Page 56 of Pucking the Grump

“Thank you, darlin,” he rumbles against my lips. “This made my day. My year. You have no idea.”

“Maybe a little idea,” I murmur as I pull back, moving on to the second part of the surprise. “And speaking of Seattle... I was wondering if maybe you’d want to come with me? I mean, I know you have a game the day I leave, but maybe you could join me on Saturday morning? Give me the locals’ tour of Seattle before we head back Sunday night?”

Excitement sparks in his eyes. “Hell, yeah. I’d love that. I can take you out to a fancy dinner to celebrate landing the gig.”

I laugh and give his chest a playful smack. “Don’t jinx me. I won’t know for months after probably. Weeks, at least. But yeah…it would still be fun to celebrate together. If it’s not too much of a hassle. I know you might be worn out after the game, though, so if you needed to cancel, that wouldn’t be?—”

He cuts me off with a kiss that makes my toes curl.

When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathless.

“The only way I’m cancelling is if I lose a leg in a freak hockey accident,” he says. “Thanks again for my gift, Bossy. I really love it.”

“I’m so glad.” I trail my fingers through the soft hair at his nape.

“Yeah?” His grip tightens around me as he walks me backward toward the wall. “Want to show me how glad?”

Turns out, I do.

We christen the peeling paint the way we’ve christened nearly every wall in Stone’s apartment, the feel of him fucking me hard and deep the only thing that could have made this night even better.

Afterward, we sneak out of the locker room, giggling like guilty teenagers when we catch a hard look from the janitor emptying the trash down the hall. And even when we’re stuck in traffic for half an hour on the way home, I’m so happy.

So content.

This is what winning really feels like.

This right here. With Stone. And I suspect it would have felt nearly as good, even if the Bushtits had lost.

But I’m really glad they didn’t.

Chapter 16

Stone

Six days later…

* * *

There’s nothing quite like the roar of a sold-out home crowd on opening night.

The arena thrums with energy as I glide onto the freshly polished ice for warm-ups, the stands a sea of Badger blue and white. Fans pound the glass, kids press their faces against the barrier, and the die-hards in the front row—the ones who’ve been here through the lean times and our near-miss at the cup last year—shout encouragement as we circle the rink.

This is our year. We can all feel it.

It’s the kind of electric, season-opener hockey players dream about. The only thing that could make it better would be knowing Bossy’s up there in the team box, cheering us on.

But she’s here in spirit and hopefully, by tomorrow morning, we’ll be celebrating her kick ass interview and our first victory of the year over fancy French breakfast. I booked brunch reservations for my favorite place in Seattle for ten. I fly out at eight a.m. and she’s picking me up at nine, so the timing should be perfect.

“This crowd is on fire tonight,” Tank says as he skates up beside me, bumping his shoulder pad against mine. “You ready to give them what they came for?”

“Born ready,” I assure him with a grin. “How’s the shoulder? Saw you in the ice bath on my way home from practice last night.”

“Good.” He grunts. “Good enough, anyway. And Shane’s ready to step in early if it starts acting up.” We both glance over to where Shane’s limbering up across the ice. “I wasn’t sure I’d be into the tandem goalie thing, but if it goes half as well during games as it has in scrimmage, I think we’re going to keep the net locked tight this season.”

“I think so,” I agree. “And it makes sense. You’re both too good to waste as a backup. I’m glad Shane’s back this year. He’s a good kid.”

Tank’s lips quirk. “He’s not a kid anymore. We’re just old.”

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