Page 45 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector

Not because of what it means to everyone else.

But because I think this part will be way too easy to play.

The notifications blow up.

Ava’s phone buzzes first. Rapid-fire alerts light up the screen like it’s on a loop.

I glance at mine. Same thing.

Comments, likes, private messages stacking up faster than I can keep track.

She doesn’t check hers. Just sets it down on the coffee table like she expected the noise and doesn’t want to give it any more air than it deserves.

I follow her lead.

The twins are still in their own world, shouting something about dragons. One of them knocks a throw pillow onto the floor. No one picks it up.

Ava stands and moves toward the sink, filling a glass of water like it’s just a regular morning. I watch the way her fingers tighten around the rim for a second too long before she sets it down.

“You okay?” I ask.

She turns slightly, just enough to meet my eyes. “Yeah. Just… weird, I guess.”

I nod, even though I don’t know if I agree.

Because it doesn’t feel weird to me.

It feels like the moment right after a goal when the puck hits the net, the light flashes red, the crowd erupts… and you stand there blinking, trying to register that it happened. That it counted.

Her phone buzzes again.

She winces this time, reaching for it on instinct before stopping herself.

“You don’t have to look,” I say.

“I know.” She brushes a piece of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t expect it to feel this loud.”

I grab my own phone and flip it face-down. “We don’t have to feed it.”

She offers a small smile. “Says the guy whose teammates are probably blowing up the group chat right now.”

I shrug. “They can wait.”

Ava sinks into the cushion beside me, her arm brushing mine as she settles in. It’s nothing, really. Bare skin, a quiet shift.

But I feel it all the same. A flicker of something warm that lingers longer than it should.

She glances toward the twins. “So… what’s the plan for tonight?”

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “You can ride with me. Miss Taylor’s gonna watch the game with the boys until their bedtime.”

“Right,” she says softly. “It’s a school night.”

I nod. “You’ll be in the family section with the wives and girlfriends. The WAGs.”

She arches a brow. “That’s actually what they call it?”

“Yeah.” I scratch the back of my neck. “And I know Russo’s going to make it a whole thing.”