Page 32 of My Fair Player

Their floor.

Liam didn’t say a word—just reached for her hand like it was instinct and tugged her down the hall.

Ashley followed, unable to look anywhere else but at him. His dark blond hair was tousled, his jersey rumpled, and her rose-colored lipstick stained his mouth like a mark of ownership. Her heart clenched with a surge of emotion so strong it nearly knocked her off her feet.

He was hers.

That’s my man.

As Liam opened the hotel room door, she strode inside and paused, seeing the roses and champagne waiting on ice.

“Oh, you are so sweet…” she began, and the words died on her lips as she turned to him – only to see him removing his jersey slowly, pulling it over his shoulders and exposing his midriff, his chest, then his shoulders… and swallowed.

“You’re my wife,” he began quietly. “Not just on paper, not for a job, not for any other reason than the fact that we are two pieces of the same puzzle. I see it. We’re good together, Ashley, and I’mneverletting you go.”

“I’m yours,” she whispered hoarsely, mesmerized. This was not the same scared man who’d pleaded with her to marry him so he didn’t lose everything. This was a strong man who was growing confident in his life, his role, and his relationship, and seeing that subtle change within him had to be the sexiest thing she’d ever witnessed, and she had a front-row ticket to this guy.

“Good,” he said firmly, his eyes blazing from his face with so much intensity there was no describing the volume of feeling. It was like an inferno out of control, and she was here for it.

“I want you,” she managed to utter, tossing fuel onto that fire and saw him shiver as he seemed to absorb every word, his muscles flexing.

“Good,”he repeated, his voice hoarse this time, almost as if it was too much to keep inside of him. “Because I’m in charge this evening. I plan on spending every moment showing you just how much our relationship means to me. I’m not just some guy. I’m not the captain of the team. Tonight, I’m yours. I’m your husband, and I’m going to show you what life will be like with me at your side. Got it?”

At her wide-eyed nod, Liam dropped his jersey on the floor.

11

LIAM

A week later

What was going on?

Liam stood on the edge of the bench, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stared out onto the ice, trying to piece together what he was seeing. The roar of the crowd faded into the background as his focus narrowed on the scene unfolding in front of him. His team—the one he had just given the most fired-up, impassioned locker room speech of his life—looked anything but focused.

His eyes darted from one player to the next. Acton was grinning like an idiot, bent over with laughter, nearly dropping his stick as he guffawed like he’d just heard the best joke of his life. Coeur looked like he’d wandered into the wrong rink, his brow furrowed in deep confusion. Boucher’s face was drawn tight in a frown, lips pressed into a flat, unimpressed line. And Salas—oh, Salas—he was staring at Acton like he’d officially lost his last functioning brain cell, which, frankly, wasn’t out of the question.

But what made Liam’s stomach knot was the reaction from the opposing team. They weren’t focused either—not on the puck, not on the game—but doubled over in laughter, gripping each other’s shoulders like they were trying to stay upright. One even fell to his knees, howling with glee.

“… Spain.”

That word drifted across the ice, completely unrelated to anything game-worthy.

Liam’s brow furrowed. He leaned closer, trying to catch more of what was being said. “Are they talking about vacations?” he asked, voice cracking with disbelief as he whipped his head toward Coach Starnes.

Horror tightened in his chest, because this—whateverthiswas—was happening onhiswatch. He was the captain.Histeam was the one unraveling like a bunch of clowns.

Coach Starnes didn’t answer with words. He just glared at Liam, mouth flattened, the kind of frown that carried the weight of disappointment only a seasoned coach could wield.

“It’s your team, rein them in.”

Liam didn’t hesitate.

“FOCUS!” he bellowed, his voice echoing across the rink like a crack of thunder. His hands clenched into fists, his heart pounding with frustration. The players scrambled into their positions, but the undercurrent of chaos hadn’t left. They were still whispering. Still snickering. Still glancing at each other like mischievous kids in homeroom.

And then it happened.

A voice rang out—too loud, too proud.

---