The Wingman (Vancouver Storm, #3)

by Stephanie Archer

I huff a laugh. “Whatever. Don’t blame me when the windows start shaking because you’re sawing logs.” Her smile stretches wide, and I thank that dumb bird for flying into her window and making this situation happen. “I’m going to turn the light out,” I tell her, and she nods. I reach over my shoulder and click the lamp off, darkening the room. Even with the blinds closed, a soft glow from the city lights outside sneaks through. I listen to the sound of our breathing, but my mind wanders back to the bar tonight. How she looked so terrified at the idea of the team using her hockey models. A memory resurfaces—years ago, her talking with animated excitement about her new job. For six months after we graduated from university, Darcy worked for the Canadian Department of Agriculture as a data analyst. I still remember the way her voice sounded when she talked about her job, full of interest and excitement. “Hey, Darce?”