Page 48 of Goalie's Obsession

And then—he smacks my ass.

Smacks it.

Like this is a 1950s sitcom and I’m his doting housewife who just brought him a sandwich.

I jolt, eyes wide. “Did you just—”

Connor grins like the cocky bastard he is, eyes sparkling with pure mischief as he makes eyes at Coach Brody who's just standing there waiting for my response.

I smile. A full set of teeth, all bared in the most homicidal way possible.

"So real," I say sweetly. "It hurts."

Coach looks between us, sighs like we just gave him heartburn. "Fine. You’re officially traveling as his girlfriend. Try not to break up before we hit cruising altitude."

He turns and stalks off.

"Great," I mutter. "Now I’m team property."

"C’mon," Connor says, guiding me back toward the gate area. "It’ll be fun."

I whirl around as Connor's hand connects with my backside again, my jaw dropping as I jab a finger in his chest. "Would youstopthat?"

"Just playing the part, sweetheart." His eyes dance with amusement as we walk back toward the team. "Gotta sell it, right?"

I yank my hand back, ignoring how my skin tingles where he touched me. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Maybe." He leans in, his voice dropping low enough that only I can hear. "But you're cute when you're plotting my murder."

"I'm always plotting your murder."

"Exactly."

We rejoin the group where Blake and Sophia are cuddled on the airport seats, while Ryder sprawls across three chairs playing on his phone. The rest of the team mills around the gate area, some napping, others chatting.

Connor's hand finds the small of my back as we walk, and I hate how natural it feels. How easily we slip into these roles despite the bickering. His touch is warm through my sweater, possessive in a way that makes my stomach flip.

"You know," I say under my breath. "If you touch my ass one more time, I'm going to knee you somewhere that'll really hurt your goalie stance."

He chuckles. "With an ass like yours,totallyworth it."

I elbow him in the ribs, but he just pulls me closer, dropping a kiss on my temple that feels far too real.

My heart stutters, and I remind myself this is all for show. Just another part of the game we're playing.

But when Connor's thumb starts tracing small circles on my back, I wonder if maybe I'm the only one still pretending.

I’m trying to focus on not combusting in public when a small blur in a sparkly pink dress barrels toward us from the side. A cute little girl stands in front of us, beaming a smile so bright I can't help but coo.

She’s maybe six. Tiny sneakers, glitter crown, and the biggest pair of bright blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

“Miss Lucy!” she chirps, clutching a puck in one hand and a Sharpie in the other. “Are you and Mr. Walsh getting married?”

Connor crouches like it’s second nature. He flashes her a grin that would melt chocolate. “You know, sweetie… she’s thinking about it.”

Um.Excuse me?

The little girl squeals and spins around, sprinting back to her parents at full speed, chanting, “They’re getting ma-a-arried! They’re getting ma-a-arried!”

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