Page 18 of Goalie's Obsession

The transformation is unreal. When we walked in this afternoon after our workout, the space looked good then… but this now?

This is next level.

I scan the room, taking in details I know came straight from Lucy's imagination. The gold-rimmed auction paddles. How the team photos are arranged to tell last seasons championship story. Even the way she's positioned the bar to create a natural flow toward the stage.

The entire fucking room hums with energy.

Soft jazz blends with low laughter and the quiet clink of glasses. Sponsors. Fans. Players in suits, wives in gowns, media crews trying not to look too eager.

It’s ashow—and we’re the headliners.

"Holy shit." Blake whistles low beside me. "Your girl doesn't mess around."

"She's not my—" I start, but stop when I spot her across the room.

Lucy's traded her earlier jeans and team shirt for a gold dress that makes her look like she belongs in this fairytale setting she's created.

Her hair's down now, those honey-blonde curls catching the light as she laughs at something Sophia's saying. The dress shows off curves that make my hands itch to touch her.

The curve of her ass should be illegal in that dress. I want to tear that damn thing off her. Bend her over one of these velvet-backed chairs and show her exactly what happens when she looks like that.

My cock twitches at the thought and she glances over, catches me staring. Instead of the eye roll I expect, she freezes.

Her body goes still. Her hands clasping a glittering clutch at her front pause. Her gaze locks on mine like the rest of the room has disappeared.

Her eyes flick down slowly, taking in the suit, the cufflinks she once made fun of me for in Vegas, calling them 'fancy ass thumbtacks', and then finally, the clean shave.

Her throat bobs with a swallow. I’d pay real money to know what she’s thinking right now.

And for the first time in a long time, I feel it.

I'mnervous.

Not game-day adrenaline. Not performance hype.

Just…her.

“CONNOR!”

Ethan barrels into my line of sight like he’s trying to intercept a goddamn pass.

He claps both hands on my shoulders, nearly knocking the air out of me, all teeth and smug energy. “Man! You scrubbed up real good just for me to win that date with a hockey player!”

I blink and chuckle. “Is that right, man?”

“Hey, I brought cash. You think these cheekbones pay for themselves?”

I glance around him—because Lucy’s recovering from the shock written across her pretty features. Fast.

Her expression shifts into something cooler, arms crossing over her dress, lips twitching like she’s deciding between a smile and homicide.

Ethan’s still talking—something about bidding strategy, his auction limit, probably a joke about my chin suddenly resembling an ass now it's not covered in facial hair.

But all of it fades to static.

Ethan says something else, but I don’t catch it.

Lucy’s skin is glowing like champagne under the lights, and I’m still picturing that dress pooled around her ankles.

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