He laughs, low and warm, but there’s something off about his smile. Not fake—distracted. Tighter around the edges.
She blinks harder, finally sitting up, clutching the sheet to her chest like modesty suddenly matters. “Wait—why are you dressed? What time is it? And you already brushed your teeth? Betrayer.”
He huffs a quiet laugh but doesn’t answer right away. His eyes flick toward the window, then back to her, and that strange expression sharpens.
“I got a call,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh…I have to leave.”
That shakes the sleep straight out of her system. “Leave?” she echoes. “Why?”
He hesitates long enough for her stomach to knot. Then he meets her eyes. “The Mavericks’ goalie went down last night. Pulled a groin muscle. They need a backup on the bench tonight. I’m heading to Brooklyn.”
“Oh my god. Garrett, that’s huge!”
He shrugs. “Probably won’t see the ice.”
She sees through his act instantly.
He’s trying to play it cool. But his knee bounces, restless. His jaw tightens as if he’s chewing on the what-ifs. And his eyes…his eyes are bright. Alive. And for a second, she sees the boy underneath all that brooding quiet and tattoos and muscle. The kid who dreamed of this exact call. The kid who wanted it so bad it probably hurt.
Naomi beams at him, then sits up straight, slapping his arm playfully. “Wait. Wait. Do you know what this means?”
He grimaces. “That I have to wear a stupid suit and pretend not to sweat through it on national television?”
“No! It means I’m definitely your good luck charm.” She wiggles her brows, grinning like the devil. “Because I touched your stick last night. Thoroughly. Multiple times. You’re welcome.”
He rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop the slow, amused smile from creeping in. “Well, that is why I slept with you,” he deadpans. “To bless my…gear.”
Naomi gasps, hand to her chest. “You absolute trash bag! I feel so used.”
“You can go now.”
“Oh, I will—but I’m telling anyone who will listen that your performance depends entirely on my vagina.”
He laughs deeper now, from somewhere in his chest, rich and unrestrained. It lifts the edges of his face, carves light into places usually shadowed, and for a moment, he looks completely different—softer, younger, almost reckless with joy. The sound wraps around her like a second blanket. She wants to hear it again and again. She wants to press it between pages like a flower and keep it forever.
Garrett’s still smiling when he glances away for a second, like he’s working something out behind his eyes. Then his fingers curl slightly against the sheet, and when he speaks again, his voice is lower. A little hesitant.
“Would you…” he says, not looking directly at her. “I mean, since it’s Saturday—do you wanna come watch the game?”
Naomi freezes.
Error. Please reboot your flirty sass engine.
She stares at him, completely caught off guard. She expected an “I had a nice time, let’s do this again next time you’re in town.” Maybe a few more dick jokes. Not this.
Because hell yeah, she wants to go. Obviously. Immediately.
But there’s a pit of uncertainty sinking in her stomach. Garrett’s so serious about his focus—so intentional about keeping his head clear—and the last thing she wants is to mess with that. And she really doesn’t want him to feel like he has to include her just because she spent the night clawing his back to pieces.
She feels her smile slip before she can stop it.
Garrett notices and immediately backtracks.
“Yeah, never mind,” he says, straightening from beside the bed. “That was dumb. Forget I said anything.”
“No!” she blurts so fast she trips over the word. “No, I—of course I want to. I just…should I? I don’t want to distract you with my magic pussy.”
She forces a laugh, too quick, too light, already hating how fragile she suddenly feels.
