Page 79 of Falling for the Pucking Bad Boy

“He isn’t the first coach I’ve had that’s tried to tame me, Snowflake. I’ll keep him busy.”

Rory doesn’t look convinced, and I take that opportunity to place a long and sensual kiss on her mouth to make her forget about anything that might cause her worry.

“Just welcome me to the family,” I mutter. “And all will be good, baby.”

“He’s a crazy person.”

“Who loves you. Just like me.” I pull her close for another quick hug. “Don’t sweat it, I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” she mumbled into my chest.

“Positive.” I kiss the top of her head. “Let me get out of this shit, and I’ll take you out.”

“Where?”

I send her an exasperated look. “Food. Where else? You’re always hungry.”

Her lips curl into a wide grin, and I shake my head before getting back into the locker room to make quick work of my gear.

Then, I get to have my snack.

Her.

“What was that bet again?”

I stop dead in my tracks, almost forgetting the whole ordeal in length since her father—one of my new coaches, fuck me—tried to cock block.

Turning around, I can’t help the lift in my lips because this…this is frantic and crazy and everything in between.

There's a gnawing in my gut that's been there since the last buzzer, but it's not nerves—it's more like a hunch that's been eating at me. The kind that makes you do insane things, like betting your future on a game. Since I already put that Post-it note in front of her tonight, that was just the warm-up. Now, I'm thinking of upping the ante in a way that will either be the slickest move of my life or the most spectacular fail I’ve ever endured.

"So, I got another idea," I start, my voice low as I eat up some distance between us again. "This bet's a step up from the last one."

Her eyebrows lift, curiosity piqued. "Do I need to sit down for this?"

I shake my head, lips curving into a half-cocky, half-nervous smirk. "Hear me out, Snowflake. If I—no, when I win the first round of the playoffs, you become my fiancée."

The words hang in the night air, bold and brash like how I play on the ice. I'm not one for hesitating. I never have been, and this feels right. The risk is huge, but so's the win, and I can't help but know it's worth it.

Her face is unreadable for a moment, and I swear I can hear my heartbeat over the distant chatter of the guys in the locker room. But then, that slow-spreading smile tells me Rory gets the game. And she’s wearing my jersey, so I’ve already laid claim all over her sweet ass.

“Are you looking for another reason for my father to hate you?”

“He won’t,” I retort softly. “I’m a fuckin’ catch.”

“You’re a pain in his ass, and you’ll continue to be since I keep showing up at games.”

“I play my best when you’re here. He’ll see that.”

"You're serious?" There's a hint of laughter in her voice; disbelief mixed with the kind of thrill you get right before a puck drop.

"As a heart attack," I reply, my tone dropping an octave.

I watch her mull it over, and the suspense is excruciating. Then, she steps forward, and I practically pant for her answer.

"Judson Wells, do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Hopefully you,” I emit honestly. “Over and over again for the rest of our lives.”

---