Tess Owens would be radiant in anything. She can’t help herself. God, this woman is under my skin. What the hell am I going to do about it? “You all leave in the morning?” she says, her hand brushing down my arm. I nod. “Seven a.m. lobby time,” I reply. “It’s back to Jax for a few days, then we’ve got back-to-back games in Texas before we head up to the Winter Classic in New York.”
