Page 49 of Goalie's Obsession

I stare down at Connor, who’s still crouched there like this is all just so normal.

“You’re unbelievable,” I mutter, arms folded.

He stands, brushing off his jeans. “What? Kid wanted a moment. So I delivered.”

“You’re gonna give Coach a heart attack.”

He leans in, drops his voice low enough to shiver across my skin. “You might wanna play along, Lucy Lou. Especially since your brother already hates my guts. Might as well make it worth it.”

And there it is.

The name we’ve both been tiptoeing around like it won’t explode between us.

Ethan.

My smile falters as I swallow hard and straighten my shoulders.

This is the choice. My choice. And for now, it has to be enough.

Ethan has been out of line ever since he arrived back in Iron Ridge, and I won't just let another person in my family dictate my life to me.

The boarding call echoes through the terminal.

Connor looks at me and offers his hand. “Ready to fly, Mrs. Walsh?”

I roll my eyes.

But I take his hand anyway.

I slide into my window seat, still reeling from the terminal chaos.

The leather is butter-soft. A branded Icehawks blanket is draped over the seat, like this is a private jet for royalty instead of sweaty hockey players.

There’s a bottle of still water tucked into the armrest, and a tiny packet of chocolate-covered almonds—my favorite Summit Café snack.

My comfort snack. Mysecretcomfort snack.

No way this was just part of the flight service.

I glance sideways. Connor’s already watching me from the aisle, that smug little smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Of course he did this. He thought about me. Before we even got on the plane, hethoughtabout me.

My fingers trace the smooth leather armrest, focusing on anything but the fact that I just boarded a private jet with the entire Icehawks team.

And Connor Walsh.

Who's now dropping into the seat right beside me. He buckles in, then casually drapes his arm across the back of my seat like this isourprivate jet and we’re en-route to our honeymoon in Bora Bora.

"Comfortable?" His shoulder brushes mine as he settles in, and I swear the temperature spikes ten degrees.

"I was." I dig my phone from my bag, pretending to be fascinated by my blank screen.

Connor shifts closer, his breath warming my ear. "You know, baby... you still haven't used that date you won."

My breath catches in my throat. The phone slips in my suddenly sweaty grip.

Shit.

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