Page 42 of In My Hockey Era (Must Love Hockey #1)

ALL IN

Bennett

L ucy sleeps curled up against me, her breath soft against my chest, her fingers resting lightly on my stomach. And I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything better than this.

Having her back.

It’s dangerous, how good it feels.

I should be sleeping, should be exhausted after the way we spent the last hour tangled up in her sheets, exploring every inch of each other’s bodies. But I can’t close my eyes. Not when she’s right here, warm and soft and completely wrapped up in me.

I trail my fingers lazily up and down her bare back, feeling her breathing, steady and deep.

My other hand is tangled in her hair, brushing absently through the strands, because apparently, I’m incapable of not touching her.

I’d been dying to do this for weeks—soothe her, trace her, keep her close in a way that tells both of us she’s really mine again.

She shifts slightly, tucking her leg over mine, pulling me impossibly closer.

Yeah. I’m not sleeping anytime soon.

I press my lips against the top of her head, inhaling the faint scent of her shampoo, some soft floral thing that I add to the mental list of things I missed about her.

Her fingers graze my ribs in a slow, lazy pattern.

“You’re awake,” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

I smirk against her hair. “Still getting used to having you back, Quinn.”

She hums, pressing a sleepy kiss to my collarbone, like that answer satisfies her enough to drift back off.

And I could stay like this forever. Just holding her, listening to her breathe. I tighten my arm around her waist, pressing my palm flat against her back, needing the solid weight of her body against mine.

She stirs again, lifting her head just enough to glance at me through heavy-lidded eyes. “You’re thinking too hard.”

I huff a quiet laugh, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Am I?”

She nods, settling her chin against my chest, her fingers tracing absentminded circles over my stomach.

Her touch is so light, so gentle, it wrecks me.

Everything about her wrecks me.

She challenges me in ways no one else does. She sees through my bravado and calls me on my crap. Who knew that would really get my motor running.

“I like this,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “You holding me.”

I swallow hard.

My hand stills against her back, my chest going tight.

“You’re ruining my plan,” I whisper.

“What plan?”

“The one where I pretend I’m not completely, stupidly in love with you.”

Lucy stills against me.

I hadn’t meant to just blurt that.

I feel it the second it registers. The way her breath catches, the way her fingers freeze against my skin.

And my stomach drops.

I wasn’t planning to say it tonight. I wasn’t even planning to say it yet. But now, with her tangled up in me, all soft and sleepy, her heart beating steady against my ribs—it just came out. And I don’t regret it.

Not even a little.

I brace myself, my heart hammering, but then—she shifts. Her hand slides up my chest, and she pushes herself up just enough to meet my eyes.

I hold my breath.

Then she smiles, slow and sleepy and devastating.

“Say it again,” she whispers.

My pulse kicks up, and I reach for her, cupping her face. “I love you, Luce.”

A soft, breathless laugh leaves her lips, like she can’t believe it. Then she leans in, presses her mouth to mine, slow and deep and consuming.

And just like that—I know.

“You love me too,” I taunt her.

“Ugh, you’re so smug.”

I grin. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

Her lips part. “You’re not supposed to know that.”

“I’m not?”

She shakes her head. “It’s too soon, isn’t it?”

I touch her cheek, guide her mouth to mine again. “Not for me it isn’t.”

“Fine. You jerk. I love you too,” she whispers.