Page 103 of Playboy

I’ve been told she can keep a secret. At least for a few hours.

“This is so exciting.” She bounces on the balls of her feet. “I can’t wait to tell Sara that I know.”

On second thought. I reach for the envelope.

With a giggle, she waves it above her head. “I’m just teasing. I won’t say a thing. Should I plan on getting Hannah to the rink, or will you handle that?”

“Millie’s got it covered.”

My sister wasn’t happy when she discovered that Lennox would know before her, but she changed her tune when I told her that she had a more important role. That I was counting on her to get Hannah here for the surprise. It helped that I let her in on another secret, one that not another soul knows.

Now I’ve just got to settle the knots in my stomach and convince myself this is the right thing to do. That she’s ready.

I thank her and say my goodbyes. I’ve just rounded the corner leading to the locker room when my phone lights up. When I see that it’s because the note Hannah shared with me—the one containing her bucket list—has been edited, my heart leaps.

She’s been doing that a lot lately.

Adding items to her bucket list

I have until the end of this list to make her fall for me, and at this rate, she’ll never be done with me.

It’s hard not to hope that she’s adding ridiculous things likejump out of a planeandswim in the Dead Sea—things she can’t do while pregnant—because she wants this list to last forever just like I do.

My phone rings in my hands, startling me, and instantly, my mood sinks. It’s my agent, and it’s not his first call. I’ve been avoiding him because I’m nervous about what he’ll say. I signed with the Bolts three years ago, which means this year, I became a restricted free agent. Because I’m under twenty-seven and have less than seven years in the NHL, the league rules provide that other teams can approach me, but the Bolts can exercise certain rights to keep me if they choose.

Vegas is interested; that’s abundantly clear. Camden Snow was an unrestricted free agent, so when the offer was made, he went happily. I don’t know whether Gavin negotiated to keep him. And I don’t want to know what will happen if Vegas makes a real offer. Will the Bolts exercise their rights in hopes of keeping me? And what if they don’t?

A year ago, I couldn’t have imagined worrying about any of this. But now that Noah is playing with Aiden and War, my position feels much more precarious. How important am I to the team? If Vegas offers what I’ve been told they might, would Gavin risk the salary cap to match it? Can he? I hate talking money. Maybe that’s absurd, considering the kind of wealth my family has. Now, though, it seems pertinent, and I fucking hate that.

I just want to play hockey with my friends. I want to win. I want to be useful to my team. But as I listen to what my agent has to say, it’s never been more clear that we don’t always get what we want.

THIRTY-FIVE

HANNAH

“Oh my gosh,oh my gosh, oh my gosh.” Phone in hand, my thumbs fly over the screen. If I don’t get this scene out of my head, I’ll forget it, and that would be a travesty, because the words the hero just whispered in my ear are literally making me melt. I never thought I’d love a swoony man so much—I always leaned toward the bad boy, the forbidden, the age gap—but god, this story is writing itself, and it’s all because the man is such a hidden cinnamon roll.

“Are you in pain?” Millie offers me an arm while simultaneously scanning the hallway of the hockey arena.

I wave her off without speaking. If I do, I’ll lose the plot.

“Are you calling 911? Do you need me to get Daniel?Daniel!” She hollers like a lunatic.

Shit. If I don’t calm my baby’s aunt down, a slew of huge hockey players are liable to come running out on their pointy knife shoes.

“I’m fine,” I huff. All I can do now is hope I got enough of the sentence down to spur the memory of the words that just came to me. This book is begging to be written. The couple won’t stop talking to me, but finding time to write it is damn near impossible.

I can’t wait until this season comes to an end and things are a tiny bit less hectic. Though will they be? Daniel’s season will just be ramping up, so I’ll be busy cheering him on at home games or wallowing in self-pity when he’s traveling.

The opposite seasons are going to be a major hurtle, though if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll actually get some writing done while he’s on the road. My goal is to get this book edited and published before this baby arrives in January. If I don’t, then I worry that it’ll never happen.

“Are you sure?” Millie grasps my arms and inspects every inch of me.

I roll my eyes and shake her off. “I was working on my book. I know it’s crazy, but if I didn’t get the words down, then I would have forgotten them.”

Millie smiles knowingly. “I get that. When I get a lyric in my head, if I don’t write it down, something ends up lost, and I’ll stress for months about how it’s not quite right, and a year later, after I’ve recorded and can’t make changes, the original lyric will come to me.”

“Yes, that!” Excitement courses through me. This girl gets me. “Do you have a note dedicated to random lyrics?”

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