Page 27 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband

Dax

Small café in Lincoln Park. Away from team territory. One hour?

I should say no. Should remind him that we agreed to keep things professional during work hours. Should be the responsible adult who makes smart career decisions.

See you there.

Apparently, I'm not that adult anymore.

The café Dax chose is exactly the kind of place I would have picked—small, tucked away on a quiet side street, with mismatched furniture and the kind of cozy atmosphere that makes you want to linger over coffee for hours. It's also blissfully free of anyone wearing Renegades gear, which feels like a minor miracle.

I arrive first, claiming a corner table that offers a view of the door and ordering a latte I don't particularly want. My hands are shaking slightly as I check my phone, and I realize I'm more nervous about this conversation than I was about presenting my doctoral thesis.

"Dr. Bennett."

I look up to find Dax standing beside my table, and my breath catches. He's traded his usual team hoodie for a simple black sweater that hugs his chest in ways that should be illegal, and his hair is still slightly damp from his post-practice shower. He looks like every fantasy I've ever had about the mysterious stranger in a coffee shop.

"Mr. Kingston," I reply, hyperaware of how formal we sound. "Thank you for meeting me."

He slides into the chair across from me, and suddenly the small table feels intimate instead of cozy. A barista approaches our table—young, probably a college student, with the kind of easy smile that suggests she hasn't yet learned that life is complicated. "What can I get you?"

"Black coffee," Dax says. "And whatever pastry you'd recommend."

"The blueberry scones are amazing," she chirps. "Just came out of the oven."

"Perfect."

After she leaves, we sit in silence for a moment, and I realize this is the first time we've been alone together outside of hotel rooms and equipment closets. The first time we can just... be.

"So," I say finally, because I'm terrible at comfortable silence. "Strategy meeting?"

He grins, and the sight of it makes my stomach flip. "You could call it that. Though I'm pretty sure most strategy meetings don't involve discussing how incredible the other person looks naked."

"Dax!" I hiss, glancing around to make sure no one heard. "We're in public."

"Relax. No one's listening." He leans forward, his voice dropping to that low register that makes me want to climb across the table. "Besides, I'm just stating facts. You are absolutely incredible naked."

Heat floods my cheeks. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because we're supposed to be having a serious conversation about... about whatever this is."

"This," he repeats, his gray eyes holding mine. "I like that better than 'mistake.'"

The barista returns with his coffee and two scones, giving us both bright smiles before disappearing again. Dax takes a sip of his coffee and makes a satisfied sound that reminds me entirely too much of the noises he made last night.

"Okay," I say, trying to get us back on track. "We need to establish some ground rules."

"I'm listening."

"First, absolutely no personal interaction during work hours. No meaningful looks, no casual touches, no inside jokes that might make people suspicious."

"Agreed, but what counts as meaningful? Because I look everyone in the eye when I'm talking to them."

"You know what I mean. The way you looked at me during practice yesterday when you scored that goal."

"How did I look at you?"