Page 40 of Against the Clock

Sure enough, beneath the orange tissue paper is a plastic-wrapped jersey, navy with gold print. The name Harrison screams across the back, along with his number.

“He sent you his jersey? That’s so fucking cuuuuuute, Kelsey, I cannot even. I can’t. That means he’s serious.”

I riffle through the rest of the package. It’s all Beavers merchandise. A coffee mug. A huge tumbler. More shirts, so many shirts. Sweatpants emblazoned with the beaver on the hip.

I hold them up to Cameron and she laughs.

“God, like we need to put a beaver face next to our crotches. Who designs this shit?”

I pull the jersey out of the plastic, surprised how wildly my heart’s beating.

“You look weird. Tell me what else the note said,” Cameron insists, but I can’t. Instead, I hold the note up to the phone camera so she can read it herself.

“Wear my jersey tomorrow, so no one forgets who you’re with—me,” Cameron reads, then squeals. “Whoo, that is hot.”

I hold the jersey up to myself.

Daniel Harrison has all the subtlety of the beaver logo on the sweatpants.

I’m not sure I mind.

CHAPTER 17

DANIEL

The hotel room is familiar and foreign all at once. The air conditioner clicks on, and I sit on the edge of the king-sized bed listening to it whir, too loud in the silence of the room.

I’ve spent too many nights alone in hotels just like this, breathing in the recycled, stale air, my muscles in various states of soreness, trying to sleep alone the night before a game.

I’m so fucking tired of sleeping alone.

I miss my bed. I miss my house, deep in the woods in South Jersey, my garden.

And I shouldn’t because it’s too fucking new, but I miss Kelsey.

As soon as I think of her, desire kicks into overdrive.

My fingers are dialing her number before my brain has time to think better of it. At least we're in the same time zone—makes it a hell of a lot easier.

She picks up on the third ring, sounding sleepy.

“Hello?” she asks, and her voice sends a shiver of pleasure through me.

“Kelsey Cole,” I say, my voice a low growl. Fuck, I want her again. I wish she were here. “What are you doing?”

“Honestly?” she laughs, and I close my eyes, drinking in the sound. “I know it’s only nine-thirty, but I’m going to bed. I had too much to drink at brunch with Cameron, and I’ve had a killer hangover all day.”

“Sounds like you did have a lot of responsibilities today,” I say, laughing. “That sounds more fun than my day, that’s for sure.”

“Well, I got a little work done, too,” her tone is slightly prickly, and I instantly regret my gentle teasing.

“No, I think it’s awesome that you went out with your friend. Just laughing, sorry. Been a long day of training and discussing the game plan for tomorrow.”

“Thank you for the flowers,” she says after a beat. “They’re beautiful. They’ve made my whole apartment smell amazing.”

She doesn’t mention the other package, the one full of Beavers merch. Or the note.

“Did you get the other thing?” I lie down on the bed, keeping my eyes closed, imagining she’s in bed next to me and not miles away in her apartment in Philadelphia.