Bloody bad number

One text sent to the wrong number… my number… and everything changes. He refuses to tell me his surname, which should probably be warning enough. But when I am completely alone in a new city and barely managing to pay the bills, his messages are the only lifeline I desperately cling to. If I had known those texts were coming from Lincoln Daniels – one of the biggest stars in ice hockey – I would never have replied. Now he is trying to win me over. He claims he is obsessed with me. He wants me to wear his jersey number… forever. The question is… will he always just be a wrong number to me, or can this hockey god prove he is the one?