Page 117 of From Maybe to Baby

"This one has potential," she says, pulling up a listing on her laptop. "Fifteen minutes from the arena, top-rated schools, and the yard's big enough for whatever setup you're planning. Plus, the previous owner already reinforced the garage floor."

"For a home gym?"

"For your shot practice setup. I called the agent. Apparently, he was a baseball player. Had a batting cage installed."

Of course she checked. Same attention to detail she uses in her articles, just applied to finding our... my... the um, new house.

I tell her about an offer from the team. "It’s a new contract with an increased budget for taking the family on some of ouraway-game trips. They're calling it family-friendly, but we both know they're capitalizing on their viral moment."

"The PR team still riding that wave?"

"Vince's got a five-year marketing plan based on it. Apparently, family-man hockey players sell tickets. Plus, my game stats since you came back..." I let that hang there.

"Pure coincidence."

"Tell that to the analytics team. They've got charts."

She tries to maintain her professional expression, but I catch her smile. "Statistical anomaly."

"They've got spreadsheets that say otherwise." I watch her add another property to her database. "The contract's good. Better than I expected."

"Because of your game-winning heroics?"

"Because merchandise sales doubled when a certain travel writer started showing up in my jersey."

Not that they have any say it in, but the team wants this to work. It wants their star center settled, focused, playing like he did the other night.

"You know," she says, studying the house's floor plan with the same intensity I use for game film, "we could modify this space. Make it work better for—" She stops, catching herself planning a future she hasn't committed to. Yet.

"For what?"

"Professional research purposes."

But she's already marking potential office spaces on the blueprint. One for her writing, one for me. A shared space for what looks suspiciously like family gatherings.

The real estate agent sends more listings, each one carefully filtered through Alexa's specific criteria. She's got a system for everything—ranking houses like she used to rank hotels, just with different standards.

"The team's investment in your contract is significant," my agent mentions during review. "They're betting on stability."

"They're betting on consistency," I correct him. On ice and off.

"Either way, the terms are solid. Though they did add an interesting clause about maintaining 'positive family engagement' during home games."

Vince's influence, no doubt. He's probably already got next season's PR campaign planned, and I have no doubt it includes having the beautiful Alexa onsite for as many games as possible.

Later, while Alexa finishes up her house-hunting, I realize something. Every address she’s toured, every number she’s crunched, every late-night email I’ve sent to iron out the details—it’s all us choosing. Not with grand gestures, but with small, deliberate steps toward building something together.

"That’s some professional planning," I tell her, watching her add yet another column to her spreadsheet.

"Always," she agrees, labeling the new column "Future Considerations."

Some plays look risky on paper but feel right on the ice. Some shots you take not because they're safe, but because they're worth the risk. Some futures you choose not because they're easy, but because they're right.

The next house we look at has a backyard perfect for practice and an office with built-in bookshelves. Alexa adds it to her spreadsheet, but we both know it's already at the top of the list.

Just like some plays, you know they're good before you even take the shot.

Moments later,with the house to ourselves, I have Alexa on her knees, completely nude, her fingers playing with her already hard nipples. Her hair tumbles down her shoulders, and I can smell her arousal.

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