Page 34 of Puck & Make Up

“And park ranger and city planner and restaurant owner and”—he shakes his head at me, hang dog expression fully in place—“you also, for some reason, don’t want to get rich and own a hockey team.” Another beleaguered sigh. “So really, what’s left now?”

It’s my turn to sport that long-suffering expression.

Only mine isn’t fake.

None of what he’s saying, none of what he’s gathered—which, as I’ve established is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me?—

None of themfit.

“Ugh,” I groan, rubbing my hands over my face. “What’s wrong with me?”

Suddenly, his face is in mine again, those big brown eyes filled with determination. “Do I have to talk about that ass again?”

Somehow, I laugh. “Fox.”

He settles his hand on the side of my neck. Gently. And I feel another piece of that shield around my heart shudder and break off. “Nothing’s wrong with you, sugar,” he says softly. “We’ll figure something out.”

My breath catches, hope blooming in my belly.

I always knew men could act like this, couldbelike this—hell, I’ve seen it with my friends. I just…never thought it was somethingIcould have.

The gentle, the soft. Theknowing—that something was eating me alive, that I was feeling insecure a couple of minutes ago, hell, even the fact that Fox remembered my favorite type of pasta and how I take my coffee is almost unfathomable.

Except…it’s not.

Because hedidremember. And he’s here, brainstorming job ideas after having put together a color-coded—freakingcolor-coded!—binder of options, all of which was after having brought me dinner.

And coffee.

And cookies.

And…

He’s full of life, blazing bright and beautiful…

And he’s here forme.

More pieces of my shield falling away.

Especially when he slides closer to me on the couch and slips his arm around my shoulders, tucking me into his side, sheltering me against the warmth of him. Pressed against all of that big, hard strength is quickly becoming my favorite place to be, quickly filling my dreams, taking over my fantasies.

“It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, tightening that arm, bringing me closer. “I promise.”

I want to stay there, flush against him, but know I can’t, so I push gently against his side and remind him, “You have to leave for San Jose in the morning, and you have practices, workouts, along with training camp coming up. Then the season will be here, and you’ll be busy. You can’t spend all of your time trying to help me fix my disaster of a life.”

He lifts one of those big, strong shoulders and drops it in a careless shrug. “What else have I got to do?”

“Um,” I say. “Hockey and a life that doesn’t involve holding my hand?”

“Hockey’s not everything.”

“It’s your life. Your dream.”

“I don’t know if you’ve picked up on it, but—” He laces his fingers through mine. “I kind of like this, sugar.” A kiss to my knuckles. “Being here with you. Laughing and touching and talking with you.”

“Fox,” I murmur.

A wink. “Most especially when we’re talking about your pole skills.”

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