Page 67 of Golden Goal

“Yes?” I ask innocently, batting my eyelashes at him.

He shakes his head. “You’ll be the death of me.”

I giggle. “You started it.”

“Does ten work for you?”

“Works great.”

He stands up. “I’ve gotta go and get to a workout.”

“Thank you for lunch.”

“Of course.”

He gives me one more kiss, before walking out of my office.

“Knock, knock,” Sutton says from my doorway a couple minutes later as I’m finishing my lunch.

“Hey.” I glance at the time on my computer. “I’m expecting Dr. Walt in about two minutes.”

“That’s fine. This won’t take long. Want to explain this?” She pulls out her phone and clicks on something before turning it so I can see what’s on her screen.

My mouth drops open. It’s the team’s Social account, and the picture posted is from last night’s game, when Holt came over to say hi to Hazel and me. Anyone not familiar with us would think he was greeting his wife or girlfriend based on the look on his face.

“Well.” I clear my throat.

Sutton lets out a laugh. “I’m giving you a hard time. It’s sweet.” She locks the phone and tucks it back in her pocket before leaning back in the chair and crossing her arms. “How’d you warm up the grumpy goalie?”

My face heats, and I start to tell her that I did no such warming up of the grumpy goalie, but that would be a lie. I sigh, unsure of how to answer her question. What Holt would want me to say to her. We didn’t really talk about if we were going to tell people. It’s bound to get out, if they all don’t already know. We’ll have to tell HR, that much is definite. But otherwise, I’m in uncharted territory here.

I swallow, meeting her gaze. “It’s new. We’re hanging out. Getting to know each other outside of work.”

She tilts her head, studying me, and her eyes light up when she notices the empty coffee cup from earlier. She leans forward, reading it, and I realize it has Holt’s name on. “It’s sweet. I’m happy for you. Happy for him.”

“Who are we talking about?”

I half groan, half sigh when Wes saunters into my office.

“No one,” I answer as Sutton says, “Abbott.”

Wes chuckles, rocking back on his heels. “I was just about to ask you about that. Since Holt is so tight-lipped, he won’t say anything.”

I glare at him. “Don’t you have a workout you should be doing? Game footage to review? Skating to do?”

“I have a few minutes,” he says.

This team sure is fucking nosy. Holt wasn’t kidding when he told me they were.

“Am I interrupting?” Dr. Walt asks from the doorway.

Thank goodness.

“No.” I give Sutton and Wes pointed looks. “They were on their way out.”

Sutton gets to her feet. “We’ll talk later,” she says before following Wes out of my office.

I don’t answer her, instead focusing on what the doctor is telling me about one of the defensemen whose MRI results came back.