I sat up, heart pounding. Should I stay in bed and pretend I was asleep? Or bolt down the hallway and look every inch of the girlfriend in a movie cliché? But I couldn’t move. The win or the headlines would fade—not this feeling that had declared itself last night. It was rooted. It didn’t want to stay hidden. Dating and fun kisses were one thing. This was the wild, terrifying reality of falling for Sean Murphy.
Chapter twenty-three
Sean
I walked quietly toward my room, trying not to wake Cassy or Mel. I knew she was here—Abby had texted when she handed off the keys—but seeing the curve of her bumper in the driveway headlights still hit me with a jolt. That kind of thrill you only get when you win two jackpots in one night: the woman asleep under my roof and the team headed to the Cup.
My muscles tightened sharper than they should at this hour. I was exhausted but still jacked on adrenaline.We were going to the Stanley Cup. The phrase kept looping in my head. It’d been a crazy ride—hell, still was. I’d answered a flood of texts mid-flight, and my phone hadn’t stopped buzzing since. I couldn’t even look at social media right now; it was probably wilder than the Wild West.
More than anything, I wanted to see Mel and share this win with her.
Her Game 6 text nearly wrecked me, yet it steadied me from inside out, all at once. Who writesI believe in you more than anyone ever hasand then threatens to kiss you win or lose? My Cutie, apparently. And damn, I’d never admit it to the guys, but that barrette line carried me straight through the overtime grind last night.
I needed to find out where she was without waking her if she was out. I kicked off my shoes, peeled off my socks, and padded down the hall. She wasn’t in Abby’s room, and Cassy’s door was cracked the way Abby liked it. That left the other two.
I opened the first door slowly, heart drumming a solo rock concert in my chest. Her silhouette rose from the bed. I stepped inside and shut the door softly behind me.
“Hi,” I whispered, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the mattress.
She pushed up onto her elbows, hair tousled. “Hi.”
“I didn’t wake you, did I?”
She shook her head, smiling. “No. I’m so happy for you. Stanley Cup finals… That’s huge.”
I exhaled. “I don’t think I quite believe it yet.”
She reached out and pinched my arm. “Do you believe it now?”
I chuckled. “After promising to kiss me, win or lose, this is all I get?”
She smiled wider, sleep-soft and flushed, which broke something loose in me. I didn’t reach for her, not this time. I’d kissed her in different ways—teasing, breathless, heat simmering—but she’d never been the one to initiate. Now,something about her tousled hair and bare honesty told me it was her turn, and I was ready for it.
She sat up, shifted toward me, and lifted a hand to my face. I stilled under her touch, feeling her hesitation. Then came the softest press of her lips on my cheek, featherlight. Then the other side, then my jaw. One kiss after another. I didn’t move or speak, I let her keep going. My breath slowed, heart pounding loud enough I was sure she could hear it.
Finally, her mouth hovered over mine, barely a breath of space between us. I tipped forward the smallest inch without pressure.
She kissed me.
Slowly, she moved her lips against mine. I kissed her back, answering every question she didn’t ask aloud.Yes, I feel this too. Yes, I’m yours if you want me.
Her fingers slid to the back of my neck, warm and sure. My hands locked on her waist, pulling her closer. Her tongue darted into my mouth, and I met it, sliding mine against hers, coaxing, stroking. Suddenly there was no space left, her body pressed fully into mine, our mouths moving with a hunger that stole the air from my lungs. A groan rumbled out of me, swallowed by her kiss. My chest burned, but I didn’t care. Every second with her was oxygen enough.
When we finally pulled apart, I let my forehead rest against hers.
“You always initiate,” she whispered, breathless.
I smiled. “It was yours to give. Now I get to grade you.”
She laughed softly. “So? How did I do?”
I pursed my lips, mock serious. “I was distracted and missed some key technique. You might need to give a second performance.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You screw up your own assignment?”
Then she playfully but firmly pushed me back with both hands on my chest. I let myself fall, chuckling, and pulled her downwith me. She landed on top of me, our faces inches apart. The mood shifted. The teasing gave way to tension, the kind that holds everything still. Our eyes locked.
“Cutie, for the record, you were perfect,” I murmured, brushing her hair back.
