I’m a lucky man.
Her green eyes widen as she rakes over my body. “Well, don’t you look handsome?”
I wear an Armani suit, a white Oxford, and black wingtips. I even stayed my hair with gel for the occasion.
I offer her a bouquet of red roses. “You look beautiful.”
Why am I so nervous?
I’m so afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing with her. I can’t blow my shot. Well, I didn’t do anything wrong last time. But still…
Jemma fills a vase with water and arranges the bouquet on the table, and then we’re on our way. I lead her out of Penn Hall and through the Quad, where students gawk at us. We look damn good, all dressed up.
“What do you have up your sleeve tonight?” Jemma asks.
“You’ll see,” I tease. “Have patience, gorgeous.”
She shoots me a curious expression when I stop in front of the stretch limo waiting for us at the curb. The driver opens the door for Jemma.
“Good evening, Miss Walcott,” he says.
Jemma smiles and says hello. She glances over her shoulder at me, shock scrolling across her beautiful face.
I place my hand on her shoulder. “Ladies first.”
Jemma shakes her head, a smile tugging at her mouth. “You’re up to something, Trenton Kane.”
I laugh at her use of my full name. “Just making up for lost time.”
I’m not one to half-ass things. Tonight has to be perfect—like Jemma and her fine ass in this dress. I close my hand into a fist and bite down on it, my eyes focusing on Jemma as she climbs into the limo. It’s hard not to think of the dirty things I want to do with her.
Once inside the limo, I slide across the leather bench. Our thighs touch, the heat from her body warming mine. Jemma folds her hands on her lap, staring at the mini bar with a bottle of champagne chilling on ice.
I grab the bottle and two glasses from the granite top. “Want a drink?”
“Yes, please.”
I fill two glasses of champagne for us and hand one to Jemma, who clutches the stem with a shaky hand. At least we’re both nervous. Now, I feel like less of a loser for being so damn freaked out over this date.
“I have to say something.” I turn to Jemma, and she sips from her glass. “I want you to have fun tonight. There’s no pressure. I want to show you a good time, and then I’ll walk you to your door. I don’t expect anything more.”
“What about a goodnight kiss?”
“I guess it depends on how you feel about me when I take you home.”
“A date usually ends with a kiss,” she whispers.
Only a few inches separate us, our mouths so close together now I can feel her breath on my lips. The air hums with an electric sensation that spreads up my arms, heat warming my face.
“It’s a good thing I plan to make this the best date you’ve ever had.”
She winks. “So far, so good.”
Ten minutes later, we park at the Wells Fargo Center, where the Philadelphia Flyers play hockey. I begged my dad to help me with my date. Since he’s the Flyers general manager, getting a few hours alone was easy. And he always has good ideas when it comes to unique dates.
Jemma glances out the window, her mouth opens in shock. “What are we doing here? Are we seeing a show?”
“It’s a surprise.”
