Page 31 of In My Hockey Era (Must Love Hockey #1)

My breath catches slightly, but I mask it with an eyeroll. “What, like that you moonlight as a competitive dancer?”

“Exactly,” he teases. “You should see my tango.”

I huff a laugh, even as my heart pounds. “I don’t believe you.”

“Guess you’ll just have to keep spending time with me to find out.”

I glance up, and there it is again—that look. The one that makes the world shrink down to just him .

The one that makes Mia’s words from earlier impossible to ignore.

I shake my head slightly, trying to clear it. “You’re impossible, Wilder.”

He grins. “And yet, you keep showing up.”

Before I can respond, the music fades, and the soft murmur of conversation shifts toward the front of the room where the night’s charity auction is about to begin.

Bennett’s hand lingers on my waist before he finally lets me go, and I instantly miss the warmth of it.

I smooth my dress, trying to compose myself as we make our way to our table. The ballroom is buzzing, guests flipping through sleek programs detailing the night’s auction items—sports memorabilia, vacation packages, luxury experiences.

“Are you seeing this? Take my wallet. Take everything.” I elbow Bennett and point to the auction catalog in my lap. “A signed Chase Remington jersey?”

His lips twitch. “Are you seriously fangirling right now?”

I scowl. “I respect greatness.”

“Right. Respect .” He rolls his eyes. “Bring a Sharpie over to the condo anytime, I know Chase would sign one for you.”

I ignore him, my eyes still glued to the page. “It’s for charity,” I mutter, almost to myself. “And, I mean, Chase is having an insane season. His jersey’s probably worth—”

Bennett swipes the program from my hands before I can finish.

“Hey!”

“Relax, Quinn.” He flips through the pages lazily. “I just want to see what else is up for grabs.”

I huff, crossing my arms as the bidding begins.

One by one, the items are called—vacation stays, signed equipment, private training sessions with players. Then finally—

“Next up, we have a signed Chase Remington game-worn jersey!”

I sit up straighter, my heart kicking up.

The opening bid starts high, and my stomach sinks. I glance at my purse, where my bidding number sits. I could try , but—

“Ten thousand,” Bennett’s voice cuts through the room.

I whip my head toward him. “ What? ”

He’s leaning back in his chair like this isn’t a colossal waste of money, his face unreadable as the auctioneer continues.

A man across the room raises a hand. “Eleven.”

Bennett lifts a finger. “Fifteen.”

I grab his arm. “Bennett.”

Another bid comes in at sixteen, and before I can even breathe , he goes straight to twenty.

The room murmurs.

The other bidder hesitates. Then shakes his head.

“Going once, going twice… sold!”

The hammer drops, and applause ripples through the ballroom.

I stare at him. “You did not just—”

“I did.” He smirks, finally glancing at me. “And you’re welcome.”

I’m too stunned to speak, my brain struggling to catch up. “Bennett, that was insane . Why would you—”

He leans in, voice low and smug. “Because you wanted it.”

My stomach flips.

And in that moment, I know.

I know I’m in serious, serious trouble.

The night winds down, the chatter in the ballroom softening as guests trickle out, but Bennett and I are still seated at our table, nursing the last sips of champagne and sharing a dessert neither of us actually needs , but neither of us is willing to give up either.

I drag my spoon through the rich chocolate mousse, lifting it slowly to my lips. “I can’t believe you just casually dropped twenty grand on a jersey.”

Bennett, reclined in his chair like he owns the place, lifts his own spoon and smirks. “I don’t do anything casually, Quinn.”

I roll my eyes, but warmth spreads through my chest anyway.

He watches as I take another bite, gaze flicking from my mouth back to my eyes. “You gonna share that, or am I just here for moral support?”

I consider telling him no just to mess with him, but instead, I dip my spoon into the mousse and hold it up in offering. “You have your own spoon.”

He grins, but instead of reaching for his, he leans forward and takes the bite straight from mine, his lips grazing the edge of the utensil in a way that should not be as hot as it is.

My breath hitches.

He sits back, licking the corner of his mouth. “Damn, that’s good.”

I clear my throat. “The mousse or the spoon theatrics?”

He chuckles, setting his empty champagne flute aside. “You tell me.”

I force myself to focus on something— anything —other than the way my body is responding to him. “I can’t believe you still have energy. Aren’t you exhausted?”

“Not even a little,” he says, voice smooth. “But you look ready to crash.”

I sigh, setting my spoon down. “It’s been a long day.”

He watches me for a beat, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then he tilts his head slightly, voice dropping. “You ready to get out of here?”

My pulse skitters.

It’s a simple question. Innocent, on the surface. But the way he says it, low and knowing, like he’s already picturing exactly how the rest of the night will play out—

I swallow. “Yeah.”

Bennett grins, slow and smug, before standing and offering me his hand.

And as I slip my fingers into his warm, steady grasp, I know exactly where this night is headed.