Page 49 of Cold Shoulder, Hot Take (Seattle Puckaneers #2)

“Not ominous. Just... something you should know about.” I reach for my phone on the nightstand. “I’ve been getting messages. Since the custody thing became public.”

Her body tenses slightly. “What kind of messages?”

“Look for yourself.” I unlock my phone, opening Instagram to the DM requests I haven’t bothered reading in detail. “I wanted you to see them. So you know I’m not hiding anything from you.”

She takes the phone, scrolling through the notifications. Her eyebrows rise higher with each one.

“Wow,” she says finally. “These women are... direct.”

“That’s one word for it.”

She reads a few out loud. “‘Hey gorgeous, heard you’re dating someone basic now. When you get bored...’ Oh, this one’s classy: ‘Your girlfriend looks like a soccer mom. Call me when you want a real woman.’ And my personal favorite: ‘Saw the custody drama on the news. You deserve someone without baggage.’”

I watch her face carefully, looking for signs of hurt or insecurity. “How do you feel about that?”

“Honestly? Kind of flattered that they see me as enough of a threat to attack.” She scrolls through more messages, shaking her head. “Some of these photos though...”

“I know. I don’t even look at them.”

“You should probably block some of these accounts. This one sent you five photos of her boobs.”

“Already on it,” I assure her, taking the phone back and demonstrating how quickly I can hit the block button. “I wanted you to see them first, though. So you know that I’m getting this attention and I’m not interested.”

She studies my face. “Why show me? Most guys would just delete them and never mention it.”

“Because I don’t want there to be anything between us that you don’t know about. And because...” I pause, trying to find the right words. “Because I need you to understand that all this attention means nothing to me. You’re it for me, Goldie. You and the kids. Everything else is just noise.”

Her smile turns knowing. “I can tell. You get this look on your face.”

“What look?”

“Like you’re trying to solve me. Figure out how I work.” She traces a finger along my jaw. “Same look you get when you’re studying game film.”

“That’s very romantic, comparing you to hockey footage.”

“It is for you. Everything comes back to hockey with you.”

“Not everything,” I protest.

“No? What about that time you explained why my orgasms reminded you of a perfect power play setup?”

“That was one time. And it was a very good analogy.”

“You’re not going to mess it up,” she says firmly. “We’re not going to mess it up. We’re in this together, remember?”

“Together,” I agree, pulling her closer. “I like the sound of that.”

We spend the rest of the morning in bed, talking and touching and learning each other’s bodies all over again. By the time I have to leave for practice, I’m reluctant to go.

“It’s just practice,” she points out, laughing at my obvious reluctance to get dressed.

“I know. But I like being here with you.”

“I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Now go, before Barrett benches you for being late.”

Practice is brutal, as playoff practices always are.

Barrett runs us through systems until we’re all ready to drop, then makes us run it again.

But even with the physical exhaustion, my mind keeps drifting to this morning.

To the way Goldie looked in my shirt, the way she felt in my arms, the way she handled those Instagram messages without getting jealous or insecure.

“You’re in a good mood,” Roman observes as we’re changing after practice.

“It’s a good day.”

“The domestic life suits you,” he says, and there’s no mockery in it. Just observation.

“Yeah, it does.”

“Team dinner tonight?” Brody asks, overhearing. “New place downtown.”

“Can’t. Road trip starts tomorrow, so I want to spend tonight at home.”

“Home,” Brody repeats with a grin. “Listen to you, all settled and domestic.”

“Shut up,” I tell him, but I’m smiling. Because he’s right—I am settled. I am domestic. And I fucking love it.

The road trip is a nightmare. Not the hockey part—we’re advancing well in the playoffs. But being away from Goldie and the kids for four days feels like torture. We text constantly, send pictures, talk on the phone every night after the kids go to bed.

But it’s not enough. I want to be there for Tyson’s math test and Blythe’s school play rehearsal. I want to wake up next to Goldie and make coffee while she packs lunches. I want the mundane, everyday moments that I never appreciated before.

“You’ve got it bad,” Rodriguez observes on the last morning.

“Got what bad?”

“The domestic thing. You’re like a lovesick teenager, checking your phone every five minutes.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You literally just sighed because you got a picture of them eating breakfast.”

Maybe he has a point. But when your girlfriend sends you a photo of your sort-of stepchildren covered in pancake syrup, grinning at the camera, you can’t help but smile.

It’s our last night on the road, and I’m lying in another generic hotel bed, missing home more than I ever thought possible.

The team went out for dinner, but I begged off, claiming I needed rest. Really, I just wanted to call Goldie without the background noise of the guys giving me shit about being whipped.

“Hey, gorgeous,” she answers on the second ring, her voice soft and sleepy.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, just reading in bed. Kids are asleep. How was the game?”

“We won. Advance to round two.”

“I know. I watched. You played really well.”

The fact that she watched, that she pays attention to my games even when she’s not there, makes something warm settle in my chest.

“I miss you,” I tell her, not caring how pathetic that sounds.

“I miss you too. How much longer?”

“Flight lands tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be home by five.”

“Good. The house feels too quiet without you.”

“The kids okay?”

“They’re fine. Tyson scored three goals at practice yesterday. Blythe has been working on a ‘welcome home’ performance that involves at least seventeen costume changes.”

I laugh, already picturing it. “Can’t wait to see it.”

“What are you wearing?” she asks suddenly, her voice dropping to that husky tone that goes straight to my cock.

“Boxers and an old t-shirt. Why?”

“Just curious. I’m wearing your old practice jersey. The blue one you left in my laundry.”

“Jesus, Goldie.” My hand moves automatically to the growing bulge in my boxers. “You can’t just say things like that when I’m stuck in a hotel room three states away.”

“Why not? What would you do if you were here?”

“You know exactly what I’d do.”

“Tell me anyway.”

I close my eyes, picturing her in bed, in my jersey, hair spread across the pillow. “I’d start by taking that jersey off you. Slowly. Then I’d kiss every inch of skin I revealed.”

“Mmm. Where would you start?”

“Your neck. That spot behind your ear that makes you whimper.” I can hear her breath catch through the phone. “Then I’d work my way down. Your collarbone, your breasts...”

“Dex,” she whispers, and I can tell from her voice that she’s already touching herself.

“Are you touching yourself, Goldie?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I want you to imagine it’s my hands instead of yours.”

“You’re really good at this,” she breathes, and there’s surprise in her voice. “The talking me through it thing.”

I pause, my hand stilling on my cock. “I should probably tell you something.”

“Now? Really?”

“I’ve been listening to your audiobooks,” I blurt out. “The romance ones. For months.”

Dead silence on the other end of the line.

“Goldie?”

“You’ve been listening to me narrate romance novels?” Her voice is strangled, like she can’t decide if she’s mortified or amused.

“That’s how I knew I loved your voice. When I talked to you at the rink. I’d been falling asleep to you reading love scenes for weeks.”

“Oh my god.” I can hear rustling, like she’s sitting up in bed. “Which ones?”

“Pretty much all of them. ‘Midnight in Monterey,’ ‘The Duke’s Desire,’ that pirate one with the really explicit sword fighting metaphors...”

“You listened to ‘Passion on the High Seas’?” Her voice cracks slightly. “I can barely get through that one without laughing. The dialogue is so ridiculous.”

“Your delivery sells it completely. Especially that scene in the captain’s cabin with the?—”

“STOP.” But she’s laughing now. “Oh god, this is so embarrassing. No wonder you’re so good at dirty talk. You’ve been getting a masterclass.”

“Is that weird? That I was listening to you before we met?”

“It’s...” She pauses, considering. “Actually kind of hot. In a really strange way. All those nights I was in my studio, recording love scenes, and you were somewhere listening...”

“Getting completely obsessed with your voice,” I admit. “Having dreams about what you looked like, what you’d sound like saying my name instead of reading someone else’s words.”

“And now?”

“Now I get to hear you say my name for real. And it’s so much better than anything I imagined.”

“Show me how much better,” she says, her voice dropping back to that husky tone that drives me crazy. “FaceTime me.”

“The kids?—”

“Are asleep. Come on, let me see you.”

A moment later, my phone lights up with an incoming video call. When I answer, the sight that greets me almost stops my heart. She’s propped against the headboard, wearing my jersey like she said, but it’s pushed up around her waist. One hand holds the phone, the other is between her legs.

“Fuck,” I breathe. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Tell me what you’d do if you were here. Use that voice you learned from listening to me.”

“I’d start exactly where you are now,” I say, my own hand moving under my boxers. “But I’d take my time. Make you wait for it.”

She follows my directions, her movements becoming more deliberate as I talk her through it, using every technique I learned from months of listening to her bring fictional lovers to life. The irony isn’t lost on me—she taught me how to do this without even knowing it.

“I wish you were here,” she gasps, her hips starting to move against her hand.

“I am here. Look at me, Goldie. Let me watch you fall apart.”

When she comes, saying my name like a prayer, I follow her over the edge, both of us breathing hard and satisfied despite the distance between us.

“Better?” she asks afterward, once we’ve both caught our breath.

“Much better. But I still can’t wait to get home.”

“Tomorrow,” she promises. “And Dex? Next time you want to listen to my audiobooks, just ask. I can give you previews.”

“Deal. Though I have to say, your improv work is way better than the scripted stuff.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Malone.”

“I’m counting on it.”

The flight home feels endless, but finally I’m walking through our front door, dropping my bag just inside and looking around for my family. I can hear voices from the kitchen—normal, everyday sounds that feel like the best music in the world.

“DEXISBACKDEXISBACKDEXISBACK!” Blythe’s greeting is at her usual volume as she launches herself into my arms.

“Hey, squirt. Miss me?”

“SO MUCH! I have eleven different things to tell you and a performance that requires your immediate attention!”

“Eleven things? That’s a lot.”

“It was supposed to be twenty-three, but Tyson said some of them weren’t interesting enough for reports.”

“I said some of them weren’t actually events,” Tyson corrects, appearing more sedately. “Like how many times you brushed your teeth isn’t really news.”

“Dental hygiene is VERY important!”

“Hey, buddy,” I say, pulling Tyson into a one-armed hug while still holding Blythe. “How was school?”

“Good. I got an A on my history project.”

“That’s awesome. Proud of you.”

Finally, I look up to see Goldie leaning against the kitchen doorway, watching us with that soft smile that never fails to make my chest tight. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater, hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“Hey,” she says simply.

“Hey yourself.”

I set the kids down, cross the kitchen, and pull her into my arms, kissing her like I’ve been wanting to for four days. She melts against me, and everything that was off-kilter while I was gone settles back into place.

“Welcome home,” she whispers against my lips.

“Good to be home.”

And it is. This house, these people, this life we’ve built together—it’s everything I never knew I needed.

The road trips and playoff pressure and social media drama are just background noise compared to this.

Compared to coming home to Goldie’s smile and the kids’ chaos and the certain knowledge that I belong here.

That this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.