Page 84 of The Five Hole

He doesn’t speak for a beat. Then another.

I’d be worried if not for the fact that I know Gabe Thatcher, and I can see the emotions playing out on his face and the beat of his heart in his neck as he breathes through them.

“You serious?” he says finally, rubbing his chest. His voice is low and rough, full of emotion.

“Yeah. I’m not really the down-on-one-knee type. Most days that’s damn near impossible, but—“

Thatcher steps in between my legs like I’d been hoping for, hands gripping my thighs, and he kisses me.

Hard. Full. The kind that silences every stupid doubt I never said out loud. It’s possessive, and I lean into it.

This man can possess me till the end of time, and I intend to make damn sure he knows it.

“Damn.”

I breathe in short pants against his lips, because having Gabe Thatcher’s lips on mine will never be something that doesn’t spin my head.

“Marry me, Gabe,” I whisper against his lips. “Be my husband. Be forever with me.”

When he pulls back, he says, “Yes.” And punctuates it with another kiss. “I want a lifetime of you, Rory.”

His strong hands wrap around my thighs and hips, hauling me against him in a show of strength that makes me grind against him in response.

Gabe Thatcher is the hot hockey dad of my dreams, and he looks ready to take me apart here in our hockey-themed bar.

“Want to give me the ground rules?” I ask, breathless from his kissing and manhandling. He gives me a dark look full of promise at my teasing.

“Ground rules for marriage? As if you would even listen, Monroe.”

Later, we sit on the bar floor, backs against the counter, shoulders touching. The ring is still in the box from where we got . . . distracted . . . after the proposal.

I slip it onto his finger, listening to his breath catch as he admires it in the low light.

“We’ll have to get you one out of silicone too,” I muse. “For when you’re working.” I kiss each finger lightly. “I need you to keep all of these.”

I feel his breath catch and the low laugh he exhales against my neck. We’re both too spent for more than a heated kiss at my innuendo.

We share a smile and the kisses get lazy, both of us feeling the post-sex haze.

“I think maybe Riley wasn’t totally gone when you proposed,” Thatcher finally says, arching his brow at me to signal the gossip that implies.

“He’s already posted about it,” I tell him, holding up my phone after a few taps, confirming Thatcher was right. “Good thing Jamie already gave me his blessing.”

Thatcher buries his head in my neck with a half-hearted groan, and I laugh, holding him there.

Then I lean against him, and he leans back, wrapping us up together.

We stay like that for a long time.