Page 13 of In My Hockey Era (Must Love Hockey #1)

THIRD WHEEL ENERGY

Bennett

I unlock the door to my apartment, letting Lucy step inside first. She pauses just past the threshold, scanning the space. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the city skyline, and the open layout makes everything feel even bigger. She lets out a low whistle.

“Wow. Fancy.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “I was picturing something less… sleek? More hockey-bro chic. Beer fridge, leather recliners, a shrine to Wayne Gretzky.”

I smirk. “Sorry to disappoint.”

I’m super proud of my condo. Bought it last year when I upped my contract with Dallas. I’d wanted to put down roots after bouncing around from city to city for so long, and so even though it was a splurge, it’s been worth every penny.

The sound of the TV hums from the living room, and before I can warn her, Chase strolls in from the kitchen, a protein bar in hand. His gaze flicks between us before settling on Lucy.

“Holy crap,” she blurts out, eyes widening. “You’re Chase Remington.”

He looks vaguely amused. “Last time I checked.”

She actually looks starstruck, and it pisses me off more than it should. I’m the one she’s been flirting with. I’m the one who just spent the last hour walking her damn dog and listening to her talk about her day. But now, she’s staring at Chase like he hung the moon.

“That goal in game six against Los Angeles? Insane,” she says, excitement lighting up her face. “One of my favorite plays ever. The way you deked the goalie—”

“Appreciate it,” Chase cuts in, grinning. “Always nice to meet a real fan.”

Oh, for the love...

Chase leans against the counter like he’s got all the time in the world, clearly eating up the attention. “So, Quinn, you a lifelong Stampede fan or just here for Wilder’s pretty face?”

Lucy scoffs, and I swear I see the faintest smirk. “Please. I was a Stampede fan way before Wilder got drafted.” She glances at me when she says it, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

Chase grins, like he’s found his new favorite person. “Respect.”

“That powerplay last year—overtime, short-handed, against Boston, absolute snipe. I screamed so loud I nearly lost my voice.”

Chase whistles low, shaking his head. “Damn. A woman of fine taste.”

I stand up straighter, fists clenching at my sides. “Alright, Chase. You got your ego boost. Now get lost.”

Lucy looks over at me, surprised by my tone. Chase, on the other hand, just smirks. He takes a deliberately slow bite of his protein bar and leans back against the counter.

“Relax, Wilder,” he drawls. “We were just bonding over my superior hockey skills.”

I glare at him. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Lucy laughs, the sound warm and unbothered, and my frustration spikes. She likes getting under my skin. I swear she does.

“Alright, alright,” Chase finally says, holding up his hands. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.”

Lucy snorts. “Not lovebirds.”

Chase just winks at her before disappearing down the hall, and I exhale sharply, raking a hand through my hair.

“ Not lovebirds, ” I mimic under my breath.

Lucy grins up at me. “Aww. Were you jealous?”

I pluck a bottle of wine from the wine fridge and grab two glasses. “Are you a wine drinker, Quinn?” My tone could use a little more finesse.

But Lucy doesn’t call me on it. “Sure, I’d have a glass.”

She’s still smiling as she takes a seat on the couch. After wrestling the cork from the bottle, I settle in next to her, and hand her a glass of cabernet. She tucks her legs beneath her, looking so damn comfortable in my space that it messes with my head.

“You really love the game,” I say, watching her.

She nods, tracing the rim of her glass with her fingertip. “I grew up on it. My dad used to take me to games all the time. It was our thing.”

She takes a sip from her glass and I watch her throat as she swallows.

She’s so damn cute. So feisty and tough and yet utterly feminine at the same time. It turns out—it’s a dangerous combination for my libido.

“So,” I say, taking a drink of my wine before setting the glass down on the coffee table. “Tell me something interesting about you.”

She tilts her head, giving me a skeptical look. “Interesting how?”

I lean back against the couch, letting my arm drape along the top, fingers tapping against the cushion behind her. “Something I wouldn’t guess just by looking at you. Come on, Quinn. Give me something good.”

She exhales, thinking for a second. “Alright. This is kind of embarrassing, but—” She hesitates, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

I grin. “Oh, now you have to tell me.”

She shoots me a look but relents. “I have this… completely irrational fear of moths.”

I blink. “I’m sorry, did you say moths? Like the flying insect?”

“Yes, moths.” She shudders like just saying the word grosses her out. “They’re unpredictable. And dusty. And they fling themselves at you with no regard for personal space.”

I stare at her, waiting for her to crack a smile, but she’s dead serious. This girl is a walking conundrum. She can handle emergency medical situations without blinking, but moths? The butterfly’s ugly cousin? Absolutely not.

Hilarious.

“One time,” she continues, “I was on a call—calm as can be, treating a guy with a head wound—and then this massive moth came out of nowhere and dive-bombed me. I screamed. Fully lost my composure. My partner hasn’t let me live it down since.”

I let out a low laugh, shaking my head. “Quinn, you literally deal with blood and broken bones for a living. But a tiny, winged creature sends you into a panic?”

She crosses her arms. “They’re not tiny when they’re coming straight at your face.”

I’m still grinning, trying to hold back another laugh. “Alright, good to know. If we ever run into a terrifying moth, I’ll be the one to handle it.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “You better not use this against me.”

I press a hand to my chest, feigning innocence. “I would never.”

She doesn’t look convinced. Probably because I’m already thinking about all the ways I absolutely will.

“Your partner is that guy you brought to the hockey game, right?”

She nods. “And before you do that whole jealous thing again, you should know I have zero interest in him.”

Am I that transparent?

“Good to know,” I say.

Lucy takes another sip of her wine, and she tilts her head, studying me, like she’s thinking of something to ask me.

I like this game—this back and forth—the getting to know you.

The quiet build up.Just sitting here with her feels like foreplay.

I’m low key amped up and we’ve done nothing more than tease each other.

Then, softer, she asks, “You have sisters, right?”

“Two.” I drag a hand through my hair. “The oldest, Natalie, is going through a divorce right now. Married her high school boyfriend, thought it’d be forever…

turns out, not so much.” I huff out a breath, staring at the city lights out the window.

“I hate that I can’t be there for her more.

I try, but between the season and travel, I just… I don’t know. I wish I could do more.”

Lucy watches me quietly, then nudges my knee with hers. “I’m sure she knows you’re there for her, even if you can’t physically be there all the time. Just having someone in your corner matters.”

I glance at her, a slow smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

For a second, we just sit there, the space between us smaller than before. Her knee still rests against mine, her fingers lightly curled around the stem of her glass. Something softens in her expression. Her gaze flicks to my mouth, and that’s all the confirmation I need.

I lean in first, but she meets me halfway. The kiss starts slow, lingering, like we’ve both been waiting for it longer than we realized. Her lips are soft, warm, and when I deepen it just slightly, she doesn’t pull away—she presses closer.

I’m in trouble.

Big, big trouble.

What started off slow—a hesitant brush of lips, a question hanging between us, builds.

My tongue moves against hers and she presses closer, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.

My hand slides to her waist, gripping tight like I need to ground myself.

She tastes like wine, and she makes a soft sound against my mouth that damn near ruins me.

And then—

“Sorry, forgot my phone,” Chase’s voice calls out, footsteps heading toward the kitchen.

Lucy jerks back, eyes wide. I let out a slow, murderous exhale.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter.

Chase appears in the doorway, takes one look at us, and smirks. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Lucy buries her face in her hands, laughing, while I seriously consider throwing something at my best friend’s head.

This was not how I pictured our night going. But as I glance at Lucy, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, I can’t bring myself to regret a damn thing.