Page 46 of Pucking the Team

Emma stands there, a vision in a form-fitting red dress that hugs her curves like a lover’s embrace. Her chestnut hair tumbles around her face in soft, glossy waves that make my fingers itch to touch. But it’s her eyes, glittering with eager anticipation, that captivate me most.

“Wow,” I breathe, drinking her in. “You look incredible.”

A shy blush colors her cheeks as she ducks her head. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.” Her gaze rakes appreciatively over me, sending a thrill down my spine.

I offer her my arm, and she takes it, her slender hand curling around my bicep. The simple contact sends electricity humming through my veins.

When we arrive at the Signature Room at the Hancock, Emma’s eyes widen as she takes in the panoramic view of the glittering city lights spread out ninety-five stories below. “Ryan, this is amazing,” Emma murmurs as the hostess leads us to our candlelit table by the window.

I can’t take my eyes off her as we sip wine and talk, the conversation flowing effortlessly. In the intimate cocoon of our private corner, I find myself opening up to Emma in a way I never have with anyone else.

“Growing up, I always felt this immense pressure to live up to my family’s expectations, especially since we didn’t have much,” I confess, the old tightness constricting my chest. “To be the perfect son, the perfect student, the perfect athlete. It took a toll on me, trying to maintain that facade.”

Emma’s hand reaches across the table to cover mine, her touch soothing and steadying. “I understand,” she says softly, her eyes filled with empathy. “After losing my parents, I had this constant need to prove myself, to show that I could make it on my own. Like I had to earn my place in the world.”

“Do you have anyone you can lean on?” I ask. “Where did you go after your parents died?”

Emma purses her lips, clearly trying to fight an emotion. “I moved in with my grandmother, who was my only remaining family member. She was…a tough woman. She missed my mom a lot, we both did. And it should’ve made us closer, but it didn’t. She hated that I still loved hockey.”

Emma swirls her wine around in her glass, her gaze softening.

“That sounds like a hard living situation,” I tell her.

“It was,” she agrees. “But…she was my person. She was all I had. Even if we rarely saw eye-to-eye. She died shortly after I graduated college.” Her eyes start to tear up, and she groans, trying to bat away the feeling. “Sorry, it shouldn’t get me like this still, but it does!”

I grab her hand across the table. “It’s okay to miss someone even if your relationship was difficult. I miss my dad constantly, even though his expectations were slowly killing me.”

Emma squeezes my hand and takes a steadying breath. “Thank you. You’re right. Just because you miss someone, you don’t have to rewrite your history with them.”

Her words unlock something deep within me, a sense of kinship, of being truly seen and understood. I turn my hand over beneath hers, our fingers interlacing. “I’m glad you shared that with me, Emma. I want to know everything about you.”

The night spins out in a magical haze of laughter, heartfelt confessions, and the electrifying awareness simmering between us. With every passing moment, I can feel myself falling harder, deeper, for this incredible woman.

And I know, with bone-deep certainty, that I never want to come back up for air.

After dinner, I take Emma home. We climb the stairs of her apartment building, and my hand finds the small of her back, a touch both possessive and gentle. Anticipation builds with each step.

Emma turns to face me, her eyes bright in the hall light.

“I had a really great time tonight,” I murmur, my voice low and rough with barely contained emotion.

“Me too, Ryan.” Her smile is soft, almost dreamy. “It was perfect.”

We lock eyes, the atmosphere between us charged with intense pressure. It’s like gravity, this force drawing me inexorably closer to her.

I gently caress Emma’s cheek, our faces inching closer together. Her eyes flutter closed as our lips meet in a tender, lingering kiss.

It starts slow and sweet but quickly deepens, passion igniting between us. Emma’s arms wrap around my neck, pulling me closer as I lose myself in the sweet taste of her.

The kiss turns heated, hungry, our breathing ragged. I trail my lips down the smooth column of her neck, relishing her shuddering sigh. Desire pulses hot and heavy through my veins. I want her with a desperation I’ve never felt before.

Emma pulls back, her eyes glazed over with lust. “Do you want to come inside?”

I drag in a ragged breath, wondering if I’m ready for that next step with her.

CHAPTER 21

EMMA

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