Page 33 of The Pucking Player

I nod, the familiar edge of adrenaline kicking in, like right before the first puck drop. “Yes. Better to move now than risk being stuck here all night.”

A part of me whispers that being snowed in with Sophie wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but I shove the thought aside.

We weave our way to the coat check, the room buzzing with a mix of urgency and resignation. I grab both our coats and help Sophie slip hers on, unable to resist brushing my fingers lightly over her shoulder as I adjust the collar. She looks up at me with a small smile, and for a moment, I’mdistracted by how damn perfect she looks, even with the storm brewing around us.

Outside, the world has transformed into a swirling white abyss. Snowflakes fall thick and fast, carpeting everything in sight, muffling sound and turning the parking lot into a hive of frenetic activity. People scrape ice off windshields, stomp their shoes, and rush to warm up their cars. The air is sharp and cold, each breath visible in the frosty night.

I tighten my arm around Sophie’s waist as I guide her toward my car, keeping her steady on the slick pavement. Her heels slip slightly on the icy ground, and I pull her closer, steadying her with a grin. “Careful, Cinderella. Don’t lose a shoe on me.”

She laughs, a mix of nerves and amusement. “You’re not exactly the perfect glass slipper type, Liam.”

“True,” I admit, smirking as I open her door. “But I do drive a pretty good carriage. Ready for an adventure?”

Her eyes meet mine, that spark of humor and determination I’ve come to adore lighting her expression. “As long as this carriage doesn’t turn into a pumpkin, Prince Charming.”

I chuckle, the sound a low rumble as I help her inside, careful to shield her from the falling snow. “I think we’ll be fine.”

Once she’s settled, I close her door and jog around to the driver’s side, the cold biting at my face and hands. I slide into the seat and start the engine, its low hum breaking the stillness.

The dashboard lights up, the navigation display showing the quickest route back. But as the windshield wipers swipe at the heavy snow, I realize tonight might not be as simple as following the GPS.

11

HOW TO FAKE AN ENGAGEMENT IN THREE EASY STEPS

SOPHIE

The world outside Liam’s car is a whirling chaos of white. Snowflakes pummel the windshield faster than the wipers can clear them, creating a hypnotic dance that’s both beautiful and terrifying. The headlights barely penetrate the swirling vortex of snow, turning the familiar route into an alien landscape.

I grip the edge of my seat, my knuckles white, as Liam navigates the treacherous roads. The tires slip and slide, searching for purchase on the increasingly icy surface. It feels like we’re skating rather than driving.

“You okay there, angel?” Liam’s voice breaks through my worried thoughts.

I turn to look at him, struck again by how unfairly handsome he is. His jaw is set in concentration, his eyes focused intently on the road ahead. A lock of hair has fallen across his forehead, and I have to resist the urge to reach out and brush it back.

“I’m fine,” I manage, my voice sounding breathier than I’d like. Whether it’s from fear of the storm or our proximity, I’m not entirely sure.

The memory of our dance floods back, sending a wave of heat through me despite the chill outside. I can still feel the phantom pressure of his hand on my waist and the solid warmth of his chest against mine. It takes all my willpower not to squirm in my seat.

A gust of wind batters the car, making it shudder. Liam tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his biceps flexing beneath his dress shirt.

Oh boy. Not helping.

“This storm really came out of nowhere,” I say, desperate for a distraction from my wayward thoughts.

Liam nods, his eyes still on the road. “Yeah, Mother Nature’s got one hell of a curveball. Or should I say, slapshot?”

I roll my eyes at the hockey reference, but I’m grateful for his attempt at levity. “How far are we from campus?”

“About fifteen minutes in normal conditions,” he says. “But in this? Could be a bit longer.”

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” I murmur, watching as the wind whips snow across the road in white sheets.

Liam reaches over and gives my hand a quick squeeze. The brief contact is both reassuring and electrifying. “We’ll be fine, angel. I’ve got you.”

His confidence is comforting, but as I look out at the raging storm, I can’t shake the feeling that this night is far from over.

What’s wrong with me? Here we are, in the middle of a potentially life-threatening blizzard, and all I can think about is how good Liam’s hand felt on mine.

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