But then she sat there with her bare feet tucked onto the stool, drinking the coffee I made exactly right, and eating the fruit I cut just for her, and I had this insane moment of imagining this as a normal morning. Like I could wake up, walk into the kitchen, and see her there every day… for the rest of my life.
I sit up slowly, scrubbing both hands over my face like I can wipe the intensity of last night out of my brain. No luck—every detail is still there, replaying on a loop I can’t seem to shut off.
I roll out of bed before my brain starts building a future I have absolutely no business thinking about.
I stretch, brush my teeth, and catch myself staring at the ring she slid onto my finger two nights ago. I expected it to feel weird, unfamiliar, like it was something borrowed, but it’s warm now, snug and settled on my hand like it’s supposed to be there.
That realization does no good for my peace of mind.
I pull on my hoodie and sweats, grab my gym bag, and head for the kitchen. Her door is still closed, and with how early it is, she might still be asleep. I make myself a protein shake and pour itinto a shaker cup and then defrost two frozen breakfast burritos that I’ll inhale before the elevator even hits the garage level. I don’t want to wake her up with my early-morning cooking routine. I know yesterday took a lot out of her… I can feel it in the tension of her feet when I massage them out. Being able to touch her like that last night was something else. I tried not to make it obvious, tried to focus on the reels Coach wanted us to study, but it was hard with the light moans she made every time I hit the right spot, massaging out years of muscle stress. There’s a hell of a lot more places I would have liked to massage if she had let me, but I practiced restraint from taking things any further.
I lock up behind me. As I wait for the elevator, her image flashes again—standing in the middle of the living room yesterday, hair in a tight bun, body stretching like she didn’t even have bones.
I’d walked out thinking I’d just say goodbye before practice.
I’d ended up frozen like a complete idiot, watching her lift her leg in an impossible arc, balancing with effortless control, every line precise. Or at least it looked that way from my untrained eye. Her back curved, her foot pointed. And then she caught me… staring at her perfect ass.
I finally understand what Wolf meant about ballerinas in the bedroom. I have no doubt now that she’d destroy me, and she’d enjoy every moment of it.
The elevator doors slide open, and I step inside, pressing the button for the lobby. I try to force my brain toward hockey, toward practice, toward anything that doesn’t involve her.
The elevator dings, the doors open, and I blow out a long breath before climbing and stuffing half of my first burrito down my throat.
Time to get my head straight before I see Luka, before I tell him about the text from their father, before I admit out loud thatthe situation is more volatile than we thought… or maybe just more than I thought.
She trusts me, and that’s what gets to me the most about our last two days together. She barely knows me, and yet the honesty in her voice when she told me about the message let me know she trusts me… at some level. The quiet terror she tried to hide but couldn’t.
All in one moment, suddenly this marriage—this fake, temporary, for-the-sake-of-a-visa marriage and her father’s expectation—doesn’t feel quite as cut and dry as the idea that this will last for a few months and then we’ll get a quickie divorce and be done with it.
It feels like a responsibility, like one of the biggest promises I’ve ever made, a line that might be hard to un-cross later.
I adjust the strap of my gym bag as I walk the two blocks to the stadium. I could have driven, but I needed the walk. I needed time to think through everything.
“This is fine,” I mutter to myself. “Totally fine. I’m not falling for her. Nope. Not even close.”
The question in my head asks me if I’m lying to myself for Luka’s benefit… or my own.There’s silence for a beat and then…
“All right… maybe I’m falling for her a little.”
Another beat passes.
“Okay, I’m absolutely screwed.”
I turn the corner towards the stadium. I can see it in sight now.
I run through the things I can control: practice, teamwork, game nights.
Everything else: wedding kisses, silk robes, tiny smiles, and her sleeping across the hall from me, I have to shove into the farthest corner of my brain and hope I don’t accidentally say any of it out loud to Luka.
Or to her.
I’m already in farther than I meant to be, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to find my way back out.
By the time I walk into the Hawkeyes facility, my brain has made absolutely zero progress on calming down.
The locker room is mostly empty when I push inside. A couple of equipment guys move around, organizing sticks and setting gear in cubbies. Someone’s blasting early-2000s hip hop from the weight room.
And then there’s Luka.
