? Saint Bart’s ER?”

She shakes her head. “No, the Children’s Hospital. Nancy said that’s where they’re taking her.”

I nod. “Great. That’s closer. I’ve got a car. I’ll take you. Meet me out front by the valet stand?”

“But what about the party? ”

“Screw the party,” I say. “We need to get you to your girl. She’ll feel so much better with her mama there.”

Her big brown eyes begin to shine again. “You’re right. She will. Thank you so much. I’ll meet you out front as fast as I can.”

“I’ll see you there, chère ,” I assure her as we step into the hall. “Just keep breathing. We’ll get you through this in one piece.”

“Thank you. Really. So much,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at me one last time before turning to run down the hall as fast as her heeled feet will carry her.

I head for the valet stand, hesitating only a beat to tell Parker that a friend of mine needs me to drive her to the hospital, and he’ll have to find another way home.

“Of course, brother,” he says, his blue eyes worried. “Take care and let me know how it goes. I hope everything’s okay.”

“Thanks. Me, too,” I say, thankful for his understanding. I have a feeling he’d be just as cool about this if he knew my “friend” is a woman I’ve known all of ten minutes.

Parker’s good people.

So is…

My thoughts stutter to a stop as I realize I still don’t know Mystery Girl’s name. I didn’t give her mine, either.

But that’s something we can remedy on the way to the hospital.

I’m so glad I’m going with her. She shouldn’t have to face something like this alone. I don’t know exactly what’s happening between us, whether it’s Fate or coincidence or just a case of New Orleans being a smaller city than most people give it credit for.

All I know for certain is that it feels like I was supposed to be here tonight, and now I’m supposed to go with her.

To take her where she needs to go, no matter where the night leads.