Page 102 of Across the Boards

“I’m nothing if not thorough in my research.” He sets the plate in front of me, leaning across the counter until his face is inches from mine. “Though I think I need to collect more data points. For accuracy.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” I murmur, unable to resist leaning in to brush my lips against his. “Research?”

“If it helps, you can consider it a very hands-on peer review of Jason’s clearly flawed assessment of your... abilities.”

The reference to Jason’s cruel dismissal of my sexuality should sting, but somehow, in the warm light of morning after what Brody had shown me about myself, it only makes me laugh.

“And what’s your professional assessment, Dr. Carter?”

His expression turns serious despite the playful setup. “That you, Elliot Waltman, are the sexiest, most responsive, most sensual woman I’ve ever had the privilege of touching. And that your ex-husband was an idiot who didn’t deserve you in any capacity.”

The simple sincerity beneath the flirtation catches me off guard, warming places inside me that have nothing to do with physical desire.

“Quite the review,” I say softly. “Though I think your methodology might be biased.”

“Happy to repeat the experiment,” he offers with exaggerated innocence. “As many times as needed for conclusive results.”

I take a bite of pancake to hide my smile. “These are really good.”

“Thanks. It’s my mom’s recipe.” He sits beside me with his own plate. “How are you feeling about everything? Last night was... intense.”

It’s a loaded question this early and before coffee. How am I feeling? About watching my ex-husband and current... boyfriend (the word feels strange even in the privacy of my thoughts) try to beat each other senseless? About the fact that I’m suddenly back in the hockey world I spent years avoiding? About the jersey laying on my living room floor with “CARTER” emblazoned across the back?

“I’m processing,” I say honestly, moving to pour myself coffee. “It was a lot.”

“Understatement of the century.” He slides a perfect blueberry pancake onto a plate. “I just got a text from the team PR department asking if I want to issue a statement. Apparently the fight is trending on social media.”

My stomach drops. “Trending? As in viral?”

“As in ‘someone caught the whole thing on video including Jason’s lewd gesture and my reaction’ viral.” He looks genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry, Elliot. I didn’t think about the social media angle.”

I sink onto a barstool, coffee mug clutched like a lifeline. “Great. So I’m internet famous again. Just when the ‘Jason Martinez’s ex-wife’ Google results were starting to fade.”

“If it helps, most of the comments are firmly Team Brody,” he offers, setting a plate of pancakes in front of me. “Turns out people don’t love it when a player makes obscene gestures toward his ex in the stands.”

“Shocking,” I mutter, but take a bite of pancake anyway. It’s delicious, of course. “These are really good.”

“Thanks. It’s my mom’s recipe.” He sits beside me with his own plate. “I really am sorry about the publicity. I should have kept my cool.”

I study him—the bruise blooming along his jaw, the genuine remorse in his eyes, the way he’s trying so hard to gauge my reaction. It’s hard to stay annoyed when he looks so contrite after fighting to defend his person.

“It’s not ideal,” I admit. “But I’m not sorry you hit him. Is that terrible?”

“Not from my perspective,” he says with a careful grin. “Though Coach might disagree. I have to meet with him after breakfast for what I assume will be a creative and profanity-laden lecture on professional conduct.”

“Worth it?”

His eyes find mine, something intensely earnest in their depths. “Completely worth it.”

We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, it feels natural, having him here in my kitchen, sharing breakfast in the morning. Too natural, maybe, for how new this all is.

“So,” he says eventually, “about last night. The whole ‘officially dating’ thing. I want to make sure that wasn’t just adrenaline or gratitude for my caveman heroics.”

I almost choke on my coffee. “Gratitude? You think I agreed to date you out of gratitude?”

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds ridiculous.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I just meant... it was an emotional night. Heat of the moment decisions and all that.”

“Brody.” I set down my fork, meeting his gaze directly. “I don’t make life decisions based on emotion or adrenaline or gratitude. I’m a methodical overthinker who analyzes every option to death before committing.”

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