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I speed skated toward the puck being tossed about by two of Michigan’s D-men in the middle of the ice. Pushing my stick out, I readied to intercept a pass. I’d played flawlessly tonight, and I was pretty sure the afternoon phone sex was the reason. It worked way better than jerking off by myself.

The Michigan D-man shot the puck to his center and swiveled on the ice, going after him.

Coming up on my left, Neuman slammed the center into the boards, throwing him onto his ass.

The puck sprang free, and I nabbed it and sped toward their goal. I glanced at the clock. We had under a minute left. Fuck. Tossing the puck between my blades, I lined up the shot, peeking at the Michigan’s goalie, spread wide at the net.

“Cummings.” Pieterick skated beside me and then checked the other D-man with his shoulder.

I had an open shot. As I inched closer to the net, the goalie jerked to the right.

With a snicker, I shot left. Dude shouldn’t have done that. The puck flew, then zipped under the pipe. The horn blew, and the crowd jumped out of their seats with a loud roar.

“Fuck!” The goalie slapped his stick on the ice.

“That’s what I’m talking about, eh.” I pumped my gloved fist as another horn blew, signaling the end of the game. Looking at the game camera, I said, “That was for you, Coop.” I held my fist to my heart.

Neuman and Pieterick skated to me and wrapped me up in bear hugs, patting my helmet, Neuman saying, “You’re on fire tonight, Cummings. ”

With a hearty laugh, Pieterick said, “I knew you’d make that one.”

“Yeah, well, you helped with the distraction.” I hugged them both to my sides. This would make tomorrow even more special.

The next morning, I met Ace in the kitchen, cooking our usual bacon and eggs breakfast. “Hey.” He could help me. The guy made the best comfort food I’d ever had.

He looked at me and smiled from over the frying pan. “I heard you and Cooper both won last night and scored.” He patted my shoulder as I stopped beside him.

“We did.” I was pretty sure Zoma had already told him about our conversation yesterday. “Hey, I was thinking of doing something nice for Cooper this afternoon when he gets home.”

“You are?” He threw me a wide smirk. “Is there a love confession connected to this nice thing?”

Planting my hands on my hips, I said, “It could.” Might as well be honest about it. “Can you give me an easy recipe so I can make dinner for him?”

He flipped an egg in a frying pan. “Of course.” His gaze flicked to mine. “How about pot roast? Does he like that? I’ll cook it in the slow cooker and then you just have to serve it.”

I mulled it over. If I let Ace do the cooking, it wouldn’t be as special. “I appreciate the offer, but I want to do the cooking myself.” I twisted my lips. “How hard is it to prepare?”

“Not hard at all.” He plucked a few strips of bacon out of another frying pan and laid them on a paper towel lining a plate. “I’ll give you a shopping list and you can just cut some potatoes and throw the ingredients into the cooker.”

“Sounds perfect.” I side hugged him. “Thanks, Ace.” I had the best friends.

“Of course. Now grab yourself a drink and have a seat at the table. Breakfast is served.”

That afternoon, I opened the lid on the pot roast, the aroma of beef with fresh rosemary and thyme filling my nose.

It smelled heavenly and was almost done.

When would Cooper be home? Turning from the counter, my gaze ran over the dinette, already set with plates, silverware and an opened bottle of red wine.

A bouquet of red roses centered the table, along with two candles.

Yeah, I was going all out. Zoma had insisted I get the flowers and candles.

Zoma and Ace strolled out of the hallway and stopped in the kitchen.

Ace picked up the keys to his truck from the counter. “Smells great, Myles. I hope there are some leftovers.” He wound an arm around Zoma.

With a warm grin, Zoma said, “I’m sure there won’t be. Come on, a football player and a hockey player leaving leftover pot roast?” He tsked and headed for the door leading to the garage. “Let us know when it’s safe to come home.”

“I will. Where are you going?” I hated to kick them out of their own home, but it was Zoma’s idea. I checked the pot roast again. Could I overcook it in this thing? Ace had said no…

“A matinee, and then dinner. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time.” With a flourish, Zoma walked out the door with Ace behind him.

“Enjoy yourself, Myles.” Ace gave me a knowing look and left.

Pacing to the front window, I watched them leave in Ace’s enormous truck.

The suspense was killing me. When would Cooper be home?

Had he gotten delayed at the airport? I slipped my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and checked the flight.

It was a little late, but they’d landed.

Maybe their coach had called a meeting at the facility?

I hovered my fingers over my phone. Should I text him and ask ?

Movement caught my eye, and my attention cut to Cooper’s Tacoma truck, pulling to the curb in front of the house. Holy fuck, here we go. I swallowed through the dryness in my throat as my pulse raced.

I jogged to the table, lit the candles with a long lighter, and then tucked the lighter into a drawer. Shit, what should I do? Should I stand in the kitchen or meet him at the door? Stepping one way and then another, I cleared my throat. I was a fucking mess.

Striding to the door, I glanced out the window as Cooper strolled over the driveway with his duffel hung on his shoulder.

With a deep breath, I flung the door open. “Hey, Coop.” What a stupid way to great the man I loved. Fuck. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans.

“Look at you, all dressed up.” He stepped to me, cupped my cheek, and pressed a long kiss on my lips. “Missed you.” The corners of his mouth tugged up.

“Missed you too.” I stepped aside and let him through the doorway. Romance wasn’t my thing.

He halted in the entryway, a wide smile sweeping his face. “What’s going on?” He threw a glance my way and scanned the room. “Is this for me?” He dropped his duffel and headed toward the table. “Myles, did you do this for me?” He sniffed at the air. “Oh my God, it smells great, and I’m starved.”

Hands clasped in front of my chest, I approached him and said, “Yes, this is, is for you.” I took a deep, calming breath. “I planned something special for you and?—”

“Babe, this is amazing.” He wrapped his arms around my neck and claimed me in a toe-curling kiss. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

“I…what?” I blinked at him. He said it first. God damn it. Huffing a sharp laugh, I said, “Yes, I think I do. Probably about as much as I love you.” I leaned in for another round of searing kisses, my heart leaping from my chest. I hadn’t planned on leading with this .

“Yeah, sorry.” Dipping his head, he raked his fingers through his hair. “I confessed to some of my buddies and it was bursting out of me.”

“You told your friends?” Had he told JJ? They’d been rooming together. I stared at him and stepped back.

“Yeah, it slipped out at the hockey game on Friday night, and then I told JJ yesterday.” He gave me a sheepish look. “Anyway, how about we serve the delicious food you made me?”

“Sure.” I headed into the kitchen and plated the pot roast, cutting it into slices. We’d talk more about this while we ate. I brought the food to the table and set it down.

Sitting in a chair at the dinette, he poured wine into the stemware and enjoyed a sip. “That looks so good.” He licked his lips. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I can a little.” I set some beef slices with carrots and potatoes in au jus on his plate and then served myself. “You were at the hockey game with Eli, right?” Eli probably heard it first.

“Yep.” He cut into the roast and shoved it into his mouth. “Fuck…so good.” He moaned.

I stared, slack jawed, at him. I’d have to cook more often for him. “You told Eli how you felt about me at the game?” There had to be a story.

“I did. I guess I was gushing over you and he figured it out. I just told him he was right.” He stuck a fork in a potato and ate it.

“You were gushing over me, how?” Now I needed the entire story. I cut into my meat and ate a bite, the rosemary and thyme flavoring the beef perfectly.

He leaned close, studying me. “I was getting a little jealous of the ice when you were doing those hip moves.” His brow arched.

“You mean my pregame stretches?” I chuckled and drank some wine. What the hell?

“Yes. It’s a little obscene. You hockey players have no shame.” He choked out a laugh. “Anyway, it was hard watching you get hit and thrown on your ass.” His cheeks pinked .

“Really.” I eyed him over the lip of my wine glass as I took a sip. So, this was love. “I felt the same way about you getting tackled.”

He stopped with a cooked carrot midway to his mouth. “Yeah? You didn’t say anything.”

Shifting in my seat, I said, “I know. You didn’t get hurt.” I dragged a potato through the au jus and ate it. Funny how we both were worried about the other when we played.

“Now I know how my mother felt watching my high school games.” With a chuckle, he shook his head. “Being a trauma nurse, it almost killed her to see me getting tackled.”

“Yeah?” Nodding, I drank more wine. “My mom was a mix of my cheerleader and the team organizer when I was starting out.” I ate a bite of roast. “She was a constant, there in the stands, making sure I got to my games and had all my gear, cheering me on, but never obnoxiously.” She’d done the same for Ethan.

“My dad was always at my games. Mom’s hospital schedule made it hard for her.

” He let out a sharp snicker. “But then, dad was a football coach.” He huffed.

“And Mom was always waiting to see if I’d show up in the ER.

” He grinned, his gaze on his plate. “She was so worried I’d have permanent brain damage. ”

“Both of our leagues have done a lot to prevent brain injury.” I drank some wine. I’d studied the new helmet designs for a class project last year. “Hasn’t tackling changed over the years?”

“Hell yes. We target the hips and thighs now and don’t just hit the guy with the ball.” He smirked. “Unlike you hockey players. It looks like the aim in hockey is to pummel the guy with the puck against the boards.”

“It is, eh.” With a soft snort, I ate a carrot. “I can’t lie. I expect when I’m taking a puck up the sides of the rink, I’m going to get mangled at some point.” This was nice, talking sports with him. There was a lot to learn about each other’s sports and it was interesting .

“Tell me the story behind this dinner.” He quirked a brow and drank some wine.

“The story?” I parted my lips. Obviously, he knew this wasn’t normal for me. “I’d told Zoma how I felt about you and?—”

“Oh, Ace and Zoma knew before I did.” With a wry grin, he sat back in his seat and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“They did.” As my cheeks warmed, I bit the side of my lower lip and freed it.

“Zoma knew, sort of like Eli figured it out, eh.” I took a deep breath.

“This dinner was Zoma’s idea, and the pot roast recipe came from Ace.

” Might as well give credit where credit was due.

“But I’d decided I wanted to do something special for you.

” I leaned in, focusing on him. “You deserved something special, Cooper. You’ve been so open and caring with me. ”

His eyes grew glossy, and he grabbed my hand, resting next to my plate. “Thank you, Myles. This means a lot to me. And knowing you love me? It’s the best.” His lips curled into a soft smile.

My heart burst with emotion. My first love…would it be my last? It sure felt like it right now. Leaning across the table, I pressed a hard kiss on his lips. “Love you, Cooper.”

“Love you, my little Canuck.” He giggled and picked up his knife and fork.

“I’m not little.” With a head shake, I ate more food. I wasn’t sure I’d let that term of endearment stick.

“You’re smaller than me. I have what, at least thirty pounds on you and I’m about two inches taller.” He snorted a huff. “I’m a tight end, for fuck’s sake.”

“Fine.” He had a point. “But I’m the right size for my game.” I flashed a toothy smile at him. For the first time, I was feeling confident in hockey and my love life. It was amazing.