Page 110 of The Pucking Player

“You hate the beach.”

“But I love you.”

The words steal my breath. Because this is Liam O’Connor—hockey god, captain, certified heartbreaker—laying everything on the line. For me. In front of everyone.

“You broke my heart,” I whisper.

“I know.” His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing away tears I didn’t even know were falling. “Let me spend the rest of my life making up for it.”

My heart’s doing this thing where it can’t decide if it wants to burst or melt. Because Liam O’Connor just laid himself bare in front of twenty thousand people, and he’s looking at me like I’m the game-winning goal and the Stanley Cup rolled into one.

“You really think it’s that easy?” My voice shakes. “That you can just score a hat trick and make this grand speech and?—”

“No.” He drops his gloves and takes my hands in his, the familiar spark shooting through me. That connection that’s been there since day one. “I think this is just the beginning. I think I’ve got years of making it up to you ahead of me. And I can’t wait to start.”

The crowd is holding their breath. I can feel Jenna and Jessica probably having simultaneous aneurysms in the stands. Somewhere out there, my father is probably planning various ways to torture Liam in our basement.

But all I can focus on is how his eyes haven’t left mine once. How he’s still looking at me like I’m everything.

“I’m going to Columbia,” I whisper.

His smile could light up all of Manhattan. “I heard from Adam.”

“Did you also hear I’m incredibly high maintenance? That I need my coffee a very specific way?”

“Extra hot, light foam.” He tugs me closer. “I’ve got it memorized.”

“And that I’m stubborn?”

“Noticed that too.”

“And that I’m never going to make it easy for you?”

His grin turns wicked. “Angel, when have I ever wanted easy?”

The crowd’s starting to murmur, probably wondering if they’re about to witness a very public rejection. Instead, I do the only thing that makes sense.

I grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to my level.

“If you ever push me away again,” I breathe against his lips, “I will personally ensure that hat trick is the last goal you ever score.”

Then I kiss him.

The arena explodes. I vaguely register the sound of people losing their minds. But all I can focus on is how Liam’s lips feel against mine, how his arms wrap around me like he’s never letting go again.

When we finally break apart, he’s wearing that stupid, gorgeous grin that started this whole mess.

“So,” he says, forehead pressed to mine, “Columbia, huh?”

“Columbia.” I can’t help matching his grin. “But don’t get too cocky, O’Connor. I hear spring break is just the beginning of all the ways I can torture you.”

“Already planning my punishment?” His breath fansacross my lips. “And here I thought the suicide sprints from your dad were bad enough.”

“Please. Daddy’s just warming up.” I slide my hands up his chest, feeling his heart hammering under his jersey. “Pretty sure he’s got a whole training program designed specifically for guys who steal his daughter’s virtue in a B&B.”

“Worth it.” His fingers tighten on my hips. “Though next time we get snowed in somewhere, maybe we don’t tell him about it?”

“Next time?” Twenty thousand voices fade into background noise as I arch an eyebrow at him. “Pretty confident for someone who just had to grovel on center ice.”

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