Page 27 of Slapshot Bride

There are photos.

Of course there are fucking photos.

Brennan doesn’t text me at five in the morning asking about a woman he has no reason to know exists unless somebody put her in front of him.

I look up. Riley is watching me, mug paused halfway to her mouth, reading the change in my face.

“Easton?”

I lock the screen. Face down on the counter.

“Work,” I say.

Her eyebrows lift. “At five in the morning?”

“Unfortunately.”

I reach for my coffee, forcing myself to look a hell of a lot less concerned than I feel. Because whatever Brennan just saw, Riley shouldn’t have to worry about this.

Somewhere in this city, the photo of the two of us walking into Valentina’s back door yesterday is currently sitting on a sports editor’s desk, waiting on the perfect headline, and I have until practice to figure out what it’ll be, and the cost.

6

RILEY

I don't bite

Three days of sharing this stranger’s space and we have quietly fallen into a routine. Morning coffee together. Two mugs. Somehow it already feels like a home away from home.

I finish rinsing my mug and put it back in the cabinet. From the corner of my eye, I see him approaching with his.

“Here, let me help with that.” I reach for it.

He swings his arm over my head and gives me a funny look.

“You are not here to clean up after me, Riley.”

I know he's right, but deep down, the urge to pull my weight around here wraps tightly around my throat. I have no money I can touch without leaving a trail back to Preston, no card I can use, no way to hand him anything in exchange for the extreme generosity. The least I can do is rinse a mug.

I want to say something, but I don’t have a comeback. So, I move aside and let him do it.

“I have a home gym in the back,” he says when he’s done, wiping his hands with a paper towel. “I’ll be down there for about an hour. Make yourself at home, and if you want to join me, feel free. I might have a t-shirt you can work out in.” He flashes his brows, and I laugh.

“I’m afraid you think too highly of me, Sir Easton Mysterious.” I bow with a palm pressed to my chest. “Dare I say, a book will do for today.”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“I guess I’ll have to send a tip to the designer for the book. Really got you in a choke-hold.”

“Oh, you have no idea. Chase writes a mean story. Was up all night, save for two hours.”

“Well, enjoy your book. If you get hungry, feel free to make something. If you’d prefer takeout, find me at the gym, and we’ll get some. You could use some snacks while you read.”

He flashes a quick smile and disappears down a hallway I haven’t noticed since I walked into his home. The sound of a door opening and closing announces he’s gone, and I heave a sigh.

It’s as if I’ve been holding my breath.

I stare at the empty kitchen, and then at my book on the counter and think of two things.