Page 53 of Goalie's Obsession

Logan grunts as he passes. “It means burpees. In the sand. At dawn. I already hate tomorrow.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” I offer. “Team-building. Spiritual alignment. Sand in your teeth.”

We all groan in unison as Blake and Sophia drift toward the elevators with their key cards. Logan follows, muttering something about unpacking in peace, but not before I definitely clock Emma’s contact pulled up on his phone.

He notices me looking and glares at me before he slips it back in his pocket like he wasn’t about to call her at all.

He disappears with the rest of the team up the elevator, which leaves just me and Lucy when the concierge turns and hands over a key with a plastic smile.

“One deluxe king, corner suite. Enjoy your stay, Mr. Walsh.”

I blink down at the keycard. “Wait, one?”

“Correct.” The concierge slides the card across the counter. “As requested.”

I don’t even have time to correct him before Lucy’s hand snatches it off the marble surface like she’s just been challenged to a duel.

Her voice is calm but her eyes are purefire.“Requested bywho, exactly?”

The concierge blinks. “Um… the travel forms were submitted by Icehawks management. It says couple’s suite. Romantic getaway upgrade. That parts complimentary of the hotel.”

Lucy ignores the smile on the concierge’s face and turns to me slowly. Her eyebrow raises in thatI will bury you under the pool cabanaskind of way that’s becoming alarming regular whenever she’s nearby.

I lift my hands in surrender. “Hey. I didn’t fill out the forms. I barely remember to RSVP to weddings.”

She narrows her eyes. “Convenient.”

“Youaremy girlfriend, remember?”

Her eye twitches and the groan that she releases could level a city.

Funny. A few days ago, she was melting in my hands—now she looks one coffee order away from stabbing me with one of the complimentary pens on the counter.

She spins around and stalks toward the elevators without waiting for me, muttering something aboutmanipulative hockey boysandoverly plush lobby chairs.

I trail after her, grinning the whole way.

When we reach our suite, Lucy taps the card against the door and it clicks open with a soft chime. Lucy stomps inside like she’s about to file a formal complaint with God, but then, she stops.

Freezes. Dead fucking still.

I follow a few steps behind and… okay, yeah…

I get it.

This place isfuckingabsurd.

Floor-to-ceiling windows curve across the suite, spilling golden light across wide marble floors and plush cream rugs. There’s a private balcony, a fireplace somehow already lit, and an actual grand piano in the corner like Elton John’s about to pop in for room service.

The bed is freaking massive. Draped in white linens and velvet throw pillows so fluffed they look like they’ve never been touched by human hands.

I close the door behind us, and for a second—just one—the only sound is Lucy’s quiet inhale as she takes it all in.

She moves further inside, brushing her fingers along the back of the couch like she’s checking for crumbs.

“This is…” she trails off, turning in a slow circle. “Insane.”

I lean against the wall, arms crossed. “You sound surprised.”

---