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Chapter Fifteen

Connor

A fter convincing Lucy to leave me be for a few hours, I pace the private rooftop terrace for the fourth time, adjusting a pillow for no good reason other than I need something to do with my hands.

This is fucking stupid. I face down slapshots for a living. I’ve taken hits from guys twice my size, played through sprained ankles, and stood in front of crowds screaming for blood. But this?

Planning a date for Lucy?

This is fucking terrifying .

The LA skyline stretches out in front of me, all gold and glittering promise. But it doesn’t settle the nerves churning in my gut. Not when I know exactly what tonight is. What it means .

This is the date she bought. The night that was promised. The one she dropped fifty thousand dollars on. And now it’s my job to make her feel like every cent of it was worth it.

“Darling, if you touch that centerpiece one more time,” a voice drawls behind me, “I will personally throw you off this roof.”

Tino. The Hotel's in-house events god. And possibly Satan in Prada.

He appears out of nowhere—again—his silk scarf flaring in the breeze as he glides across the rooftop.

“The roses are suffering from your anxiety,” he adds, gently prying my hands away from the nearest arrangement.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I just—”

“Want it to be perfect. Yes, yes. You’ve only said it fourteen times in the last hour.” He gives me a look that would make Coach Brody proud. “But honey, this setup?”

He gestures around the space—the intimate candlelit table, the jazz duo tuning up in the corner, the view that stretches all the way to the ocean.

“This is beyond perfect. This is romance. Capital R .”

I exhale, finally letting myself take it in. The curved string lights and the wine glasses catching the sunset on the table. The handwritten menu with Lucy’s $50k Date scrawled in elegant script right at the top.

And then there’s the bottle of Cabernet— her Cabernet. The one Ethan used to stash on the top shelf at home where she’d sneak sips of when we were teenagers hanging out in his basement.

Jesus. Ethan.

If he could see me now…

He told me to stay away. He was clear about that, and for a moment, I told myself I would. That she deserved something safe. Someone simple.

But here I am.

Setting up the kind of date most people only see in movies.

And I'm doing it all for her.

Tino reappears at my elbow, straightening my collar with brisk efficiency. “Tell me again. Are you trying to seduce her… or marry her?”

The answer slips out before I even think. “Both.”

Tino's manicured brows lift—but instead of laughing, he gives me a soft, knowing smile.

“Well then. That explains the intensity. Though I must say, for someone who apparently stops pucks for a living, you look absolutely terrified of one tiny blonde.”

“She’s not just—” I drag a hand through my hair, probably ruining whatever the hell he styled into it. “This can’t be just another fancy dinner. She grew up with all this. I need it to mean something.”

“You think I don’t see that?” he says, gently nudging the last candle into place. “Trust me, sugar. When a man puts this much thought into a night—when it’s not about the table or the view or the wine, but her —she’ll feel it. She’ll know .”

I nod, swallowing the knot in my throat.

Tino heads back toward the stairwell, calling over his shoulder. “Alright, Mr. Goalie. Show her what fifty grand gets you.”

I take one last glance at the setup.

Everything’s in place. Tino's got the wine uncorked, the playlist is queued—starting with the Taylor Swift cover Lucy hummed once in the car when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.

I wipe my palms on my slacks, check my watch, and mutter under my breath.

“You spent fifty grand on a date, Lucy Lou… I’m gonna make sure it’s worth every damn penny.”

Then, as if she could hear me, the door to the rooftop swings open with a soft creak.

Framed in the glow of the string lights, silhouetted against the skyline like some impossible dream I forgot I ever had, Lucy appears before my eyes.

She hesitates at the top step, eyes wide, lips parted like she’s just been hit with the full force of what I’ve done up here.

I swallow as my heart slams once, twice, three fucking times against my chest.

She’s wearing this deep navy dress—short, flirty, cinched at the waist—that makes her legs look impossibly long and her curves look like a goddamn gift just for me.

Her hair’s pinned up, but messily, with soft curls spilling down around her shoulders.

But I notice something different about her. It takes me a moment to see exactly what it is, but the moment I lock eyes with her… I see it.

She's added a subtle smoky sweep around her eyes, an extra layer of gloss on her lips.

She sees me and smiles—and I swear to God, the entire city fades behind her.

“Connor…” Her voice is breathless, eyes darting to the candles, the jazz duo, the roses. “This is…”

I take a step forward, barely resisting the urge to kiss her stupid right there in the doorway.

“You look—” I exhale like I’ve been punched in the gut. “Lucy. You look stunning.”

Her smile tips into a smirk. “I thought this was just dinner. You said casual .”

I walk toward her, slow and steady. “Yeah, well. You said you were just outbidding your brother. Not buying a date. So I figured I should make it count anyway.”

She gives me a look and steps closer. “So you do believe in romance.”

“When it makes you look at me like that?” I reach for her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I’d believe in anything.”

She flushes, biting her lip.

I lead her to the table and pull out her chair. The jazz duo starts to play, soft and low, the notes curling around us like smoke. The city sparkles below and the glow of the candles flickers between us.

“Connor…” she says again, her voice softer now. “This is insane. I’ve had… charity galas, trust fund dates, ski lodge dinners overlooking the Swiss Alps—but this ?”

She gestures to the table. To the two-person menu with the gold lettering that reads:

Lucy's $50K Date – No Refunds.

She flips the menu open and laughs.

“First Course,” she reads aloud with a beaming smile. “‘The Best Thing You’ve Ever Eaten Off Me.’”

I wink. “That was Tino’s idea.”

"Oh really?" Her eyes skim lower. “What about the second course… ‘Sauteed Sausage, Saltwater-Stroked fresh from the Pacific.’” She nearly snorts her wine.

“What?” I say innocently. “It’s a bold flavor profile.”

She’s still giggling as I fill her glass, the candlelight catching in her hair. She looks so goddamn happy .

And that’s what wrecks me.

That I did this. That I could give her this.

We eat. We drink. She tells me a story about Sophia bribing airport security with brownies once. I make her laugh so hard she nearly chokes on her wine with my locker room stories and behind the scenes insight into the team.

As we’re finishing the last bite of the chocolate soufflé, she turns to me, eyes soft, lips pink and wine-slicked.

“Why’d you do all this?” she whispers. “Really?”

The air shifts.

I set down my fork and lean closer, elbows on the table, gaze locked on hers.

“Because,” I say, voice low and steady, “I didn’t want this to be just the auction. I didn’t want to be some prize you bought because you were having a fight with your brother. I wanted to give you something real.”

She blinks, breath catching.

I reach across the table, brushing her knuckles again. “I wanted to give you me , Lucy.”

The silence between us goes thick and charged.

Her eyes drop to my mouth.

I rise from my chair, walk around to her, and pull her up gently by the waist. She comes willingly, melting into me like she belongs there.

My hand slides up her back and her heavy breath hits my throat.

“If I kiss you right now,” I murmur, “I’m not stopping.”

Her eyes flicker up to meet mine.

“Good,” she whispers.

I kiss her like a man drowning. Like every defense I’ve built—every wall I’ve mortared with jokes and locker room swagger—is finally crumbling under the soft press of her lips.

And fuck , she tastes like chocolate and wine and something better than all of it—something like home .

It doesn’t matter that I’ve kissed her before. It wasn't like this. Not with my whole goddamn heart on the line.

I deepen the kiss, hand curling at the back of her neck. She melts into me with this tiny, desperate sound that rips through my chest like a shot on goal I didn’t see coming.

And that’s when the voice creeps in.

She only wants you because you’re on top now. Because you’re Connor Walsh, the guy with the Cup. The guy who’s finally worth something.

It’s the same voice that crawled into my head after Teagan dumped me. After my shoulder blew out and my name stopped showing up in draft rumors. After every “sure thing” vanished like smoke and I was drafted far away to Iron Ridge.

I stiffen for a second, every muscle coiled tight with memory and doubt.

But then Lucy pulls back just enough to breathe against my lips, her thumb brushing over my jaw like she feels the shift in tension.

She looks up at me. Open. Unafraid. Honest in the way only Lucy can be.

And that’s when I remember—

Lucy didn’t fall for Connor Walsh, the brand .

She fell for the idiot who wore mismatched socks to Ethan’s birthday brunch. The guy who can’t stop cracking dumb one-liners when shit gets too serious. The one who never quite felt like enough—until she looked at him like he was .

She saw the real me before I did.

The part that isn’t just saves and stats and stupid attention-seeking playoff beards. She sees the man underneath the jokes.

The one who's terrified he might finally have something to lose.

My hands tighten on her waist, grounding myself in her heat. And then it hits me, low and hard like a slapshot to the gut:

I love her.

Not because she spent fifty grand on a date.

I love her because she makes me feel like more than just a goalie.

She makes me feel like a man .

Someone who deserves to be wanted. Loved. Seen.

I break the kiss, pressing my forehead to hers, breath ragged as hell, heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to throw itself at her feet.

Her lashes flutter as she exhales, eyes locked on mine, pupils wide and wrecked with want.

I swipe my thumb across her lower lip, watching it bounce back soft and pink. “Come with me.”

She doesn’t ask where. She just nods, voice barely a breath.

“Lead the way, Walsh.”

We barely make it to the elevator without mauling each other again.

Racing down from the rooftop, I’ve got Lucy pressed against the wall before the doors have even fully opened, her fingers tangled in my shirt like she owns me.

Which—after tonight—she might.

Her laugh is breathless, head tipped back as I nuzzle her neck. “People are going to think I’m easy.”

I growl against her throat. “No one thinks that. They think I’m lucky .”

She snorts, shoving me off just enough to escape my grip and stumble into the hallway. “You are lucky. You got the fifty-thousand-dollar date.”

“Correction,” I say, catching up to her with three lazy strides. “ You got the date. I’m the prize, remember?”

“Oh right.” She pauses, dramatically looking me up and down. “You’re the ‘stroking sausage’ entrée.”

I throw my head back with laughter as we reach the door of our suite. I tap the card and the door clicks open. I stand back and watch as Lucy’s brows knit together at the sight before us.

The lights are dimmed. Dozens of candles flicker along every surface. Rose petals— where the hell did Tino get rose petals —are scattered across the bed, and soft music hums from the speakers.

There’s champagne chilling on the table, next to two crystal flutes and a tray of chocolate-covered almonds, a special express delivery flown in from Summit Café in Iron Ridge.

Lucy takes one step inside and freezes. “Wait. None of this was here when I left.”

I close the door behind her and toss the keycard onto the table.

“I might’ve had help,” I admit, stepping up behind her, hands sliding around her waist.

She turns in my arms, eyes wide and lips parted. “Connor…”

I don’t let her finish.

I kiss her like it’s already morning and I’ve waited one entire night to taste her again.

My hands grip her hips, guiding her backwards until her knees bump the edge of the bed. She sinks onto it, breath catching as I kneel in front of her, slowly, reverently, like I’m about to take communion and she’s the fucking altar .

“Lie back for me,” I murmur, sliding her heels off one at a time. “I'm fucking done waiting for you. Relax… I want to remember every second of this.”

Her voice is thick. "Why?”

I meet her gaze, my heart thudding like a war drum.

“Because I already know…” I drag my mouth along the inside of her thigh, just to hear the way she gasps. “Nothing in my life will ever come close to this again.”

She reaches for me, eyes glassy, lips trembling with need. I crawl up the bed, covering her body with mine, and this, right here…

This is the beginning of the end.

Because once I have her?

I'm never letting go.