Page 39 of The Pucking Arrangement

Around noon, the front door opens and closes.

The quiet rustle of Dmitri moving through the kitchen sets my nerves alight. I glue my eyes to my laptop, pretending I’m deeply invested in my YouTube analytics while tracking his every move with laser focus.

The microwave hums. Containers open and close. A fork scrapes against a plate. Each sound sharpens my awareness, reminding me that he’s close. Probably fresh from morning skate, hair still damp from the shower at the facility?—

Stop it, brain.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs. A door closing.

Right. Pre-game nap.

Very important. I definitely should not be thinking about him sleeping just above me. Probably shirtless.

My phone buzzes. Sophie’s perfect timing saves me from the downward spiral.

[Sophie]: Coffee? Now-ish? Before pickup duty starts?

[Me]: YES PLEASE. Need to escape this house.

[Sophie]: That bad already?

[Me]: Just...meet me at Moonbeans in 15?

Twenty minutes later, I slide into a chair across from Sophie at our favorite coffee shop, clutching my London Fog like it holds the meaning of life.

Sophie eyes me over the rim of her oat milk latte. “Spill,” she demands, pushing a cookie toward me. “How’s the move in going?”

“Fine.” I take a too-large sip, immediately burning my tongue. Perfect. Now I’m injured. “Great. Totally normal. He’s just very...growly.”

Her eyes gleam. “Growly?”

“You know what I mean. All stoic and Russian and,” I wave my hand vaguely, “intense.”

“Mmmhmm.” She breaks the cookie in half, studying me. “We noticed some…tension at dinner the other night.”

I nearly choke. “Tension? What tension? There was no tension.” I wave a hand like I can physically bat the lie away. “Just a totally normal, non-tense dinner with my brother’s very ordinary teammate.” I pause, then add with a sigh, “Who happens to set me on fire just by looking at me.”

Sophie grins like she’s won the lottery. “I knew it.”

“And then the gym—” I clamp my mouth shut, but it’s too late.

Her brows shoot up. “The gym?”

I groan, covering my face. “Also fine. Super manageable. Totally keeping appropriate boundaries and not at all noticing how his very impressive quads bulge.” I peek between my fingers, setting my cup down. “Sophie, I like him. Like,reallylikehim.”

Sophie gasps dramatically. “You don’t say.”

“But he keeps scowling at me!” I throw my hands up in exasperation.

She shrugs. “Sounds to me like hereallylikes you too.”

“Speaking of…I’d soreallylike to have a piece of him,” I sigh, sinking deeper into my chair. “But he’s my employer. And a dad. And Liam’s teammate. And?—”

“He’s probably in his bedroom right now doing his pre-game nap thing,” Sophie muses, tapping her chin. “In his underpants.”

I groan. “Or naked.”

“Maybe he’s even touching himself a little,” she supplies very helpfully, a grin splitting her face, sipping on her latte like she didn’t just destroy my life. “To release some tension. And is he actually scowling? Or is that just his face?” she continues.

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