Page 72 of Puck Prince

I playfully nudge him with my shoulder. It earns me the other seventy-five percent of that smile, and suddenly, the morning sickness doesn’t stand a chance against the release of butterflies in my abdomen.

“Besides,” he adds, “a real boyfriend would sit with his girl. Not the team.”

“Guess what?” I whisper, and he leans in closer to me. “You’re not my real boyfriend.”

“Guess what?” he whispers back. “They don’t know that.”

I giggle, and he smiles, too, our mouths very much in the danger zone.

Close enough I think he might kiss me.

Close enough I might kiss him.

“Get a room!” Lance shouts back at us. Owen gets whacked in the head with an empty shooter bottle of Fireball. And the moment—whatever it was—is gone.

“So,” I say, moving on, “are you going to tell me why you rushed out of your place so quickly the other night?”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

I look at him. His body language has shifted. “It’s okay if a friend… or someone… needed help.”

“Yeah.” He lets out an involuntary sigh. “They seem to need help a lot.”

I fish a little deeper. “It’s kind of a pattern for you, I’m finding—rescuing women in need.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His eyes dart to me and narrow.

Uh-oh.Maybe that was a little too deep of a fishing expedition. I attempt a speedy recovery. “You know, the vomit bags, rescuing me from Kennedy’s balcony—though your altruism in that instance is still under serious investigation—and you ran to your friend when she needed help, too.”

I’m coolly, casually tossing out that I know his “friend” was a woman, curious if he’ll admit it. Maybe the woman with the baby, even? If I play this right, maybe he’ll finally tell me who she is.

I can’t imagine that it would be good for any of us if he was caught with a woman and a baby.

But I also feel, considering the contract and what I am investing in all of this, that he kind of owes me an explanation.

Owen clearly disagrees. Without a word, he undoes his seatbelt and flags down the flight attendant. As she makes her way down the aisle, he turns back to me. “Yeah, well, I guess I try to do the right thing from time to time. If only to buck expectations.”

When the attendant arrives, he orders me a ginger ale before going back to sit with the guys.

I wouldn’t say that I’m avoiding Owen when we get to the arena in Denver.

Mostly because I’m fairly positivehe’savoidingme.

Ever since the flirty-conversation-gone-awkward on the plane, we haven’t spoken.

Not that I can blame him. I pried. I can admit my part in the awkwardness. Still, considering our current quote-unquote relationship, not to mention my looming (and growing) secret, I think that if Owen is involved with a woman and a baby, I have a right to know who they are.

Owen, however, seems to think I don’t even have a right to lay eyes on him because he is nowhere to be seen.

The training room is pumped full of testosterone and what sounds like a playlist of party anthems from the 2010s as the players amp up for the game. Dax and Lance pick their way through the madness to find me in the corner.

“More tape?” I ask Lance as soon as they walk over to me.

“You know me so well.” He smiles, and I smile back. I do like Lance. I can see why Owen would want to be friends with him.

Dax, I don’t know as well.

“And what about you?”

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