Page 9 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband

"We're finished here," I say quickly, moving toward the door.

Behind him, I can see Dax glaring at his teammate.

"I should get back to my office," I say, edging toward the hallway. "Thank you for the consultation, Mr. Kingston."

"Anytime, Dr. Bennett," Dax replies, and there's something in his voice that makes my stomach flip.

I practically flew down the hallway.

CHAPTER 4

DAX

TWO DAYS LATER

I'm staring at the team meeting schedule when Coach Martinez drops the news that makes my blood run cold: "Detroit road trip starts Thursday. Hotel assignments are posted on the board."

Jamie practically vaults over his chair to get to the assignment board first, because the man has the emotional maturity of a golden retriever when it comes to road trips. "Dude, we're on the same floor again!" he calls out. "Room 412 and 413. That means we can?—"

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, because I've spotted something that makes my stomach drop straight to my skates. Dr. T. Bennett - Room 414.

Because fate’s a sadistic. Little. Bitch.

Jamie bounces back over, grinning like Christmas morning. "This is perfect! We can order room service and watch those terrible action movies you pretend to hate but actually love, and—" He stops mid-sentence when he sees my face. "What'swrong? You look like someone just told you hockey's been canceled."

"Nothing's wrong," I lie, because how do I explain that having my secret wife in the hotel room directly adjacent to mine is my personal version of torture?

"Bullshit. You've been acting weird since Dr. Feel-Good showed up."

"Dr. Feel-Good?"

"That's what Chen's calling her. You know, because she's supposed to make us feel good about our performance or whatever." Jamie flops back into his chair. "Speaking of which, what the hell is up with you lately?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you actually stayed for the entire team meeting yesterday instead of sneaking out after ten minutes. You haven't mentioned Tinder in days. And you folded your laundry last night like you were preparing for a fucking military inspection."

I hadn't realized I'd been that obvious. "Maybe I'm just being more responsible."

"Responsible?" Jamie snorts. "Dude, you ironed your practice jersey. Your practice jersey. The thing that's gonna be soaked in sweat and smell like a locker room in two hours."

"It's called taking care of your equipment."

"It's called being whipped, and you haven't even hooked up with anyone recently." He leans forward with that look he gets when he thinks he's figured something out. "Unless... holy shit, are you seeing someone?"

"I'm not seeing anyone," I say, which is technically true. Being married to someone you're pretending not to know doesn't count as seeing them.

"Then explain why you've been walking around here like a lovesick teenager who just discovered his dick."

"Torres."

"I'm serious! You used to bitch about team meetings, now you show up early. You used to swipe through dating apps during video review, now you actually pay attention. And yesterday during practice, you were staring at the observation window like it held the secrets of the universe."

My head snaps up. "I was focused on the drill."

"The drill was on the ice, genius. You were staring at Dr. Bennett taking notes up there like she was about to cure cancer." He makes air quotes. "Since when do you give a shit about being observed?"

Since my wife started doing the observing. "I was just being professional."