Page 59 of Pucking One Night Stand

The moment we enter, we let go of each other’s hands, still grinning. Like we know something the rest of the world doesn’t.

Like maybe, just maybe, we’ve got this.

What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter nine

Blake

The arena’s already humming like a beast waking up. Equipment staff are wheeling crates of sticks and pads past us. The sharp sting of disinfectant mixes with the smell of old sweat and stale popcorn from the concession stands.

Someone yells across the corridor about towels. A Zamboni horn echoes off in the distance. It’s loud, chaotic, and it’s home.

And I’m on cloud fucking nine. I’m actually going to be a Dad. Cassy’s having my baby.

Just as she’s about to head right toward Media and Comms, and I’m about to head left to the locker room, there’s this surge in me, like if I let her walk away now, I’ll regret it.

So, I grab her wrist and pull her back.

“What?” she starts, but I don’t let her finish. My hand’s already at the small of her back, pulling her into me.

I don’t give a shit who sees. Not the staff hauling gear past us, not the intern doing a double-take near the vending machine, not even Coach McCullum. None of them matter.

She’s warm in my arms. Soft. Mine.

And I kiss her. Not gentle. Not sweet. I kiss her like I haven’t had enough of her. Like I won’t ever. She leans into it, her mouth parting against mine, and it’s this dangerous kind of perfect. I can feel her fingers gripping the front of my hoodie, anchoring us like she feels it the same way, too.

We don’t break apart until—Bishy.

I hear the wad of bills before I even see it. The obnoxious flap of a fat cash bundle.

I pull back from Cassy like I’ve just been caught lighting a match near gasoline. She’s glowing. Flushed lips, messed-up hair.

And Bishy is just standing like a clueless idiot about to get me killed. “I think I owe you this,” he grins, holding the money out to me.

I shoot him a look. It’s not subtle. It’s full fucking volume. “No. Not now. For the love of God, not now.”

I’m barely shaking my head, low and slow, making sure Cassy doesn’t see, but knowing Bishy won’t miss it.

She catches the tension, though, of course, she does. “What’s that for?” Her voice is casual, but that edge is creeping in.

My mouth’s already opening, ready to spill something ridiculous, lost poker bet, March Madness brackets, fuck it, anything, when Bishy beats me to it.

“The bet we had.”

NO!

“Come on, Bishy,” I mutter, stepping toward him. “Time for drills.”

“What bet was that?” Cassy again. This time her tone’s colder.

Bishy shrugs like it’s nothing. Like we’re still in college, and the world can’t bite back. “The bet I had with Blake that night at Sin City. I bet him he couldn’t get you into bed.”

Just as the last word leaves his mouth, I stomp on his foot. Not lightly.

“OW!” He jerks back like I broke a toe. “What the hell, man?” He limps off, still holding the damn cash.

Cassy’s staring at me now. Dead silent. Eyes like thunder. “Fuck you.”