“What about a goodnight kiss?”
I smirk. “I guess it depends on how you feel about me by the time I take you home, huh?”
“A good 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 between us, 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.”
“So far, so good.” She winks.
Ten minutes later, we pull up out the front of the Wells Fargo Center, where the Philadelphia Flyers play hockey.
Jemma glances out the window, her mouth opens in shock. “What are we doing here? Are we seeing a show?”
“Nope. It’s a surprise.”
“But you said to dress up.”
Tony opens the door and helps Jemma out of the car. I hook her arm through mine and steer her toward the front doors, where Murph awaits us. Murph, who’s now in his late seventies, has been here since my father was a Flyer. He’s a staple around here. My dad told me he was even here to greet my parents when they came here for one of their dates.
I got the idea to take Jemma here from my dad. Lame, I know, but he’s good with this stuff. Since I’ve never been on a date of this caliber before, I had to ask Mr. Romance, aka my dad. Everyone in the hockey world might know the legendary hockey player and now general manager, Tyler Kane, but that’s not the person I know at home. He’s always doing something special for my mom, something way over the top, so I knew he would have a plan for me to impress Jemma.
“Mr. Kane,” Murph says to me, ushering us inside.
“Mr. Kane is my father,” I joke, though I’m somewhat serious. “Trent,” I offer in case he can’t tell me apart from my brother.
It doesn’t help we both look like our dad. Some of the employees in the Wells Fargo Center have often confused Trent or me, without looking directly at us, only to realize we’re the much younger versions of him.
“And who is this beauty?” Murph gives Jemma a quick smile.
She blushes, holding out her hand for him to shake. “Hi, I’m Jemma.”
“Stop hitting on my girl, Murph.” I laugh and so does he. The man is like a grandfather to me.
Jemma raises her eyebrows at me. “I’m your girl? How presumptuous.”
“You will be by the end of the night.”
She chuckles. “Such an arrogant ass.”
“It’s part of the Kane charm.”
“That you all are,” Murph says, leading us through the halls of the event center. “All of the Kane men are this way, Jemma. You’ll get used to it.”
“Charming, I hope you mean,” I say to Murph, and he smiles at me over his shoulder, not offering more.
Once we reach the door, which leads out to the main floor, Murph stops, because he knows the plan. I remove a silk scarf from my trousers pocket. It’s the same color as Jemma’s hair.
As I lean forward to slip it over her eyes, she reaches for the fabric. “What are you doing, Trent?”
At least this time she knows it’s me.
I keep my hands still, the scarf in front of her eyes, almost touching her face. “Do you trust me?”
Jemma bites her lip. “Um… I guess.”
“You’ll love it,” I promise. “Just go with the flow and be surprised.”
She gulps. “Okay.”
Jemma allows me to tie the scarf over her eyes, and then Murph leads us through the hall and to the edge of the ice. The Flyers played at home last night. Tomorrow night, the Sixers are home. Normally, the ice would be replaced by a hardwood basketball floor by now, but my dad had asked for a few extra hours, which makes my time here with Jemma limited.
She tugs her jacket closed and then rubs her hands down her arms, a shiver running through her. “Why is it so cold in here?”
I’m used to the cold. I could sit here in a pair of shorts and think nothing of it.
“Okay, so don’t freak out,” I whisper into her ear. “We’re about to step onto the ice.”
“Ice,” she screams, reaching for the scarf over her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Clutching Jemma’s shoulders, I grip them tighter, attempting to calm her down. Because she’s trembling, I lift the scarf enough for her to see the circular dinner table set up at center ice. Candles flicker from a distance, as our server, who’s dressed in all black, finishes the preparations when he sees us.
She gasps, her mouth as wide as her eyes. “Trent, you…”
Shouldn’t have? No, I owe this to her. Jemma deserves a thousand dates like this one.
Stunned, Jemma has no idea what to say. Her mouth keeps opening, as if she wants to speak, but the words seem to fail her every time. Even I’m surprised by how well this turned out. My dad told me to leave everything to him, and he exceeded my expectations.