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Reece leaned against the far window in a black T-shirt and joggers, Bellagio lights framing him in a damn movie scene. Arms crossed. Jaw tight.

I froze. “Hey. Didn’t expect you to be back yet.”

“I texted.”

I fumbled for my phone, groaning when I saw the missed messages. “Crap. I didn’t hear it. We were at the gondolas. It was loud, and I?—”

He was already crossing the room.

“I’m not mad.”

The sexy goalie lifted the bags out of my hand one by one, gently setting them on the sofa.

“Just horny.”

“Horny, huh?”

He shrugged. “And I missed you.”

Heat bloomed in my chest. I hated the way those words snuck under my skin like a warm current. I was too tired for this. Too soft.

“I was with the girls,” I said lamely. “They’re fun.”

“You had a good time?”

I nodded.

He stepped closer. “You let yourself enjoy something for once?”

Another nod. Barely.

“I found something for Benny, Claudia, your mom, and you.”

“Me?” Reece raised an eyebrow as he reached down to finger the hem of my skirt. “I got what I need. You look like trouble in this. ”

“I am trouble,” I whispered.

He smiled, like he already knew. “You tired?”

“I am.”

He bent, slow and deliberate, lips brushing my neck. “Let me take care of you.”

I didn’t argue.

He undressed me like I was made of something expensive, something rare. Like I mattered. Every kiss, every touch, was a promise wrapped in heat. He laid me out across crisp sheets and lit me up like only he could.

We went soft and we went hard. He made good on his promise back in Charleston. He took me on every surface, in every hole. My orgasms shook the walls.

And somewhere between the second and the third time, when his mouth was pressed to my shoulder and my name was a prayer in his throat—I felt it.

The beginning of a shift.

A small, terrifying tremor inside me.

The kind that didn’t come from good sex. The kind that didn’t come from hotels or champagne or fantasy.

The kind that meant something real.

I didn’t know when it had started—no, that was a lie.

I’d stupidly acknowledged my little crush when he first introduced me to Char, but if I told the truth, it had started well before that.

Maybe the first time he showed up at my house.

Maybe when he bought the car seat. Maybe the first time he’d made my son smile.

This was so bad. Exactly what he never wanted. And I’d promised him it never would. I promised .

But the feeling was there now, curling in my chest like a spark ready to catch.

I couldn’t afford to fall.

But I might already be in freefall.

And Reece? He had no idea .

The next day, game day, he took me to see the sights in the morning. We didn’t gamble.

Not even once.

Turns out, Reece wasn’t much for cards or slots, either—said he couldn’t bring himself to throw money away after watching his mom pinch pennies so tight, they squeaked. That made two of us.

Instead, he took me to a show with acrobats that left me breathless, then up to a rooftop bar, where the energy of the people on the Strip buzzed below us, a hive of activity that I wanted to be part of.

We stuffed ourselves on my bodyweight’s worth of sushi and walked what felt like miles of hot pavement until my feet ached and my cheeks hurt from smiling—a theme here in Vegas—his hand warm on my back, his mouth low at my ear.

When he laughed, I leaned in.

When I leaned in, he kissed me.

And when he kissed me, I forgot for a second what this was supposed to be.

That night, the girls and I made our way through the arena in matching Copperhead jerseys that Jaycee had surprised me with, inaugurating me as ‘ one of the girls ’ as mine read REECE across the back, a detail I hadn’t expected but somehow didn’t hate.

Jaycee’s read BISHOP , and the second we walked through the corridor to our seats, the whispers started. Not mean, just… curious. Pointed.

“That’s her, right? Bishop’s wife?” one spectator said.

“Wait, is that Reece’s girlfriend?” another said, a woman who sounded absolutely giddy at seeing me.

At an away game. Why would Vegas fans care about me dating Reece?

It was weird, having my life in the public sphere.

Not in a bad way—just in a way I wasn’t used to.

Not as a mom, or an employee, or someone trying to stretch a dollar.

But as his. I guess all our outings together worked.

Good for Reece and his upcoming contract negotiations.

None of that mattered. Because the moment the puck dropped, there wasn’t a spare second to think.

The game was insane.

Fast, brutal, beautiful.

Bodies slammed against glass. The crowd roared like thunder. Reece was a wall in the net, sharp and focused and a little bit terrifying in full gear. Every time he made a save, the wives went wild—and my heart did, too.

I hadn’t expected it to be so thrilling . The way Knights fans booed our team, yet we still heard plenty of cheers from a few small clusters around the arena. I wanted us to win, not just for the team, but to show up all the jeerers.

By the third period, my voice was hoarse from screaming, my palms sore from clapping. The score was tied, tensions high, and then—like something out of a movie—Bonner made a breakaway and slammed the puck home.

3–2. Copperheads.

Most of the arena exploded in anger and disappointment. Our section jumped to their feet. Jaycee and I hugged, laughing like kids, and I looked down at the ice just in time to see Reece glance up toward our seats.

He couldn’t have possibly seen me from there, not really.

But I still felt it.

After the game, back at the hotel, we sat on the balcony of the suite, barefoot and buzzed from room service champagne. The Bellagio fountain put on one final show for us, lights shimmering in perfect time with the music, throwing water into the night like it was celebrating too.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and looked over at him. “I felt bad leaving Benny, but I’m glad I came.” My words might’ve slurred just slightly. Ah, the beauty of champagne.

Reece looked over at me. “I know.” Then he winked. The jerk .

“Yeah. I forgot what it felt like to just… be . No appointments. No bills. No carefully balanced schedule. Just—me. For once.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Only reached over to take my hand.

“You deserve more of this,” he finally said, those eyes of his looking like they had a lot to say on the subject. “Not just once in your life. Not just when someone else arranges it. You deserve it because you work your ass off every day, and you don’t ask for anything back.”

I blinked fast. “Don’t start saying nice things or I’ll cry and ruin my mascara.”

He grinned and kissed my knuckles. “We can’t have that. You look too damn good in that mascara.”

I leaned against his shoulder, warm from the wine, warmer from him.

Then Reece threw in a low, rumbling, “Drunk looks good on you.”

I should’ve kept my guard up. Should’ve reminded myself that this was all temporary. A favor wrapped in fun. But the truth was settling deep in my chest, dangerous and uninvited.

The real gamble wasn’t in Vegas.

It was Reece.