Page 24 of Taming the Grumpy Hockey Player

“Logan,” she greets, her tone light but welcoming. “Good game tonight.”

“Thanks,” I reply, slipping my hands into my pockets. “You weren’t too hard on the refs, were you?”

She laughs, and the sound makes something inside me loosen. “Not this time. But only because they actually called a decent game.”

The mayor excuses himself, leaving us in a quiet bubble amid the fading hum of the room. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The weight of the day, the game, and this connection between us hangs in the air.

“You were incredible tonight,” she says finally, her voice softer, more sincere. “The way you’re connecting with the team, the community… it’s amazing to watch.”

I shrug, the compliment landing heavier than she probably intended. “Just trying to keep up with you,” I say, and the faint blush that colors her cheeks feels like a small victory.

Before I can say more, Lewis nudges her hand, drawing her attention. She crouches to pet him, her fingers ruffling his fur. “You’re lucky to have him,” she says, looking up at me. “He’s pretty special.”

“Yeah,” I agree, my gaze steady on hers. “He is.”

The moment stretches, the noise around us fading as our eyes lock. My breath catches, my chest tightening in a way that’s both thrilling and unnerving. There’s something magnetic in her gaze, something that feels like a quiet challenge and a gentle reassurance all at once, pulling me closer despite the noise in my head telling me to step back. It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist, just the two of us in this shared space. But then someone calls her name, breaking the spell. She stands, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“I should… get back to mingling,” she says, her tone reluctant.

“Yeah. Me too,” I reply, even though walking away is the last thing I want to do.

The night air is cool as I walk home with Lewis, the stars scattered across the sky like pieces of a puzzle. My thoughts drift back to Lucy—the way she looked at me, the way she makes me feel like I’m more than the sum of my mistakes. I’ve been trying to keep things professional, to focus on the campaign and the team, but it’s getting harder to ignore what’s right in front of me.

Lewis barks, snapping me out of my thoughts. He nudges my leg with his nose, his tail wagging like he knows something I don’t. I crouch down, scratching behind his ears. “What do you think, buddy? Am I crazy for thinking this could actually work?”

He barks again, his enthusiasm infectious. I chuckle, shaking my head. “Yeah, me too.”

As we climb the steps to my apartment, the weight I’ve been carrying feels just a little lighter. For the first time in years, I’m not just looking forward to tomorrow. I’m looking forward to her. It’s not just about her smile or the way she lights up a room—it’s the way she’s helped me see myself differently. With Lucy, it’s like the weight of my past isn’t as heavy, like I’m allowed to hope for more than what I’ve settled for. And that hope, fragile as it feels, is enough to keep me moving forward.

Chapter 17

Lucy

The morning sun streams through the shelter’s front windows, casting warm golden patches on the tile floor and illuminating the cheerful mural of animals along the far wall. Cozy Paws hums with its usual energy—volunteers chatting, the occasional bark from the play area, and the soft purring of contented cats nestled in their beds. It’s the kind of day that usually steadies me, reminding me of why I do this. But today, the knot in my stomach won’t untangle.

I glance at my tablet again, the headline pulling my attention back despite my better judgment: “Shelter Manager Leverages Star Player’s Redemption Arc for Campaign Gains.” My grip tightens on the edges of the tablet, my pulse skipping slightly as the words seem to throb on the screen, taunting me. A sharp breath escapes before I realize I’m holding it, my chest tightening under the weight of implication. The words seem to pulse on the screen, mocking me.

The article’s content should be a win. It highlights the success of the "Adopt-a-Player" campaign, celebrating the community’s involvement, the Timberwolves’ contribution, and the surge in adoptions. On the surface, it’s exactly the kind of publicity we’ve been working for. But then the tone shifts,focusing on Logan’s redemption story and framing me as the opportunist pulling the strings. “A savvy shelter manager capitalizing on a star athlete’s public transformation…” The accusation is subtle but unmistakable.

I minimize the screen, setting the tablet down with more force than necessary. My fingers tighten around the clipboard I’ve been pretending to review, and the familiar hum of the shelter fades into the background. I’ve worked too hard, poured too much of myself into Cozy Paws, for anyone to think it’s built on anything other than love and determination.

I shift my weight, my fingers tapping against the clipboard in a rhythm that betrays my tension. Just as my eyes dart toward the doorway, a mixture of frustration and vulnerability etched across my face. “Lucy, you okay?” Emma’s voice pulls me back to the present. She’s standing in the doorway with a bag of treats for the dogs, her brows knitting together in concern.

“Fine,” I reply too quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… busy.”

Emma tilts her head, unconvinced, but she doesn’t press. “Well, these should keep the pups happy for a while,” she says, lifting the bag with a smile. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Emma,” I say, my voice softer. As she disappears down the hall, I glance back at the tablet, the headline still flashing in my mind.

The bell above the door jingles, and I look up to see Logan walking in, Lewis bounding at his side. Logan’s Timberwolves hoodie hangs loosely over his broad shoulders, his hair slightly tousled as if he’d been absently running his hands through it. My stomach does a subtle flip at the sight of him, a reminder of how his presence seems to anchor and unnerve me all at once. He scans the room, his sharp gaze softening when it lands on me.

“Hey,” he greets, his voice gruff but warm. He crouches to ruffle Lewis’s ears, the dog’s tail wagging furiously. “Figured we could go over the logistics for the adoption event.”

I swallow hard, forcing a smile. “Sure. Let’s grab a table.”

We settle at a desk near the front, papers spread between us. Logan’s focus is on the flyers and volunteer schedules, but I can’t concentrate. The article’s words press against my thoughts, growing heavier with each passing minute. Finally, I blurt it out.

“Have you seen the article?”

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