Page 34 of Pucking the Team

“What? Ryan, no, I can’t let you sleep on the floor!” I protest, even as a warmth blooms in my chest at his thoughtfulness. “Seriously, I don’t mind sharing…”

If only he knew the truth to that.

Ryan shakes his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Emma, I insist. You take the bed. I’ll be perfectly fine, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” I search his face. “I really don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

His smile widens. “I’m positive.”

I feel myself melting a little at his chivalry, at the way he’s putting my needs first. Here he is, this hotshot NHL star who could have anyone he wants, putting himself out for little ol’ me. Once again, he’s defying all my preconceived notions about how a celebrity athlete should act.

“Well, thank you,” I say softly, hoping my voice conveys the genuine gratitude I feel. “I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime.” His eyes hold mine, dark and intense, and for a charged moment, I forget how to breathe. I lick my suddenly dry lips.

Then Ryan blinks, and the spell is broken. He clears his throat. “Right, well, we should probably get settled in.”

“Yeah, definitely,” I agree quickly, my cheeks flushing hot.

I open my suitcase and start unpacking, but I can’t ignore the way my pulse pounds and my stomach flutters at the prospect of spending the night mere feet away from this beautiful, enigmatic, utterly tempting man.

I busy myself hanging up my clothes in the small hotel room closet, trying to calm the racing of my heart. Behind me, I hear the rustle of Ryan unpacking his own bag. The domesticity of it all, the intimacy, makes me hyper-aware of his presence.

When I can’t avoid it any longer, I grab my toiletry bag and slip into the bathroom to freshen up before dinner. I splash some cool water on my heated face, trying to get a grip.

As I emerge, I catch sight of Ryan in the mirror. He’s changed into a fitted polo that hugs his broad shoulders and muscular chest in all the right ways. My mouth goes dry as my eyes trace the divots and planes of his impressive physique. God, this man is beautiful.

Averting my gaze, I busy myself with putting away my toiletries, but I can feel his eyes on me, an almost palpable caress against my skin. A whisper of desire unfurls in my belly, despite how hard I try to tamp it down.

“You ready for dinner?” His deep voice rumbles through me.

I turn to him and nod, not quite trusting myself to speak. My stomach chooses that moment to let out an embarrassingly loud growl.

Ryan’s lips quirk in a grin. “I take that as a resounding yes?”

I laugh, the desire diffusing slightly. “What can I say, it’s been a long day. I’m famished.”

He chuckles, eyes sparkling with mirth and something harder to define. “Well, I know just the place. Trust me?”

“Always,” I reply automatically, startling myself with how much I mean it. When did that happen?

Something flickers across his handsome face too quick for me to decipher. He clears his throat. “You ever been to Coney Island?”

I blink at the seemingly random question. “In New York? No, I haven’t. What about it?”

His grin turns mischievous. “You’ll see. Come on.”

And with that cryptic statement, he’s ushering me out the door, one warm hand at the small of my back. That simple touch is enough to set my nerve endings aflame.

The Coney Island restaurant is a bustling throwback to simpler times - cherry red vinyl booths, black and white checkered floors, and the tantalizing aroma of grilled hot dogs and French fries. I slide into the booth across from Ryan, our knees bumping under the cramped table.

“So this is a Coney Island,” I muse, glancing over the laminated menu. “Chili dogs and root beer floats. Color me intrigued.”

Ryan grins, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Every kid from Detroit has a soft spot for Coney dogs. My family didn’t have a lot growing up, but we’d come here for special occasions. Birthdays, good report cards, stuff like that.”

There’s a wistful note in his deep voice that makes my heart squeeze. I’ve always seen Ryan as this imposing, chiseled machine on the ice. But in this moment, I catch a glimpse of the scrappy boy underneath, the one who fought tooth and nail for every opportunity.

“Are your folks still in the area? Planning to see them before we leave tomorrow?” I ask.

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