Page 91 of Goalie's Obsession

After a swift clean-up, the suite door clicks shut behind Natalie and Sophia, leaving me alone with my reflection and Connor's note still pressed between my fingers.

I move closer to the full-length mirror, watching the way the emerald fabric catches the light. Each step makes the slit dance, revealing just enough leg to be interesting without trying too hard. The neckline frames my collarbones perfectly, and those crossed straps at the back... they're everything I would have chosen for myself, if I'd let myself choose.

That's the thing about growing up Daniels - you learn early what you're supposed to want. What you're supposed to wear. How you're supposed to exist in spaces like this.

But standing here now, I don't feel like I'm playing dress-up in my mother's world anymore. This isn't about fitting into some pre-written script of charity galas and society pages.

This ismychoice. My moment.

Connor saw me - really saw me - in a way that has nothing to do with my last name or my bank account. He knew I'd love this dress not because it's expensive or because it's what a Daniels "should" wear, but because it makes me feel powerful. Beautiful. Free.

The girl in the mirror smiles back at me, and for once, she looks completely at peace with herself.

Like maybe I can have both worlds - the glamour when I want it, and my quiet bookstore corners when I don't. Like maybe I don't have to choose between being Lucy Daniels and just being Lucy.

I touch the delicate strap at my shoulder, watching it shimmer under my fingertips. "Maybe this time... it's different."

The suite door opens and Connor strides in, practice bag dropping to the floor with a thud. His eyes find me by the window, and a knowing laugh escapes him.

"I knew it." He shakes his head, still grinning. "The second I saw that green, I just knew."

But as he crosses the room, his laughter fades into something else. His steps slow, and those amber eyes darken, drinking me in like I'm the last drop of water in the desert.

I turn slowly, letting the fabric swish around my legs, playing up the moment because - well, because I can. Because the way he's looking at me makes me feel invincible.

"You're..." He swallows hard. "Lucy, you're breathtaking."

I close the distance between us, reaching up to smooth his still-damp hair. "Thanks. Did you have a good practice?"

Instead of answering, he catches my lips in a kiss that makes me forget what I even asked. When we break apart, we're both laughing, drunk on this new reality where we get to have this.

"Already told Brody you're gonna steal the show tomorrow." His fingers trace the strap at my shoulder. "The guys are taking bets on who's gonna be the league's power couple this season. Blake and Sophia think they've got it locked up after last year, but..." He winks. "My money's on us."

"Is that right?" I lean into him, loving how solid and real he feels. How realthisfeels.

"Damn right, that's right." He presses a kiss to my temple as I laugh at his Connor-isms. "You in this dress? Game over, Lucy Lou. They don't stand a chance."

The sunset pours through the window, painting everything in gold, and I can't help but smile. "Careful, Walsh. Or I might just start liking this life again."

Chapter Twenty

Connor

TheIcehawksteamSUVrolls to a stop, and I swear, I feel my pulse thud in my throat like I’m about to face off in Game Seven again.

But it’s not the press line or the crowd or the fact that half the NHL is gathered in one place for the Opening Night Gala event.

It’s Lucy.

She steps out first with one heel, one smooth leg, then the full sweep of that emerald dress—and I almost forget how to walk. The thing fits her like it was sewn by the gods.

I hop out behind her, straightening my jacket, already sweating under the sharp lights and sixty-seven billion camera flashes. A wall of photographers clicks into gear, shouting our names as we step onto the carpet. Lucy’s hand slides into mine like we’ve done this a hundred times.

She waves once, gives a tight-lipped smile that looks like she’s been doing this her whole life. I mean, in a way, I guess she has.

“You good?” she murmurs, that soft smirk tugging at her lips.

“If I pass out from blinding camera flashes, just keep kicking me until I roll off the carpet.”

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