Page 24 of Goalie's Obsession

The crowd roars. The lights dim just enough to make the moment feel charged. The screen behind the stage flashes with dramatic graphics, a montage of saves and post-game smirks and shirtless locker room footage.

Because of course it does.

"I did not approve of that highlight reel," I say to no one in particular.

Ethan gives me a pointed look that I choose to ignore.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and hockey enthusiasts ofrefinedtaste," the emcee croons, voice dripping with showmanship as he roams the stage with confident steps. "Feast your eyes on the man of the hour. Your reigning Stanley Cup champion, your Icehawks goaltender, your social media obsession—Connor. Freaking. Walsh!"

The roomeruptsone last time.

And I forget how to breathe.

His jaw, freshly shaved, is sharp enough to kill. He adjusts his cufflinks with that same cocky precision he uses to catch pucks, then flashes a grin that makes me want to fling my paddle like a weapon right at his smug face.

I grip the edge of my seat.

And then—from the corner of my eye, I see Ethan lifting his paddle before anyone else in the room.

"You’re kidding me," I hiss.

He doesn’t even look at me. Just leans back, smirking, and lifts it again when someone else bids. It’s small at first. Playful. But then the number jumps.

Someone calls out $10,000.

Ethan lifts his paddle again. $15,000.

His smirk doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. And when the bid climbs again, I catch it.

Barely a shift, but there’s something tight in his jaw. Something strained. Like he never expected the price to get this high.

But for a man with more money than sense, why would that matter? Somehow, I get the feeling he’s not playing this like it’s just a joke anymore.

My heart spikes as another bid flies in.

And then… I—Isnap.

Because of course Ethan is doing this. Of course he’s swooping in like the golden child, throwing money at something he doesn't even want. Like this is just another boardroom, another family dinner, another reminder that Lucy Daniels will always come second.

Fuck that. Not tonight.

I raise my paddle.

Gasps ripple through the crowd.

"A NEW BIDDER LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"

Connor’s grin turns dangerous as his eyes lock on mine across the room. My skin heats under his gaze.

Ethan finally turns to me, voice low. “Are you really doing this?”

I don’t blink. “Yes.”

His jaw flexes. Another bid comes in from a stranger in the front row—$25,000.

Ethan's fingers tense around the paddle like he'sfeelingit now. What the hell is going on with him? Money's never been an issue for him.

I match the next three bids.

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