Page 137 of Puck Prince

“I’ve been too checked out worrying about you and it’s bad for my game. If you live here, I’ll worry about you less, and then I won’t get ransacked by the offense and destroy the career I’ve spent my entire life building from the ground up.”

“Owen.” She’s not amused, but I run with it.

“As my PT, it is your job to do what is best for me and my performance. And it’s in my best interests as an athlete for you to live here so I can focus on the game and not on protecting you from creeps. You have to move in with me. Reverse doctor’s orders.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but bites her lip instead.

It’s not often Callie Coleman doesn’t have a comeback, but I got her there.

I arch an eyebrow, my lips tugged into a grin.

Callie can’t help smiling, too. “Alright. You know what? Fuck it. I’ll move in.”

“It’s about time.” I finish off my beer and head to the fridge for another.

“But it’s not a real move in.”

“Got it.”

“Because you’re not my real boyfriend,” she points out.

“Not even close.”

“And as soon as this whole thing blows over, you have to give me the keys.”

“I’ll be counting down the minutes.”

She’s in the middle of my living room—ourliving room, as of twenty-five seconds ago—staring at me like she’s waiting for the formal documentation. When none comes, she sighs. “I’m going to go talk to Kennedy.”

What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall for that conversation. If I’m lucky, maybe she’ll leave the balcony door open again.

“See ya later, roomie!”

“There’s still time to change my mind,” she warns as she slams the door behind her.

I sit back down on the couch, the second beer in hand, a smile on my face.

She was right: this seems nuts. I’m a little worried I’ve lost my mind. Hell, maybe I have. But this is nothing compared to the way I’d lose my mind if something happened to her.

Callie may be able to deny how scared she is, but that note taped to my door scared the shit out of me. That the guy had the balls to show up at Pour Boys makes my skin crawl and my blood boil.

Guys who pull shit like that don’t give up. He’ll get more and more aggressive until he gets what he wants, no matter the cost. I know—I’ve been around men like that my whole life.

Well, two can play that game. He wants Callie, and I want nothing more than to keep her safe.

This is a game he is not going to want to play with me, that’s for damn sure.

39

CALLIE

I wake up with sweat running down my temples.

I’m not hot. That would be a scientific impossibility because Owen keeps his apartment at subarctic temperatures constantly. His beefy hockey body is like an industrial space heater. If the thermostat rises above sixty-eight, he starts to overheat.

This also isn’t the cold sweat of a nightmare. Not unless I find dreams of Owen putting that hockey body to use terrifying. (To be clear, I don’t.)

No, this is something else.

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