Sleet Kitten: Book One of the Sleet Series
Sleet Kitten: Chapter 7

Three shared beers later . . .

“Then the movie was ending, and I realized I’d slept through the whole thing! And instead of being cute about it, I had to run to the bathroom as soon as I woke up.”

“I hear ya on that one, darling,” Mary commiserates with me.

We’ve had our eyes on the game, but I’ve made it through the story of last night. The Sleet are up 2-to-1, it’s the start of the third period, and Jackson assisted on the second goal. Hockey is so much more fun than I expected. Watching Jackson on the ice is a bit nerve-wracking, but Mary has done a good job of keeping me settled.

“Yeah, so, then he walked me to the door. I’d already decided that I wasn’t going to ask for his number.”

“Why not? Women can ask for numbers. This is the twenty-first century, Kitten.” Mary dissolves into giggles.

It’s hard to tell this story without mentioning the Kitten part, which she thinks is adorable. And since I didn’t want to jinx this, whatever this is, I haven’t told anyone else about last night yet. It’s nice to finally share and get a little female feedback.

“Yeah, well, in the twenty-first century it still sucks to get rejected by big hot guys when you ask for their number and they turn you down.” In my peripheral vision I can see Mary give a head nod.

“So, what happened when you left? Did he kiss you?”

I groan. “No. He leaned in like he might but instead said something all sexy into my ear and then opened the door for me to go. I believe ‘Good night, Kitten. Sweet dreams’ were his parting words.” I say that as if I haven’t replayed them over and over in my mind since then.

“And then today you get a surprise package, so you can wear his jersey and attend his game. He might be going slow on the physical side of things, but I think it’s safe to say that he likes youuuuuuuuu!”

Mary starts to scream as everyone jumps to their feet to watch Jackson break away with the puck. I’ve joined in with the rest of the crowd, on my feet shouting, and when Jackson strikes the puck past the goalie’s outstretched glove into the net, I jump up and down like a crazy person.

Somehow, I’m now wearing Mary’s big foam finger, waving it above my head while the crowd starts to chant “Jack-son, Jack-son!”

While the arena goes wild, Jackson skates past, looks right at me, and winks. My heart stops. He’s smiling, sweaty, breathing heavily, and I think I just had an orgasm.

My thighs shake and I drop down into my seat. Glancing over, I see that Mary has the popcorn box up and almost covering her face. I think it’s to hide her shit-eating grin. I don’t know why she is so excited about the fact that Jackson might have a thing for me. But she is just so damn maternal, I bet it’s in her blood to cheer on romance.

With five minutes left in the game, a guy in a suit, who looks like he might work here, waves to get my attention from the aisle. He holds up a familiar-looking white envelope in his hand and motions it toward me. When I nod in recognition, he hands it to the person on the end of the row indicating that they should pass it down.

After hearing my story already, I’m pretty sure Mary knows exactly what this is, too. Opening the envelope, I replace another card inside.

Little Kitten,

I know I’ve already taken up a lot of your time tonight with this game, but I’m greedy. Please come to our after-game gathering at The Den. It’s a bar not too far from here. I have to arrive with the team, or else I would offer you a ride.

Your Player