Page 34 of What If I Hate You (Anaheim Stars Hockey #6)
He doesn’t say anything right away. Just brushes his fingers lightly over my shoulder.
“Do you miss it?” he asks.
“Sometimes,” I admit. “Mostly the adrenaline rush. The chaos. That feeling like I knew exactly who I was on the ice. And the locker room. The girls. That bond. You don’t get that anywhere else. I’m sure you know that feeling.”
He nods, and his eyes soften. “Yeah. I do get that.”
“I figured you did. You have that same look when you’re out there. Like everything makes sense.”
He holds my gaze, then smirks. “So, you chirped refs too, huh?”
“Only when they deserved it,” I say sweetly. “There was this one guy in the Boston league who couldn’t tell a high stick from his shoelaces.”
Barrett laughs, low and warm. “God, I wish I could’ve seen you play.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What, to scout my five-hole protection?”
“I mean,” he says, voice dropping as he leans in, “I’ve already tested that in other ways.”
I shove him, laughing, but he catches my wrist and pulls me closer, kissing me soft and slow.
It’s the kind of kiss that says he’s proud of me.
That he sees something more than the sports reporter sitting next to him in his hoodie.
That maybe he can picture the version of me I used to be, chasing pucks and perfection and thinking I had to earn my place.
The credits of whatever show we weren’t really watching roll across the screen, the room quiet except for the occasional creak of the building settling and the soft purr of Killer resting on the top of the couch behind us.
I’m tucked against Barrett’s side, my legs stretched across his lap, his hand tracing lazy circles on the bare skin of my thigh where his hoodie has ridden up.
He’s quiet. Thoughtful. For a man who’s always so confident in the chaos—press rooms, locker rooms, on the ice—he gets oddly fidgety when it’s just the two of us and something real is trying to surface.
“You doing that thing where you’re pretending to watch but you’ve actually been staring at the same corner of the screen for five minutes?” I tease gently.
He huffs a breath and smiles. “Maybe.”
I shift slightly, propping my chin on his chest so I can see his face. “Penny for your thoughts, Cunningham.”
He rubs a hand over the back of his neck and avoids eye contact for a second too long. “You uh…you doing anything tomorrow?”
I narrow my eyes. “That depends. Are you looking for more locker room chaos or something?”
He laughs under his breath. “No. I was actually thinking something more dangerous.”
“Oh?”
“I was thinking…” He shifts, and the nerves that flash across his face almost make me sit up.
“I need some new stuff. For the apartment. Like…I don’t know.
Plants or a lamp or something. It should feel less like a sad single guy cave who doesn’t like to spend his money in here.
And I want to make it more comfortable…” His eyes fall to mine. “For you.”
I blink.
“Are you asking me to go…home decor shopping with you?”
He winces. “Is that weird?”
“No,” I say slowly, watching him. “It’s just wildly domestic.”
He meets my eyes again, the cocky goalie facade slipping just enough for me to see the man beneath.
“I was hoping maybe you’d stay tonight. And tomorrow.
Help me pick out something stupid. Whatever you think this place needs.
I don’t exactly know what I’m doing when it comes to décor or feng shoo or whatever. ”
I chuckle lightly. “You mean feng shui?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “That. What do I need? A plant? Some throw pillows? Whatever normal people do to make a place feel less like a pit stop.”
“Throw pillows?” I repeat, biting back another smile as I tease him. “Are you nesting, Cunningham?”
He groans and covers his face with one large hand. “I’m trying not to make this weird, Rivers.”
“It’s not weird,” I say gently, sliding my hand up his chest until it rests over his heart. “It’s actually really sweet.”
His hand drops, and he looks at me. Really looks at me.
“I like having you here,” he says to my surprise. “My bed’s warmer. The food tastes better, and life doesn’t annoy me as much. I don’t know what that means yet, but I know I like the way I feel when you’re around. And I don’t want it to stop.”
My chest squeezes, painfully soft.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay?”
“I’ll stay,” I say, a smile tugging at my lips. “But if I’m helping pick out décor, I want veto power. No weird taxidermy or neon signs with your name on them.”
He grins wide, like I just gave him the winning lottery ticket. “Deal.”
“And I’m picking the throw pillows.”
“Fine,” he says, tugging me closer and kissing the top of my head. “But I’m naming them after hockey plays.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re a goof.”
“And yet, here you are,” he murmurs against my hair, like it still surprises him.
Here I am.
And for the first time in a long time…I don’t want to be anywhere else.
“I have something else I have to do tomorrow too,” he adds with another soft kiss to the top of my head. “And I’d really like it if you’d come with me.”
“What is it?”
“Just something I do pretty regularly.” His eyes are filled with a sense of peace I’m not sure I’ve ever seen before. “But I’d rather show you than tell you.”
I nod, giving him the benefit of the doubt. “Alright. Whatever it is, I’m in.”