Page 84 of Goalie's Obsession

She doesn’t say anything, but I catch the way her beautiful eyes sweep over the breakfast tray, then flick up to meet mine with the hint of a smile visible on her lips.

Progress.

“Don’t get excited,” I say, nodding toward the food. “It’s all part of my evil plan to butter you up.”

Lucy snorts, padding over on bare feet, still wrapped in that oversized hotel robe that swallows her whole.

“I figured the only way to beat your brother’s emotional terrorism was with carbs and inappropriate flirting,” I say, sliding the last plate onto the table like I’m setting up for a brunch-themed photoshoot.

“Wow,” she says, scanning the spread. “This looks like some kind of last meal slash death row situation. Are we being executed?”

"With what Coach Brody has planned for me today, you never know. Now sit."

Her towel’s turbaned on top of her head like she’s about to audition for a 1950s shampoo commercial, and I swear I’ve never wanted to rip something off with my teeth more in my life.

I pull a chair out for her, smirking when she rolls her eyes and sits anyway.

“Also, that green juice was a guilt-order. I didn’t want you thinking I was trying to emotionally manipulate you with only sugar.”

She lifts the glass, sniffs it, and grimaces.

I grin like the shit-stirrer I am. “Exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”

She bites back a smile, but it’s there. Real. Soft. That slow melt in her expression that says she’s still rattled from last night, but maybe not completely wrecked.

I grab my coffee and lean a hip against the table, watching her butter her croissant.

She catches me staring. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“That face.”

“Can’t help it.” I take a sip of my coffee and gesture to her with the mug. “You’ve got post-shower glow, a fluffy robe situation, and a croissant in hand. That’s basically my porn category.”

She chokes on a laugh. “God. Are you always such a menace in the mornings?”

“I’myourmenace whenever you want, baby,” I say, grinning as I reach across the table and steal a corner of her pastry. “And I’ve got exactly one hour before I have to go pretend I care about puck drills, so…” I wink. “Better make it count.”

Lucy hums around a bite of croissant, eyes half-lidded like she’s not fully here yet—but she’s trying. Showing up in her own quiet way.

Andfuck, if that isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

I sip my coffee and watch her, pretending not to catalog every slow movement, every stretch of her fingers as she peels a sliver of peach from the fruit bowl like it’s something intimate. Erotic. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me and is playing it dangerous.

She doesn’t, though.

She’s just existing.

And somehow, I’m already aching.

Last night should’ve ended with me waking up to her climbing back on top of me, my hands gripping her hips, the sun hitting her skin like something out of one of my teenage dreams.

Instead, Ethan blew through like a wrecking ball and left her splintered all over again.

So now I’m here. Operation:Distract Lucy. Featuring fruit, sugar, and a very inconvenient erection that’s been hard since the second she walked out of the bathroom wrapped in that robe.

She groans and stretches out with a sleepy moan, sinking deeper into the robe. The collar slips off one shoulder and her legs uncurl just enough to flash a hint of thigh.

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