Page 59 of Goalie's Obsession

"Time to get you horizontal," he murmurs, then immediately flushes as his sisters burst into synchronized cackling. "To sleep! Jesus, you three are worse than my teammates."

The Uber ride back to the hotel is a blur of giggles, tangled limbs, and me slowly melting into Connor like warm butter on toast.

“You’re warm,” I mumble, curling into his side as he helps me into the back seat. “I’m keeping you.”

The driver snorts. “That’s a first. Usually I hear people threatening to leave their partners behind.”

“I’m not leaving him,” I say, completely serious, my cheek smooshed against his shoulder. “He smells good. And he’s got big hands.”

Connor chokes on a laugh. “Okay, sunshine. Time to stop talking.”

“But it’s true,” I protest, not moving an inch. “You’re like... a personal heater with muscles.”

A soft sigh escapes before I can stop it, and I wrap my arm around his middle, hugging him like a drunk koala. He doesn’t even flinch. Just smiles and leans into the seat, one hand settling on my hip like it belongs there. LikeIbelong there.

And God help me, it feels that way too.

I feel his arm tighten around my shoulders.

"Oh! You have to hear about what Ryder did with the oysters at dinner." I sit up, or try to. The world tilts slightly. "So he was trying to impress this girl and he... wait. No, first he ordered the champagne. Or was it after?"

Our Uber driver chuckles from the front seat. "Sounds like someone had a good night."

“Yeah, we are officially done with shellfish stories,” he murmurs.

“Party pooper.”

When we reach the suite, I wobble on my heels and Connor swoops in like some muscled guardian angel.

“Whoa there,” he says, steadying me with both hands. “You trying to faceplant before you hit the bed?”

“Beds are overrated,” I mutter, flopping down like a starfish the second we get inside. “The floor has no expectations.”

“Except gravity,” he deadpans, crouching to tug off my heel.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I say as he gently removes the other. “But this might be the sexiest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He chuckles under his breath and pulls the throw blanket over me. I sigh, eyes half-lidded as I sink deeper into the mattress.

“You okay?” he asks, brushing a curl from my face.

“Perfect,” I whisper. “Possibly horizontal forever.”

He smiles. It’s soft. Real. And when he turns to go, something tugs at me.

“Hey, Connor?” I say, voice barely above a whisper.

He pauses and looks down at me with his handsome face.

“You’re really good at this.”

“At what?”

“Making it hard to remember this is all pretend.”

His expression shifts.

Then, slowly—carefully—he leans down so we’re eye to eye.

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