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We exit the car and make our way into the arena. The chill of the ice reaches me from many rows away. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself, suddenly regretting not bringing a thicker jacket. Gerard notices my discomfort and frowns.

Without a word, he unzips his bulky duffel bag and rummages inside. After a moment, he pulls out a thick blue hoodie and hands it to me. “Here, take this. It’ll keep you warm.”

I stare at the offered garment, my brain struggling to process the gesture. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. I don’t want you to get cold.”

Gerard chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates through the air between us. “Elliot, I’m about to spend the next two hours skating my butt off. Trust me, I won’t be cold. Plus, I’ll be fully suited up in my gear.”

He has a point. Timidly, I take the hoodie, and my thin fingers brush against his thicker ones in the process. A tiny spark of electricity zings up my arm at the contact, and I quickly withdraw my hand.

Slipping the hoodie over my head, I’m immediately engulfed in its warmth. The fabric is soft and worn like a beloved blanket, and what really makes my heart stutter is the scent. It smells uniquely of Gerard, and I resist the urge to bury my nose in the collar and inhale deeply.

The hoodie is several sizes too big for me. The sleeves dangle past my fingertips, and the hem falls to mid-thigh. But I feel…safe. Protected, even.

“It suits you.” Gerard takes in my appearance, and something in his eyes takes my breath away. “Blue is absolutely your color.”

I duck my head and fiddle with the drawstrings. “I probably look like a chipmunk in a sleeping bag.”

“Nah, you look cu—cozy.”

Cute.Gerard Gunnarson can pretend all he wants that he only said cozy, but I know the truth. And I don’t know what to do with that information.

“Well, uh, thanks,” I stammer. “I promise I’ll take good care of it.”

“Keep it as long as you want.” Gerard slings his duffel bag over his shoulder and shoots me a wink that ignites my insides. “It looks better on you anyway.”

He turns and heads toward the locker room, leaving me dizzy and dumbfounded. I watch him go, my eyes involuntarily drifting down to the way his track pants hug his muscular glutes and?—

“Elliot!”

I tear my gaze from Gerard’s retreating form to see Alex bounding toward me with a bright smile and a laptop tucked under his arm.

“Hey, Alex.” I try to match his enthusiasm despite the lingering butterflies in my stomach. “What’s with the laptop? Planning on getting some work done while they practice?”

His red hair flops into his eyes when he nods. “Yeah. I always work on school stuff whenever I’m here. Practices aren’t nearly as exciting as games. There’s a lot of yelling, mostly from my dad, and it can be a bit triggering.”

I want to ask if his dad was one of those demanding fathers growing up, but think better of it. Not my monkey, not my circus. “Don’t work yourself too hard, though, okay? You deserve a break sometimes.”

Alex grins and gives me a playful salute. “Aye, aye, captain! I’ll make sure to pace myself.” As we climb the stairs to his favorite spot in the stands, he asks, “How did moving into the Hockey House go? Is it everything you dreamed it would be?”

I snort. “Oh, it’s been a dream, alright. If by dream, you mean a chaotic whirlwind of testosterone and dirty laundry.”

Alex giggles, his nose scrunching up in amusement. “That bad, huh?”

“Don’t get me wrong, the guys have been great. But…have you ever been in Gerard’s bedroom?”

Alex’s eyes widen and he shakes his head vigorously. “Oh, no, never. I’ve only ever been in Kyle’s room. Why? Is Gerard’s that bad?”

I let out a long-suffering sigh. “Alex, it’s a disaster zone.There are clothes everywhere, empty energy drink cans scattered across the floor, and I’m pretty sure I saw a pizza box with mold growing on it under his bed. It’s like a tornado tore through a locker room and then decided to take a nap in the aftermath.”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “Wow, Elliot. I didn’t realize you were such a neat freak.”

I adjust my glasses and give him a haughty sniff. “Hey, I’m a librarian. It comes with the territory. You think I could handle working in a place where people constantly disrespect the Dewey Decimal System if I wasn’t a stickler for order?”

“Fair point,” he concedes with a chuckle. “So, what did you do? Did you make Gerard clean it up?”

“Ha! Make Gerard clean? That boy probably wouldn’t know a broom if it smacked him upside the head. No, I took matters into my own hands before we left to come here.”

“Wait, you cleaned his room for him?” Alex’s eyes are as wide as saucers. “Elliot, you’re not his maid!”