“We could go together, leave together,” he said, his tone hopeful.
I placed my palms on his chest. “You’ll be busy schmoozing.”
He grunted. “But you’d add vibrancy—no, joy.” He grinned. “You’d add joy to the schmoozefest. For me at least, and I’m selfish. You could tell them about the most recent book?—”
I forced a laugh. “Stop. No one’s interested in my reading list.”
“You’d be surprised.” His knuckles drifted down my cheek. “I’m fascinated by the depth and breadth of your knowledge.”
When he talked like that, my defenses melted into nonexistence.
“Go with me.” He leaned closer, his gaze intent. “Be my date. Come home with me. It’ll be a late one. You won’t have to disturb your mother.”
I bit my lip. “I’ll have to get ready here, and I already asked Jay if I could arrive about eight thirty, after Mom takes her pills.”
A wrinkle formed in his brow. “But you could come home with me? We can bring breakfast or brunch here Saturday. Spend some time with your mother then.”
My heart swelled. He wants to spend time with me. “Okay. I can pack a bag?—”
“Do that now so you don’t change your mind,” he said. “I’ll put it in my car, take it back to my place tonight.”
I batted my eyelashes, mainly because I wanted to keep my own expectations at the appropriate level. “Eager?”
His breath fanned over my lips as he stared into my eyes. “You have no idea.”
Gunnar didn’t lean forward to kiss me, so I didn’t push it. But I did make sure to slide my breasts across his chest as I sidled away from the sink.
By the time I returned with an overnight bag, Gunnar had loaded and started the dishwasher and wiped down the kitchen. He took the bag from me, hooking his free arm around my waist. He brushed his lips over mine again with gentle urgency before he stepped back, hunger clear in his eyes. “I can’t wait to see you at the Gala, Z.”
I saw him out and then touched my lips, dazed by the potency of that brief kiss and the joy his nickname brought. It was a heady cocktail that allowed me to float up the stairs to my room. Friday couldn’t arrive soon enough.
Chapter 20
Gunnar
I stood behind the bench, as I had all season thus far, my arms folded, jaw tight. At least this time it wasn’t frustration. It was focus.
The scoreboard read 2–2, and we were in the third period, with less than two minutes until the end of regulation.
“Come on, boys,” Cormac muttered as he tapped his stick.
The puck dropped. Fast. Fluid. The Wildcatters passed clean, working as a unit. No showboating. No solo acts.
Our other rookie, Brayden Blackwell—Jeff’s replacement on the ice while I tried to offload him—skated hard to the crease and passed back to Cormac.
Slap shot.
Blue light. Goal!
The bench erupted with relieved cheers while the crowd roared.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. The social media team—probably Zaila, since she was the one with her laptop at the games—had posted a video of the goal. Caption: Culture: earned.
The arena announcer boomed, “Cormac Bouchard with the game winner!”
Cormac skated straight to Brayden and hugged him, whispering something in his ear. The rest of the team piled into a victorious huddle.
I let out a long breath, eyes lifting to the press box. Zaila stood against the glass, fist raised, eyes shining.
