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“Come on, we won’t be there that long. And if you need to bail early, just let me know.”

He sighs and I brace for the no. But then he surprises me.

“Fine. Why not?”

Relief washes over me like a second shower. “Awesome. I wasn’t even sure if you ate pizza.”

“Who doesn’t eat pizza?”

“You’d be surprised.”

Elliot turns back to the trophy case, and I follow his gaze. He’s studying an old photo from the 1970s of a team lined up on the ice. They’re all wearing ridiculous mustaches and have shaggy hairdos. “They look like a bunch of porn stars.”

I laugh hysterically. “It was the style back then. There’s even a tradition on the team now where we grow out our facial hair during playoffs.”

“And your pubic hair, too?”

I choke on a gasp. “What?”

He gestures to a different picture. One that features a man with his shirt off and proudly displaying not only his hairy chest but also a prominent bush peeking out from his low-rise pants.

I blush from my head to my toes, and that’s when Elliot finally realizes I’m wearing nothing but a towel.Or he already noticed but is only now sizing me up as if I’m about to be sold at auction.

“Yes and no,” I say when I’ve finally recovered enough to speak. “It is a tradition, but not during playoffs.”

He tilts his head, clearly curious, and now I really wish I had gotten dressed before I came out here.

“At the start of every season, the entire team grows out their pubic hair.”

“For shits and giggles?”

“Uh…it provides extra warmth on the ice. You’d be surprised how much of a difference it makes when you’ve got a thick nest of pubes insulating your junk.”

His nose crinkles adorably. “I guess that makes sense…in a weird way. But there has to be more to it than that.”

Of course, he doesn’t believe me. He shouldn’t. The dude’s too smart for his own good—and mine.

“So, here’s the deal. In my freshman year, we made this big bet with another team. The wager was that the losing team had to grow out their pubes for the rest of the semester. We thought it was hilarious at the time…until we lost.”

Elliot snorts. “I bet that was a rude awakening.”

“You have no idea.” I scrub my face at the memory. “But here’s the kicker—that season, we ended up winning this hugely important game that ended up being what launched us into the playoffs.”

“Let me guess. You all decided it was because of your lucky pubes?”

I grin and point a finger in his face. “Bingo. Hockey players are a superstitious bunch. From that moment on, the Pube Pact became a sacred tradition. No one dares to break it for fear of jinxing the team.”

Elliot breaks out into a fit of laughter. “That is simultaneously the dumbest and most fascinating thing I’ve ever heard. So, you’re telling me that you’re rocking a vintage bush under your jockstrap?”

My face grows warm as I realize what I’ve just revealed. “Uh, yeah. I mean, we all are. It’s a team thing.”

His eyes flicker down to my towel before meeting my gaze again. “Prove it.”

My mouth goes dry. Is he seriously asking me to flash him my pubes right here in the trophy hall? And am I seriously thinking about doing it?

I don’t know what it is about Elliot, but he’s quickly turning me into a boy with a schoolgirl crush who would do anything for him. Give him a proper home, a warm bed, and more food than he could ever want. And now…this.

God, I have it bad, don’t I?