Page 112 of The Pucking Player

“Is that so?” Jenna perks up.

“Yes. What are we? Like, twelve?” Jessica shrugs, but I catch the slight flush on her cheeks. “I need something that tells me he’s not just killing time between practices.”

“Speaking of epic romances,” Jenna pulls up her phone, clearly deciding to save her Jessica-torture for later, “have you seen the latest ESPN article? ‘How Love Saved the Defenders: The O’Connor-Novak Romance.’”

“Oh God.” I bury my face in Liam’s shoulder. “Please tell me they didn’t?—”

“They did.” She clears her throat dramatically. “‘Sources say O’Connor’s game has reached new heights since hiscenter ice declaration of love. Could domestic bliss be the secret to his record-breaking season?’”

“I mean,” Liam’s chest shakes with laughter, “they’re not wrong.”

“Don’t you dare.” But I’m fighting a smile. “I had nothing to do with that hat trick last week.”

“Keep telling yourself that, angel.” His fingers find that spot on my hip that makes me squirm. “Pretty sure that Columbia sweater is my good luck charm.”

“Pretty sure you’re full of—” My phone buzzes. HealthFirst’s HR department flashes on screen. “Oh! I should take this.”

“Everything okay?” His arms tighten slightly.

“It’s about my summer internship.” I try to wiggle free, trying to look professional despite the fact that I’m sitting in my boyfriend’s lap at a team BBQ.

“Go handle your future medical empire.” He nudges me up. “I’ll go help with the burgers.”

“Get me one? A non-burned one?”

He flashes me a playful grin. “Depends on how fast you come back.” He glances at my phone, still buzzing. “And whether you convince them to sponsor the team next season. Those MRI machines aren’t going to buy themselves.”

“That’s not how corporate sponsorship works,” I call over my shoulder, already heading for a quieter spot.

“Pretty sure that’s exactly how it works!” he shouts back, because Liam O’Connor never lets anyone else have the last word.

Even if he’s wrong.

Even if he’s absurdly smug about it.

Even if I kind of love him for it.

I find a quiet spot near the back of the yard, where thesounds of the BBQ fade to background noise. Alan Bradshaw’s assistant sounds way too cheerful for someone working on a sunny Friday afternoon, rattling off details about orientation and paperwork and something about parking permits.

I’m nodding along, scribbling notes on a napkin, when familiar arms wrap around my waist.

“Important future doctor business?” Liam murmurs against my neck.

“You’re supposed to be helping with the grill.” But I lean back into him anyway.

“Finn’s got it. Apparently he’s trying to impress someone with his burger-flipping skills.”

“That someone being my sister, who’s currently critiquing his technique from a safe distance?”

“Got it in one.” His breath tickles my ear, his playoff beard scratching against my neck. “So, when do you start your corporate takeover of the medical equipment industry?”

“June fifteenth.” I turn in his arms. “And yes, I scheduled it late enough that I’ll be there when you hoist the Cup next week.”

“Getting confident there, Dr. Novak.”

“That’s not confidence, Mr. O’Connor.” I poke his chest. “That’s a threat. You better win after I rearranged my entire summer schedule around these playoffs. Plus, I’m kind of ready to see your face again under all that scruff.”

“Oh really?” His eyes spark with that dangerous glint. “Pretty sure I remember someone saying they liked the beard last night.”

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