Page 100 of Play to Win

But when he walks in, I take one look at him and my heart squeezes.He looks beat.Like, literally beaten up.His face is drawn, his shoulders are slumped, his shirt is wrinkled.

“What’s wrong?”I rush over to him and set my hands on his shoulders.

“Nothing.”He talks as if his teeth are permanently gritted.

“You look terrible.”I stroke his face, then his hair, studying him.“Did you have a bad day?”

“It was ...rough.”He sighs and sets his hands on my hips.“I’ve been talking to a bunch of agents about contracts.Some we’re making progress on, others not so much.Fuck, that Jack Burnside is an asshole.”He shakes his head.

“Yeah.”I have no idea who he’s talking about but I assume he’s an agent.

“Tough negotiator.We can’t pay what his client wants.And dammit, we want to keep him.”

“Oh no.”Sympathy floods through me, along with a helpless feeling because I can’t do anything to help with this.I hate seeing him so stressed.His body is tense; his jaw is tight.I can feel the rigidity of his shoulder muscles.

This isn’t the first time he’s come home stressed, but this seems the worst.The pressure on him is building as the off-season progresses.

“Yesterday I met with our scouting team,” he says.“It’s cool looking at the prospects that are coming up, but those are impactful decisions as well.The draft is happening in two weeks.”

I know nothing about the draft.“Tell me about it over dinner.No ...wait.”I pause.“Let’s not go out after all.”

“But we planned it.”His forehead creases.“You love dancing.”

“I do, but we can go dancing another time.You need to decompress, and I know just the way.”

His eyes darken and his eyebrows raise.

I laugh softly.“Okay, yes, sex is good stress relief.All those hormones.But let’s order in dinner, have a glass of wine, and go in the hot tub.Then I’ll give you a massage.”

He gazes back at me.“Seriously?”

I nod.“I know you don’t like last minute changes of plans, but I think this is a better way to spend the evening.”I really want to do whatever I can to make him feel better.

His throat works and he still stares at me.The he nods briefly.“Okay.”

“You go change.I’ll order dinner.”

He trudges upstairs and I grab my phone.He said the prime rib we had the other night at Del Rey was the best he’d ever had.I open up my Grubhub app and place the order.Then I uncork a bottle of Zinfandel and tip two generous pours into glasses.When Théo comes down, he’s dressed in athletic shorts and one of his goofy T-shirts.This one reads,don’t be mean, be above averagewith a little line graph image.He already looks less tense.

I hand him his wine.“Dinner will be an hour.Do you want to go in the hot tub now, or after?”

“After.”His lips quirk.“I might fall asleep before dinner if we do.”

“Okay then, let’s go out on the patio and watch the sunset and you can tell me all about your day, and I’ll just listen because I have no clue.But I’m a good listener.”

He moves toward me, cups my cheek with one hand, and kisses my forehead.“Yeah.You are.”

My heart tilts in my chest, emotion flooding me.I so want to be here for this man.

We settle onto the loveseat out on the patio, our feet up on the wicker table, facing the ocean.As always, the faint, rhythmic rush of waves onto the shore, the soft breeze, the scent of salt and sand, and the endless stretch of water and sky soothes and calms.I know Théo feels it too.

“Tell me about the draft.”

“Well, it sort of starts next weekend.I’m going to Buffalo for the combine to meet with players.”

I hold up a hand, as if asking a question of the teacher.“Combine?”

He grins.“Yeah.All the eligible players who want to play in the NHL are there.They go through a bunch of fitness tests, and we get to sit down with them and talk to them, see who would be a good fit, physically and mentally.”

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