His chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing labored, as if he’s been on the ice all morning. But when I rub my finger gently across his wrist, he sighs. “Yeah, I get it.” He pulls me into his arms. “I don’t have to like it, though, right?” He presses a kiss to the top of my head.
Sighing, I tip my head back and rest my chin on his chest. “No, I guess you don’t. And for the record,youare someone else’s husband. That is far more annoying than any fake dating dog and pony show could ever be. Just like you have no interest in that title, I’m not too fond of being the Boston Bachelorette or whatever it is their calling me. It means nothing. We know what we are to one another. And we know what we want. We’re the ones with a real future here. Okay?”
Angling in, he presses his lips to mine. “Fine. I love you.”
I smile up at him. “I love you too. And I hate to do this since you cooked, but I’ve got a photoshoot to get to, so you’ll have to do the cleaning too.”
FORTY
JJ
Theo: It’s looking more and more likely that I’ll be back in Boston come this March.
Finn: Probably sooner. You guys aren’t making it to the Super Bowl.
Theo: Ass.
Me: He truly is.
Theo: Ouch. what’d you do to JJ, Finn?
Finn: He’s just pissed because Addie is going on another one of her dates. The dumbass still refuses to tell her how he feels. I legit lobbed that ball to you, JJ. How the hell did you not use that to push her to go out with you?
Me: You’re really saying that’s what this morning was about?
Brayden: Have we all forgotten that JJ is MARRIED?
Theo: Ah, it’s a piece of paper. Which you’retaking care of, right?
Me: Yes.
Me: And she’s not our coach anymore, Bray.
Finn: Is that your way of saying you’re finally gonna grow some damn balls?
Me: My balls are just fine. Fuck you very much.
Bray: She may not be your coach anymore, but I’m at the arena right now, and I’ve got to say, the new assistant coach seems very friendly with her.
My gut lurches.What the fuck is he talking about now?
FORTY-ONE
ADDIE
“You really think this is necessary?”I balk as the hairstylist holds up the can of hairspray for at least the fifth time since she finished doing my hair.
I’m in my uniform, pads and all, standing in front of the net, but my hair and makeup are over-the-top.
“You look gorgeous,” Savannah says from the bench.
“You realize I don’t wear my hair like this during a game, right? It’s normally hidden by my mask.”
“As is your face,” she argues. “And we can’t have you on the cover ofJoliewith a mask covering that gorgeous smile.”
Stomach sinking, I throw a hand up and groan. “I never agreed to a cover.”
“Right, but this is huge. You’re the first female goalie the NHL has ever seen. Cat wants to celebrate you.”
