Page 111 of Offside Angel

Understanding dawns, and I start to scrabble away from him. “Zane, we can’t. Aiden gets out of school in an hour and I have unpacking to do!”

He loops a strong arm around my waist, jerking me back against him. Already, the friction is devastating. “Some things are more important than unpacking, Mira. We have to make this house a home somehow.”

“With our things!” I laugh, trying and failing to fight off his grabby hands. “We make it a home by getting rid of the cardboard boxes.”

He nuzzles his stubbly face into my neck while his hands slide higher and higher under my dress. “Agree to disagree. How about we do it my way first… and then one more time, just to be safe. Then we can do it your way.”

There’s no point arguing. Mostly because I don’t want to.

I sink against him and we christen the wicker couch.

And the tile floor.

And one window that now needs a good cleaning before anyone comes over and sees my handprints on the glass.

Zane kisses me on the cheek, agreeing to disagree yet again. “I like the handprints. They make the place look lived in. It adds character.”

Against all odds, we make it to the volunteering event with plenty of time to spare.

On the way over, Zane told me that the team does these community events every few months—fundraisers for cancer research, donating books to underfunded public schools—but this event is a first.

A fact that seems to be upsetting Taylor more than anyone.

“Usually, I just take some shots of the guys huddling up with underprivileged kids or holding onto a big check, but what am I supposed to do with this?” She flings her arms at the rundown brick building with Domestic Violence Shelter painted on the side.

I actually teared up when Zane told me we’d be organizing donations for the shelter. Places like this fed and clothed me more nights than I can count, especially right after I ran away. Being here is a reminder of where I started and how far I’ve come.

“These people have powerful stories, Tay. The team is doing great work here.”

“I know that, but I can’t ask these people to sign waivers to be used for promotional material. Some of them are literally running for their lives,” she hisses softly. “Plus, as nice as this is, it’s a bummer. It doesn’t roll off the tongue the way ‘we’re helping to cure cancer’ does.”

I snatch her phone out of her hand. “Stop thinking like Social Media Coordinator Barbie and just be here as Daniel’s girlfriend. I don’t think he invited you here to document anything.”

She chews on her lip. “Yeah, but my dad will be pissed if I don’t. As much as he wants to pretend these events are just to give back to the community, everything is about PR. Fans eat this shit up. Then they buy merch and season passes and flood his pockets with cash. It’s the way of the world.”

I want to disagree, but she isn’t wrong. Even though this is supposed to be a family-only event, I notice a journalist making the rounds, asking questions. It’s why Zane is keeping his distance from me: people know we’re dating, but we don’t want to hard launch our marriage outside of a domestic violence shelter. It’s called “reading the room.”

A woman who works for the shelter finds Taylor and me with our hands empty and quickly puts us to work sorting clothes so they can be washed by a line of industrial washing machines.

An hour ago, I would’ve said I never wanted to see another pile of clothes in my life, but I don’t mind this. It feels good to help people the way I wish I’d been helped.

“This whole thing is boring, right?” A petulant groan cuts through our work and Carson Deluth flops on the pile I’m folding, chin resting on his fists. “I don’t know who came up with this charity, but playing hockey with kids is way more fun.”

Carson has been flashing smiles at me for the last hour. I know he’s only doing it to get under Zane’s skin, but I’m not in the mood to be a victim of his small dick energy. I hoped I’d make it through the entire event without actually having to talk to him. Seems my luck has run out.

Thankfully, where luck ends, Taylor Hall begins.

“Yes, because we shouldn’t do anything for others unless it’s fun,” she sneers. “If I remember right, you weren’t at the last hockey clinic, Carson. But I remember seeing pictures online from your ski trip. That looked fun.”

God, I love her.

I bite back a smile and drop my head, pretending to be very focused on whether the hot pink shirt in my hands should go in the darks or the colors pile.

His eyes narrow, but his oily smile stays firmly in place. “There weren’t enough volunteer slots for everyone on the team. I guess that’s the benefit of this one: everyone can help and bring a puck bunny plus-one.”

Taylor grins, but only I can see the fangs beneath the smile. “Weird, because I didn’t see that you had a plus-one. Is she here or…?” Taylor makes a big show of looking around the warehouse before she gives him a pitying frown. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find someone desperate enough to ride your schlong for the next volunteer event.”

Carson’s smile finally slips, but as he opens his mouth to speak, a deep voice cuts in, sending a shiver straight to the core of me.

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