Page 45 of Falling for the Hockey Superstar

My agent.

I answer, keeping my voice low. “What’s up?”

“Beck,” his tone is serious, cutting through the warmth of the moment. “We need to talk.”

My heart pounds as I glance at Abby, who’s watching me closely.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my gut tightening.

“We’ve got a problem, Beck. We need to talk.”

And it’s as serious as I’ve ever heard Dex.

Chapter sixteen

Abby

It’sscaryhoweasythis feels.

The barbecue was a major hit, and it was nice to get to know more of his teammates in a casual setting. I think I was proper and made Beck proud. But then there was Spotty. Yikes! But the day was such fun.

I lean against the doorframe of Beck’s kitchen, watching Jake chase Spotty through the living room while Beck’s three cats—Biscuit, Mitts, and Hat Trick—observe from the safety of the couch, their expressions a mix of curiosity and mild annoyance. Spotty, oblivious to their disdain, barrels ahead with Jake right behind him, laughing so hard he can barely breathe.

“Spotty, slow down!” Jake shouts between giggles, but the overexcited Dalmatian isn’t having it. He’s in full zoomie mode, zigzagging between furniture like a furry tornado on skates.

“Careful!” I call out, but it’s too late.

Jake lunges for Spotty just as the dog changes direction. Jake misses and goes sprawling, landing with an exaggeratedthudon the plush rug with his arms around the dog’s back legs.

“Gotcha!” Jake exclaims, wrapping his arms fully around Spotty, who immediately starts licking his face like he’s a popsicle.

“Ewww! Spotty!” Jake squeals, laughing uncontrollably as he tries to fend off the enthusiastic assault.

I can’t help but laugh, the sound echoing through Beck’s enormous living room.

This. This is what happiness looks like.

“Need backup?” Beck’s voice rumbles from behind me, and I glance over my shoulder just as he steps into the room, his grin melting what’s left of my heart.

“Only if you’re ready to get slobbered on,” I tease, watching as he walks over and effortlessly scoops Jake off the floor.

“Spotty, down,” Beck commands softly, and the dog, miraculously, obeys—though his tail wags like a metronome on overdrive.

“Dad powers,” I murmur with a grin.

Beck flashes me a lopsided smile. “I’ve had some practice.”

My heart clenches at his words. He’s not just talking about Jake or Spotty. He’s talking aboutus.

And that’s the part that excites me and terrifies me.

***

A few hours have passed and with the energy of youth, Jake jumps on the private elevator and runs out the back door again. We watch him tossing a softball to Spotty, who refuses to return it and instead parades around in triumphant circles. The sky has turned dusky violet, and a soft breeze rustles the wind chimes that Beck has hanging around the pool decking. Jake has great swimming stills and obeys my orders to never go near the pool unless one of us is out there. I’m confident of him being outside for a while especially since we can see him from Beck’s window.

We follow them downstairs, and I lean against the deck railing with a mug of tea, letting the cool air calm the heat still buzzing under my skin from Beck’s smile. He joins me quietly, his tall frame warm and steady beside me as he leans on the rail, watching Jake and Spotty with a soft, half-smile.

“He’s got a good arm,” Beck says, nodding toward Jake.

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