Page 96 of Total Shutdown

He spins us around, pressing my back into the side of the staircase, and I loop my legs around his waist.

“I told you, I’m making dinner, and I needed to check a recipe. They always use such small print in those books.”

I pull his mouth down to me. “You keep telling yourself that, old man.”

Sawyer traces his lips over mine, and already, I’m thinking about the benefits of skipping dinner.

“You know, in a few years, when your eyes need a little assistance, I won’t tease you like you do me.”

His hands grip my waist tighter. His reference to our future is like an elephant in the room.

I pull his mouth back to mine, eager to show him I’m okay and not freaking out, and we melt into a long kiss before breaking off with our heads pressed together, my fingers teasing the hairs at the nape of his neck.

“I’m not here to replace Ezra’s mom, you know,” I say, unable to hold the thought that’s been turning in my conscience since we told Ezra we were dating.

“I know,” Sawyer replies on a long breath, picking his head up to study my face.

He pulls the glasses off and pokes them through the railings, setting them on the stairs behind my head. “Neither me nor Ezra sees you as anything but who you are. I want you to be exactly what you are right now to him—one of his best friends and someone way cooler than his dad.” He pauses for a split second. “And I want you to be the woman I’ve been obsessed with for over a year. Being with me doesn’t carry any expectations, Baby Girl. All I want is your time and love and to know you’re totally and one hundred percent mine.”

He kisses me, sweeping his tongue into my mouth in a show of sincerity as pure and honest as the words he just said. Truthfully, there isn’t really anything complicated about being with Sawyer Bryce.

Still, hearing him confirm it out loud melts away any last shred of worry, and with each pass of his tongue against mine, I fall deeper into his world, content to be tangled up with him for as long as possible.

“Knew it!” a small voice calls from above, and we break apart, both looking up the stairs.

Ezra stands with his hands propped on his hips, a smug smile all over his face. “I knew you were kissing. But just for the record, I never want to see it again.” He disappears out of sight, bedroom door slamming behind him, closely followed by, “Ewww!”

I turn back to Sawyer to see his lips quivering with laughter.

“Welcome to the world of the preteen, featuring my delightful son, Ezra Sawyer Bryce.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE

SAWYER

Killing it.

I’m killing it against the Pittsburgh Flames. This game is regularly one that goes right to the wire, but not tonight.

As our goalie, Archer has had practically nothing to do all game with Emmett and me cleaning up after the team.

Jack’s on fucking fire too. His game was insane at the beginning of this season, but now? Well, this boy is starting to make his stepdad’s career look like a mere warm-up to the real Morgan era. Jack runs the show; we’re all just featured in it. And the best part? The kid’s humble, going about his business like it’s just another day at the office.

And when he threads an impossible flip pass to Matt, leaving him with the simplest finish in history, I can’t deny the pride that fills my chest. Sure, I consider Jack to be one of my best friends, but there’s over ten years between us, and to some extent, I feel like an older brother to him. When he joined the Blades last season, there were so many doubters, and tonight, he’s giving the final middle finger to all of them.

He bumps fists with the guys on the bench, and I push forward, making my way to him at center ice.

“Umm, what in the fuckery was that?” I’m referring to the flip pass he just pulled off, and by the cocky look on his face, he knows it was special.

I take it back.Humble, my ass.

“Last practice, I bet Archer I could throw it into the game and get an assist,” he says, pulling out his mouthguard.

I tip my head over my shoulder, grinning at Archer with a thumbs-up.

He throws his arms out to the sides before propping his hands on his hips, tipping his head toward the ceiling and shaking it slowly.

“Shit,” I breathe, “my goalie looks to be in pain. How much was at stake?”

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