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“Easton and Ziegler are at the pool table, Bozeman’s in the bathroom, and Dumont’s getting a round at the bar,” Trey replies.

“M?k’s over there trying to convince Kendall to let him cook her some kind of Finnish sautéed reindeer dish or whatever.

Let’s just hope she doesn’t have a soft spot for Rudolph or any of his furry friends. ”

“Where’s Popovich?” I ask, knowing that Luka doesn’t usually miss a night out with the team.

“He had a beer and then left with some chick he met at the bar.”

I chuckle, not surprised that Luka left with a puck bunny. That’s about on-brand for him, and it used to be for me, too, on occasion. Until Peyton showed up at the charity event. The last four weeks have been different.

I scan the room until I spot her again—this time deep in conversation with Cammy and Isla. She looks relaxed, at ease. So different from that first night in this very bar.

Trey nudges me with his elbow. “So…heard anything from your agent? Bethany still trying to trade you like a deck of baseball cards?”

I shake my head. “Not a word. I’m taking that as a good sign. Hopefully, this whole fake relationship thing with Peyton is wearing her down.”

I’m mid-conversation when Trey goes quiet. Not silent—just…still. And that’s when I feel it too.

A shift in the air.

I turn.

Bethany.

Striding through the front doors like she’s walking onto a red carpet—flawless posture, red lips, high-end perfume that hits before she’s even within reach.

My stomach knots.

Across the bar, Peyton catches my eye. She’s already seen her. Her spine stiffens as she sets her drink down and heads toward me with measured steps, her eyes locked on mine.

Bethany gets to me first. “Hunter. Good—I’m glad you’re here. I need to talk to you. Later.”

“Anything you want to say, you can say right here. Hart doesn’t care,” I say, glancing at Trey. “Do you, Hart?”

“Nope,” he says, arms crossed over his chest, watching like he’s front row at a prize fight.

Bethany lifts her chin. “It’s important we discuss this privately—”

She doesn’t finish.

Because that’s when Peyton arrives.

She steps right into my space without hesitation, the curve of her hip brushing against my leg as she turns slightly toward me. Then, before I can blink, she’s sliding onto my lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world—like she belongs there.

Her hand drapes over my shoulder, her sweet scent invading every one of my senses.

“What are our plans for bye week?” she asks, her voice low, meant for me but pitched just loud enough for Bethany to hear.

“Cammy thinks we should head to Mexico with her and JP. I just bought a tiny bikini that barely covers anything...though I’m sure I wouldn’t be wearing it for long.

” She bites her lip, a wicked shimmer in her eyes.

“Fuck me,” I mumble in a groan.

I blow out a breath, my cock already stirring at the image she’s painting. I don’t care how much sand we end up with in places it shouldn’t be—fucking Peyton on a beach just shot to the top of my fantasy list.

“You, me, and no bikini?” I ask, locking eyes with her.

She nods. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

This thing we agreed to? It's supposed to end before bye week. Two months—that’s all we gave it. If I’d known how easy it is being with her, I would’ve fought for more time.

Bethany clears her throat sharply. “Hunter.”

But I don’t take my eyes off Peyton, perched perfectly in my lap.

There’s a mischievous glint in her eye as she shifts, angling herself so that Bethany has a perfect view of the back of her jersey—my name and number stretched across her body.

“Warning, Reed,” she murmurs under her breath.

Then she leans in and kisses me.

Her hands land on my chest, mouth pressing to mine. It starts slow—just enough to make my heart hammer—but then her fingers slip behind my neck, pulling me closer. Her lips part. My tongue finds hers.

And suddenly, it’s not about Bethany. Not about fake dating. It’s just Peyton and me.

The kiss deepens—hotter, hungrier than we’ve ever let it get before outside of that night she crawled over the pillow wall naked, dreaming of me.

When we finally break apart, I’m breathless. So is she.

“I’ll tell Cammy we’re in for bye week,” she says, and slides off my lap, her warm body leaving a trail of fire in its wake. My hands skim down her thighs on instinct, not ready to let her go just yet.

“Oh—Bethany,” Peyton adds sweetly. “Didn’t see you there. I’ll let you two talk.”

She gives Trey a nod. “Hi, Hart.”

Trey smirks, a rare sound of amusement slipping past his lips. He knows exactly what just happened.

Peyton saunters off, hips swaying with just a touch more intention. I don’t know if she’s proud of herself, or if she just wants my eyes on her ass.

Either way, she wins. My eyes are always on her ass.

Bethany clears her throat again.

“Do you need someone to take care of that for you?” Bethany asks, her voice dripping fake sweetness. I find her blatantly staring at the outline of my hard cock through my jeans. “The bathroom’s right over there. I know someone who’d be more than happy to relieve you.”

To Hart’s credit, he doesn’t even blink. Just leans back in his chair like he’s watching a show he’s already seen a hundred times.

Bethany’s tactics aren’t surprising.

Pathetic, sure. But not surprising.

This is what usually works for her, and I get why she's been successful up until now. The problem is, I’ve already been burned bad enough to know that it’s all about her ego, and has nothing to do with her wanting me.

I shift lazily in my seat, stretching my arm over the back of the chair like I’ve got all the time in the world.

“That won’t be necessary,” I say, letting a slow grin pull at my mouth. “My girlfriend gets worked up after watching me win on the ice. She already has plans to put me to good use tonight. I’ll get more relief than I know what to do with.”

It’s a lie. Peyton isn’t likely going to let me anywhere close enough to make that happen, but Bethany doesn’t need to know that.

Bethany’s face turns dark, her perfectly placed expression cracking through her not getting her way. “Fine. Then can we talk? Privately,” she huffs out.

“I have nothing to say to you. You’re not going to trade me that easily.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s a family matter.”

Shit.

A family matter can only mean one thing. My stomach dips at the thought that this has to do with my mom.

I sigh and rise from my stool. “After you.”

We step outside into the cold night. The street’s quiet, only the distant sound of cars passing on the main drag. The neon glow of Oakley’s sign flickers above us.

A few steps out, she spins to face me, heels clicking sharply.

“Are you in love with her?” she demands.

“That’s none of your business. And it’s not a family matter, either, because we’re not family,” I snap. “Besides, what the hell do you care about love?”

“I’m not the monster you think I am,” she says, her voice suddenly too soft. “You were never around after you got drafted. I was lonely. You had women chasing you everywhere you went, throwing themselves at you. What was I supposed to do—wait around until you cheated?”

“Good to know you had such high expectations of me,” I mutter. “So your plan was to cheat first? Secure a billionaire while I was trying to build us a life? Trying to give you everything you never had growing up? Like financial security and a man who didn’t hurt you like your mom’s ex-boyfriends?”

She shrugs like that’s fair logic. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“Forget it,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s not why I came.”

“Then spit it out, Bethany. You’re keeping me from my team…and my girlfriend.”

A patron from the tattoo parlor walks by us and then heads into Oakley’s. It’s a freezing December night, though at least there’s a break in the rain.

“Have you talked to your mother recently?”

“Yeah. A couple days ago.”

“And what did she say? About the doctors? The tests?”

“She said the doctors aren’t concerned. That we’re waiting on results.”

Bethany’s eyes flare. “It’s been months, Hunter. You seriously believe they’re still waiting?”

I hesitate.

“What are you saying?” I ask.

“I have my sources,” she says. “And I know she’s not being honest with you. She’s not even being honest with me—and she tells me everything.”

The chill of her words sinks in.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Come home. Move back to Jersey. Be closer to her. If not for us…then at least for her. One day, you’ll see this was always meant to happen. Peyton and Seattle aren’t your home. We are.”

She brushes her hand down my arm.

The door swings open behind me.

Peyton.

She takes one look—Bethany’s touch, my clenched jaw—and walks straight over.

I pull my arm away.

“My mother isn’t your concern anymore, Bethany. And neither am I.”

I reach for Peyton. She takes my hand without hesitation, her cold gaze locked on Bethany.

“You ready to go home?” I ask, tugging her gently to my side.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m ready for our big, comfy bed.”

She walks past Bethany without looking back, calm and cool.

“Goodnight, Bethany,” I say. “Thanks for your concern. But I can handle it—from Seattle.”

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

The truth is…I’m not so sure.

And I’d be lying if I said the concern in Bethany’s eyes didn’t rattle me a little.

She could be faking it. Hell, manipulation is her specialty.

But she’s tugging on a thread I’ve already been ignoring.

And if there’s one thing I know about Bethany…she does care about my mom.

Probably more than she cares about anyone else on this planet—

Besides herself, of course.