Page 87 of The Player Next Door

Logan pulled his lips from her neck and made a mock-stern face. “Hey now, you agreed,” he scolded. “And besides, Sam and Vince are your friends too now.”

Clare smiled through her eyeroll and slipped her hand under the hem of his T-shirt, scraping her nails lightly across his skin.

God, he loved it when she did that. “And what are we watching today?” he prompted.

“Today’s sport is . . . hockey?” she said, and Logan rewarded her with a lingering kiss behind her ear.

“Very good. And? Who’s playing?”

“Well, I know it’snotone of the teams with a racial slur for their name, at least. And thank god, because—”

“Stop stalling,” he ordered, and she sank her teeth down into her full lower lip. Logan loosened it with his thumb and lifted his eyebrows questioningly.

Clare wrinkled her nose in thought. “The Minnesota Wild,” she said, and he knew it was probably a stab in the dark but he kissed the corner of her jaw anyway. “And . . . the Colorado . . . Mountains? No, Avalanche.”

“Final answer?”

She paused, and then nodded once. “Final answer. Hockey game, featuring the Minnesota Wild and the Colorado Avalanche.”

Logan curled his hand behind her neck and pulled her in for a deep kiss. He’d never get tired of kissing her, he was sure of that. “Be honest. How much of that was a wild guess?” he asked against her lips.

“How much trouble am I in if I say forty percent?”

“A lot.”

“Then twenty percent,” Clare said triumphantly.

Logan snorted but kissed her anyway.

Life might not be a game, but Logan sure as hell felt like he was winning.