Page 97 of Across the Boards

“Are you sure?” I kill the engine, turning to face her. “It’s been an intense night.”

“Exactly why I could use the company.” She meets my eyes directly. “Unless your face hurts too much for conversation.”

“I’m pretty sure I could manage a conversation while actively on fire if you were the one talking to me.”

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the slight curve of her lips. “Dramatic as always. Come on, I’ll get you some ice.”

Inside her townhouse, everything feels different than the last time I was here. Less frantic, more intentional. She gestures for me to sit on the couch while she disappears into the kitchen, returning moments later with an ice pack wrapped in a dish towel.

“Here.” She hands it to me, then settles on the other end of the couch. “So, that was my first hockey game in three years.”

“Quite a reintroduction,” I say, gingerly applying the ice to my jaw. “Sorry it got so... dramatic.”

“Are you? Really?” There’s a knowing glint in her eye.

“Maybe not entirely,” I confess. “The look on Jason’s face when my fist connected was pretty satisfying.”

“I bet.” She draws her legs up beneath her, a surprisingly casual posture for someone usually so composed. “Sarah couldn’t stop laughing. Said it was better than pay-per-view.”

“Sarah would think that.” I shift the ice pack, wincing slightly. “Your friend has a bit of a bloodthirsty streak.”

“You have no idea.” Elliot smiles fondly. “She once threatened to put laxatives in Jason’s protein shakes after we filed for divorce.”

“I’m officially terrified of your best friend.”

“As you should be.” She studies me for a moment. “You know, when you sent the jersey, my first instinct was to be annoyed at the presumption.”

I wince, this time not from physical pain. “I figured that might be the case. I almost didn’t send it.”

“But then I thought about what it would mean. To wear it, to be seen in it.” She worries the hem between her fingers. “It felt like taking control of the narrative. My choice, my statement.”

“That’s exactly how I hoped you’d see it,” I say, relief evident in my voice. “Not me claiming you, but offering a way for you to make your own declaration.”

She laughs softly, then grows more serious. “Jason won’t let this go easily, you know. He hates losing more than anything, and tonight he lost on multiple fronts.”

“I’m not worried about Jason,” I say with more confidence than I perhaps feel.

“Maybe you should be.” Her expression darkens slightly. “He’s vindictive when his ego is bruised, and you just bruised it in front of thousands of people while I watched wearing your name on my back. He’ll look for ways to retaliate.”

“Let him try.” I set the ice pack down, leaning forward slightly. “I meant what I said earlier, Elliot. I’m not hiding how I feel about you, not from Jason, not from the team, not from anyone.”

She holds my gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Then, with a decisiveness that takes my breath away, she moves across the couch and kisses me.

Unlike our previous kisses—the heated urgency on her couch after the gala, the sweet goodnight after our date—this is something else entirely. Deliberate, thorough, a statement in itself. Her hands frame my face carefully, mindful of my injuries, as she explores my mouth with a thoroughness that makes my head spin.

When she finally pulls back, she’s slightly breathless, a flush spreading across her cheeks. “I’m not hiding either,” she says softly. “Not anymore.”

I stare at her, stunned and elated in equal measure. “Does this mean we’re officially dating? Because I’d really like clarification on this point for future reference.”

She laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out. “Yes, Brody. We’re officially dating. Though God knows why I’m getting involved with another hockey player.”

“Because this one remembers what books you like,” I suggest, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “And makes a decent omelet. And thinks you’re the most fascinating woman he’s ever met.”

“Decent criteria,” she acknowledges with a small smile. “Though the jury’s still out on your omelet skills. I’ve only had one sample.”

“I’m happy to provide more evidence for consideration,” I offer. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

“Are you inviting yourself to stay the night, Carter?” Her eyebrow arches in that way that simultaneously challenges and entrances me.

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