Page 41 of The Pucking Player

“Changed your mind? Want to go back to bed?” I tease, flexing a bit for good measure. “You said you needed food.”

A giggle escapes her, but her gaze doesn’t waver. “I was checking out your tattoo. What does the lion mean?”

I pause, my fingers hesitating on the buttons. It’s not often I talk about the ink, but with Sophie, I want to share. “Got it after my first season as captain. Kinda represents stepping up and leading.”

Sophie comes closer, her fingers ghosting over the tattoo. “It suits you. Strong, protective...definitely not to be underestimated. Dangerous.”

Her touch sends a jolt through me. “Dangerous, huh? Want me to show you again?”

She pulls back, a hint of a smirk on her face. “You’re insatiable.”

“Part of my appeal,” I shoot back with a wink, finishing the last button.

I grab her by the hand, and we head downstairs. It feelsnatural, coming down the stairs with her by my side. It’s like we’ve been doing this for ages, not just one day.

I’m getting used to this real fast.

The bad boy of hockey, brought to his knees by a pre-med student with a killer smile and a brain that could run circles around the entire hockey league.

Life’s funny that way, I suppose.

As we reach the bottom, I place my hand possessively on the small of Sophie’s back, guiding her to the dining room.

We follow the scent of wood smoke and cinnamon. Martha greets us and directs us to a cozy sitting room adjacent to the dining area. The space is pure rustic charm, all exposed wooden beams and plush, overstuffed furniture. A fire crackles merrily in a massive stone fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

I settle into one end of the worn leather couch, my eyes glued to Sophie as she curls up at the other end. Maybe it’s the soft glow from the fireplace, or maybe it’s the day we spent in bed, but she looks...transformed.

Content.

The high school jock in me grins, congratulating myself for my prowess.

Gone is the shy pre-med student from last night. In her place is a woman who seems comfortable in her own skin. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face, and there’s a subtle flush to her cheeks that has nothing to do with the warmth of the room. She tucks her feet under her, and the simple gesture is both innocent and sensual at the same time.

She meets my gaze questioningly, and I smile at her.

“You’re way too far over there, angel. Come here.”

She shifts on the sofa obediently, and I envelop her in my embrace. Martha bustles in, carrying asteaming teapotand two mugs. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour,” she says, setting the tray on the coffee table. “Thought you might like something to warm you up in the meantime.”

Before she can start pouring, I clear my throat. “Actually, Martha,” I say, flashing her a charming smile. “Would you mind making Sophie an oat milk cappuccino instead of tea? She likes it extra hot, with light foam.”

Sophie’s head snaps toward me, her brows shooting up in surprise.

Martha pauses, her hands resting on the teapot, her face lighting up with delight. “Of course. Give me just a few minutes.” She bustles out of the room, leaving behind a stunned Sophie.

Sophie turns to me, her eyes narrowing, though there’s the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “How do you even know that’s what I like?”

I lean back in my chair, completely at ease, and give her a cocky grin. “I pay attention, angel.” Her cheeks flush, and she tries to hide the way her lips curve into a small, grudging smile.

Soon, Martha returns, her steps soft but purposeful as she carries a steaming cup of cappuccino.

“Here you go, dear,” she says, placing it in front of Sophie with a smile. “Extra hot, light foam.”

Sophie blinks at the perfectly made coffee, clearly caught off guard, before giving Martha a grateful smile. “Thank you so much.”

As the innkeeper leaves, Sophie reaches for the cup, taking a tentative sip. Her lashes lower as the steam warms her face. When she opens her eyes, they land on me, and there’s no mistaking the glimmer of amusement—and maybe a little something more.

“This is perfect,” she says, holding the cup up like she’s toasting me.

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