Page 66 of Offside Bride

I stand too, caught up in the moment. “Yeah, go…honeypot!”

Siobhan gives me an amused look. “Honeypot?”

I shrug, feeling my cheeks heat up. “What? That’s what wives say, right?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re adorable.”

The game progresses, and I’m surprised to find myself actually enjoying it.

Sawyer’s a force of nature on the ice, unstoppable, powerful, and utterly captivating. His muscular frame moves with fluid precision, effortlessly weaving between players. He’s so intense—the way he owns the ice, anticipating his opponents’ moves and outmaneuvering them at every turn. It’s pretty hot.

At one point, he scores a goal, and the crowd goes wild.

“That’s my brother!” Siobhan screams, hugging me tightly.

“That’s my…husband,” I say, the word feeling strange on my tongue.

Sawyer looks up at our box and blows a kiss, as if to say, “That one’s for you.”

My stupid little heart does a somersault, and I pretend to catch the air kiss, playing along for Siobhan’s benefit. But a part of me wonders if I’m still just pretending.

As the game continues, I find myself cheering louder, getting more invested with each play. WhoamI?

At intermission, Emily joins us, just as she did that first day when I reluctantly came to see Sawyer play. How different things seem now.

Sometime in the second period, a strange feeling bubbles up inside me. It’s not just attraction (though there’s plenty of that). It’s…inspiration. Suddenly, ideas come at me in waves. My mind is already spinning with plot ideas. Characters begin to form. I can almost hear their banter, feel the sizzling tension between them. The brooding star player, the spunky team publicist who sees past his gruff exterior. Late nights at the rink, stolen glances across the locker room. My mind races with possibilities, scenes unfolding like a movie in my head.

I thought I was done with writing, but seeing Sawyer out there—so capable and passionate—is stirring something in me.

I grab my phone, furiously tapping notes before the inspiration slips away.

Emily notices my frantic typing and raises an eyebrow. “What’s got you so worked up?”

I blush, caught in the act. “Oh, um…just had an idea for a new book.”

She grins knowingly. “Inspired by a certain hockey player, perhaps?”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help smiling. “Maybe. But don’t you dare tell him that.”

My phone buzzes during the third intermission. It’s Sawyer, and I need to check the goofy grin on my face when I answer. “What’s up, superstar?” I’m trying to sound casual, but probably failing miserably.

“Hey there, gorgeous.” His sultry voice purrs through the speaker. “Enjoying the game?”

I bite my lip to keep from sounding too giddy. “Oh, it’s okay. I mean…if you’re into watching grown men fighting for the last Oreo.”

His laugh rumbles through the phone, warm and rich. “Is that what it looks like to you? And here I thought I was impressing you with my knife shoes.”

“You know I like those knife shoes.”

He clears his throat. “Yes, I remember. Do you miss me?”

“Keep dreaming, hotshot,” I tease, ignoring the flutter in my stomach.

“Meet me downstairs after the game,” he says, his voice taking on a flirty edge. “I want to show you off.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. And then I want to take you home and demonstrate my best moves.”

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