It swallows her, name and number stretched bold across her back, pads and shorts bulking it out, shin guards strapped like she’s game ready. Stick in her hand. Black stripes smeared under her eyes that are very much not a hockey thing. I’ll have to remember to tell her.
She looks ridiculous. She looks breathtaking.
She looks like mine.
The air sticks in my throat, my grip on the beer bottle tightening.
I told her once, weeks ago now, that if there was anything I wanted, it was to see her in my jersey. But we agreed we couldn’t. There’d be too many questions if she showed up at a game with Miller 82 on her back. There was no loophole to wearing my jersey when Eli’s right there.
But she’s found one.
And it’s here, at the street's Halloween party, with the whole damn crew watching.
My chest squeezes so tight it hurts. No one’s ever done something like this for me. Not my parents, or a past girlfriend. No one. And now here she is, looking like mine in the one way I thought I’d never get.
“Wait.” Eli’s voice cuts sharp, suspicion flaring. “Why the hell would you pickMillerout of everyone?”
Lulu doesn’t flinch. She tips her chin, smirk curling, quick and practiced. “Because he lives across the street. Figured it’d be funny—rivalry, you know? Parnell versus Miller. It’s neighborhood lore now.”
A ripple of laughter breaks the tension, and Chase cups his hands. “Fight to the death! Winner keeps the mailbox!”
Eli doesn’t laugh. He keeps his eyes on her, chewing his cupcake like he’s waiting for the slip.
Tamara’s gaze lingers, sharp and assessing, while Zoe’s lips twitch into a smirk, eyes bouncing between Lulu and me as if she’s piecing together a puzzle.
Reid doesn’t react, just keeps sipping his beer, but the bastard knows I’m sweating. And Betty’s grinning like the devil herself, as if she's watching the best soap opera of her life.
Tamara steps in, tilting her head. “You could’ve picked anyone. Why not Jake? Or Hutch?”
Lulu shrugs, flipping her stick like it’s no big deal. “Because Jake’s already got Noah repping twenty-seven. And Hutch would’ve refused to play along. He hates costume stuff.”
“Not wrong,” Reid mutters under his breath, before taking another sip of his beer.
A few chuckles ripple through the group, but Tamara’s gaze lingers.
Then Zoe folds her arms smirk curling slowly. “Funny, Lu—but you do know what wearing Miller’s name means, right?”
“No—no. No, no, no,” calls Eli, pointing a finger at Zoe. “This doesn’t count. This isn’t a WAG wearing a jersey, Carlson!”
For a heartbeat, Lulu falters. Just the tiniest catch, her eyes shooting to mine like she can’t help it.
And I’m fucked.
The world narrows to the way she’s standing there in my name, my number, chest rising quick under fabric I’ve worn a hundred times. She’s trying to laugh and hold her composure, but that wobble, that look—it’s enough to gut me.
I want to cross the yard and tell every single one of them she’s all mine, but I force myself to huff out a laugh and tip my beer like it’s all a gag. “Guess I’ll allow it. Could be worse.”
My voice comes out unfazed, but my pulse is hammering, because this couldn’t be anybetter.
Her. In my name, in front of everyone.
All I want is to drag her inside and never let her take it off.
Instead, I watch her while trying to make it look like I’m not. She doesn’t come to me right away, of course. That'd be too obvious.
She plays the part, doing a slow circuit of the yard. Theo toddles over, foam puck in hand, and she crouches to play a round with him. He shrieks with laughter when she lets him “score” against her shin pad, and my knuckles go white around my bottle watching her.
Then she drifts toward Dusty, crouching to fix his mane while he tries to lick her entire face off. She giggles, scratches behind his ears, then presses her cheek into his fur.
