Page 123 of Goalie's Obsession

To be fair, I can’t believe I managed to convince Coach Brody to give me time off mid-season. The man nearly had a coronary when I told him I needed a few days away—right in the middle of the season—to take my new wife on a honeymoon that couldn’t wait until the offseason.

But I didn’t care. I’d waited years for her. I wasn’t waiting a minute longer to make her mine.

So we compromised with the grumpy coach.

No beach resorts, no international flights. Just a fire lookout cabin tucked in the mountains outside Iron Ridge. Isolated. Quiet. Close enough to return in an emergency, but far enough that no one would dare bother us.

Just me, Lucy, and a whole lot of flannel.

And honestly? I wouldn't trade it for anything.

I don't know what she was complaining about. This place is perfect.

Still, we've only had two weeks of marriage, and every time I thinkmy wife, my heart does this ridiculous flip in my chest.

"Pretending to read while waiting for your new husband to come ravish you?"

Lucy's sprawled on our oversized leather armchair, wearing nothing but my red flannel shirt, her wedding band catching the firelight as she holds up a dog-eared romance novel.

I dump the wood next to the hearth, remembering how she'd whisperedhusbandagainst my lips right after our vows, making me forget the hundred guests watching us back beneath the clock tower in Iron Ridge.

"Please. I'm deeply invested in this story about a brooding hockey player who falls for his best friend's sister." She turns a page with exaggerated focus. "Though he at least took her somewhere tropical for their honeymoon."

"Funny." I pull off my sweater, letting it drop to the floor. "Here I thought you married me for my rugged mountain man qualities. Don't you remember how good I look with a beard?"

Lucy giggles and shakes her head at the memory. "Please don't grow that stupid beard again."

I shrug. "Fine. But I don't know why you're complaining. You're the one who said yes to two weeks in a cabin when I suggested it."

"Is that what we're calling this whacky honeymoon choice?" Lucy's eyes track over my bare chest, just like they had during our wedding night. "Well,Mr. Mountain Man,the guys are never going to let you live down picking wilderness over beaches."

I step closer, watching her breath catch as I lean over the chair. "That's mountainhusbandto you now, Mrs. Walsh."

Her book tumbles forgotten to the floor as I brace my hands on either side of her.

Our lips meet and every memory floods back—that first electric kiss in Vegas, the way she felt in my arms in LA, the moment two weeks ago when she appeared at the end of that aisle in white lace, making me forget how to breathe.

I ghost my lips along her jaw. "I thought a beautiful girl like you would like being in the middle of nowhere. For our honeymoon. With no way out."

Lucy's fingers thread through my hair as she pulls me closer. "When you put it like that… Sounds like the best decision I ever made. Right after saying 'I do.'"

"And spending fifty-grand on a date with me?"

Lucy giggles and nods as our foreheads press against each other. "Absolutely."

The fire crackles behind us as I drink in the sight of her—my best friend's sister, my greatest temptation, my bride. My everything.

I reach down and scoop her into my arms without warning, her laughter bubbling against my neck as I carry her across the room like we’re reenacting some cliché bridal movie montage.

She hooks her arms around my shoulders. “We’re going to have to go back to reality eventually, you know.”

“Not yet.” I kick open the bedroom door and walk us straight to the edge of the bed. “We’ve got a few more days in our little fantasy. Then we can go home, get back to HQ, beat Blake in fantasy hockey, and keep Ryder from tattooing something insane before the playoffs.”

Lucy snorts. “I’m not sure we’re qualified for any of that.”

I lay her down gently, my body hovering over hers. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

The mattress creaks under our weight as she pulls me into a kiss, her fingers skimming over my jaw like she’s tracing something sacred. I let myself sink into her, one hand fisting in her flannel while the other slides up her thigh.

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