Page 23 of In My Hockey Era (Must Love Hockey #1)

RIDING THE HIGH

Bennett

I ’m in trouble.

Serious, deep, no-getting-out-of-it trouble.

Because last night? Last night was everything.

It wasn’t just the way Lucy moaned my name like a prayer while I worshipped every inch of her skin. Wasn’t just the way she trembled, her body wrapped around mine, nails digging into my shoulders like she didn’t want to let go.

It was what happened after.

When we should have rolled to our respective sides of the bed. When I should have thrown an arm behind my head, stared at the ceiling, and reminded myself that this was a fun, temporary thing.

Instead, I pulled her closer. Held her against me like I didn’t know how to sleep without her there.

And the real kicker? She let me.

Didn’t even hesitate before tucking herself into my chest, making these soft, content little sounds that damn near killed me.

Now, we’re sitting in a corner booth at a downtown breakfast spot, and I’m pretending like my whole world hasn’t shifted overnight.

Lucy, on the other hand, is completely unbothered. Looking fresh-faced and unfairly gorgeous in an oversized sweater, scrolling through her phone like she didn’t spend half the night tangled up with me, gasping my name.

I take a sip of coffee, willing myself to stop staring at her mouth. Bad idea. Because the second the bitter liquid hits my tongue, I remember her lips wrapped around—

Nope. Not going there. Not when I’m sitting across from her in a public place, trying to act like a normal human man and not a guy who spent the night committing every inch of her body to memory.

I clear my throat, reaching for the menu like I actually need to read it. “So, how does it feel to have survived your first All-Star Weekend?”

She smirks, still scrolling. “Not bad. I even managed to make it through without falling in love with you, so that’s a win.”

I snort, but it’s too late—her words hit their mark, and that trouble I mentioned? It sinks in deeper. Because damn if that doesn’t sound like the kind of thing I wish she wouldn’t joke about.

“Yeah, well,” I say, flipping the menu open to distract myself. “Give it time, Quinn. We’ve still got the flight home.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue.

Before I can push my luck further, her phone buzzes, and she makes a face. “Ugh. PR wants us at the media debrief in twenty minutes.”

I groan dramatically. “You’d think after all the free publicity we gave them this weekend, they’d let us eat in peace.”

She arches a brow. “You mean the publicity you gave them? I was just trying to do my job.”

I shoot her a look. “Right. That’s why there are approximately five thousand tweets shipping us as the next great sports romance. You’re just an innocent bystander.”

She glares. I grin.

“Not my fault you look so damn good in my jersey,” I add, because I can’t help myself.

Lucy sighs, shaking her head. “I walked right into that one.”

“You did.” I grin wider. “And you looked phenomenal doing it.”

Her cheeks turn pink, and I feel irrationally victorious.

By the time our food comes, we’re back to easy banter, but underneath it, something’s shifted. At least for me.

Because I know one thing for sure.

Last night wasn’t enough.

And I have no idea how I’m supposed to go back to normal after this.

There’s just one problem. I still haven’t told her about that thing I really need to tell her.

Which means I’m kind of an asshat. My stomach twists, because now’s certainly not the right time either.

“I’ll get the check, you get us an Uber,” Lucy says, lifting one hand to signal our server.

“I’m getting breakfast. And the Uber,” I inform her.

She tilts her head, unimpressed. “Don’t pull that macho stuff with me. I can pay for your omelet. I want to,” she adds.

Usually the women I date are more than happy to let me pick up the tab, so it’s actually kind of refreshing that Lucy’s willing to fight me on this.

Then again, she’s willing to fight me on most things.

Still, call me old-fashioned, I’m having a hard time letting her win this one. I put a twenty down on the table. “For the tip,” I say.

She narrows her eyes, but lets it go as I rise to my feet. “I’ll get us a car.”

“Okay, see you in a minute.” She looks around me, hunting for our server.

On my walk through the restaurant toward the front door, I pull out my phone and dial Vivian’s number.

She answers on the first ring—thank goodness, because I don’t have much time before Lucy joins me.

“Hey,” I say.

“Good morning,” she says. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I need a favor.”

She chuckles. “Lay it on me. After how well this whole book club campaign has gone, you can have just about anything you want.”

“So, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but there have been a couple of negative comments on Lucy’s social media.”

A pause. “What do you mean?”

I check on Lucy and she’s busy scribbling her signature on the check. “Just a couple of internet trolls who I want to personally hunt down and make pay, but I figure it’s better to let your team manage it.”

99.99% of all comments have been positive, basically egging on this entire thing between her and I, but, alas, it’s the internet, which means there are a couple of rude people, emboldened behind their screen who have nothing nice to say, and say it anyway.

One idiot who said she’s not even that pretty.

Wrong.

Another who said her nose looks like a potato.

Literally, it doesn’t. I can assure you.

People are idiots.

It was only a couple of comments, but it was a couple too many in my book. I hope she never saw them. And with any luck, she never will.

“I’ll take care of it,” Vivian says solemnly.

“Thanks, Viv. I really appreciate this. I gotta go.” I end the call and pocket my phone just as Lucy is approaching.

“Ready?” she asks.

“Let’s do it.”

Back at the convention center, the event hall is buzzing with the last wave of goodbyes and media wrap-ups, players and press filtering out in waves.

Lucy stands next to me, arms crossed, eyes narrowed slightly as she listens to the PR coordinator go over the final talking points.

She looks good—scratch that, she looks stunning—even in just jeans and a Stampede hoodie, her hair in loose waves that fall over her back and shoulders.

I know how soft those tresses are when they’re falling over my chest as she kisses a path lower…

I shouldn’t be this distracted, but it’s been less than twelve hours since I had her bare beneath me, breathy and desperate, and now I’m supposed to act like she’s just my co-host for this event? Torture.

I clear my throat, fighting to get myself in check.

“Bennett?”

Oops. I missed something. I blink and look at the PR guy—what was his name again? Kevin? Evan? Something like that. “Yeah?”

He sighs, clearly used to wrangling athletes who mentally checked out three conversations ago. “I asked if you’d like to share your biggest takeaway from the weekend?”

Oh. Right.

I slide a glance at Lucy, then smirk. “That hockey is a powerful aphrodisiac.”

She elbows me, but I see her fighting a smile. I’ll probably catch hell from her later for that remark, but seeing her pink and flustered? Totally worth it.

“Seriously though,” I continue, “it was awesome getting to see the way the fans showed up, how much the game brings people together. And it was cool being on the other side of things for once, getting to cover the event instead of just playing.”

The PR guy nods, apparently satisfied. He turns to Lucy. “And you?”

She hesitates, just for a second, and I recognize the look on her face. A wall going up.

I bump her shoulder. “C’mon, Quinn. Tell ‘em how much you loved sitting next to me all weekend.”

She rolls her eyes but plays along. “Right. It was a dream come true,” she deadpans, then shifts, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Honestly? My biggest takeaway is that hockey fans are some of the most passionate people on the planet. And that this game—this weekend—was about more than just the sport. It was about community, about giving back. That’s what made it special. ”

It’s a good answer. A great one. And I hate that she still doesn’t fully see herself as part of it.

That’s why I got a gift.

When we finally get out of the conference room, I catch her wrist. “Hang back a sec?”

She lifts a brow but lets me pull her to the side of the now-empty hall.

“You trying to steal me away for one last scandalous moment before we leave Nashville, Wilder?”

I chuckle, stepping in closer. “Tempting, but no.” Reaching into my duffel, I pull out the folded jersey and hand it over. “I got something for you.”

She blinks, taking it. “What is this?”

“Open it and see.”

She unfolds the fabric, the white All-Star jersey crisp and covered in signatures. Her gaze catches on the back, on the name printed there. McMasterson. Her favorite goalie—even if I do kind of want to murder the guy.

Her breath hitches. “This is—” She lets out a squeal, speechless for the first time ever.

“Both teams signed it,” I say, watching her expression carefully. “Figured if you’re gonna be part of this world, you should have something that proves you belong. Because you do, Quinn. Just as much as any of us.”

She stares down at it for a long moment, fingers brushing over the inked names. When she finally looks up at me, her eyes are bright, her voice softer than usual. “Bennett.”

My heart does a weird little thing in my chest. I clear my throat. “So? You gonna say thank you or just keep looking at me like that?”

I’m lying, of course. She could look at me like that forever if she wanted…

She rolls her eyes, but the smile she gives me is different. Warmer. Realer. “Thank you,” she murmurs. Then, surprising the hell out of me, she pushes up onto her toes and kisses me. Quick but lingering, right in the middle of the damn hallway.

I grin as she pulls away. “You’re lucky I like you, Quinn.”

She smirks. “Yeah? How much?”

I hook a finger in the collar of her hoodie and tug her closer. “Enough to let you steal my jersey. But don’t think for a second that means I’m not winning it back.”

Her laughter echoes down the hall, and, it might be my favorite sound in the whole world.