Page 35 of Power Play Pursuit

“Well, I was thinking you could stay for a while,” he repeats. “You know, since you don’t have a place to stay, and I have this big kitchen that would be so happy to welcome you.”

I chuckle, feeling a blush coating my cheeks. “I don’t know.”

“Aw, come on. I’m not that bad. Plus, without hockey in my life, I could use the company.”

I bite my lip, sweeping the last specks of flour off the floor. I felt like an intruder while staying with Marissa and Aaron, and this place is really nice—not to mention bigger. And anyway, I should find a place of my own soon enough. “Okay, thanks for offering. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“No need,” he says, flashing his devastating smile. “I like having you here.”

I bring my eyes back to my task, trying to cool myself down, but being next to shirtless James, and with him acting so thoughtful and sexy, I doubt this furnace will be cooling anytime soon.

“Do you have everything you need?” he asks.

I frown in confusion.

“For the muffins, I mean.”

A smile breaks onto my face. “Men. Always thinking with their stomachs.”

He chuckles, and we both return to the kitchen.

“Actually, I can make some chocolate chip brownies, if that works? Not exactly a healthy breakfast, but I think you deserve it after yesterday.”

“Yes, please. I’ll go put on a shirt.”

Part of me is disappointed, but it’s probably for the best if we don’t want to set this gorgeous kitchen on fire. I grab a bowl and prep all the ingredients as sunlight filters through the window, hitting his collection of trophies on the shelves and making them shimmer.

“That’s a lot of trophies,” I say when he comes back. “I’ll have to take a closer look later.”

“Yeah,” he says, drumming his fingers on the marble counter. “Well, those aren’t the actual trophies. They’re replicas they get us.”

“You won two last June, right? Apparently, you put on quite a performance.”

He smiles. “I did. The Maurice Richard and the Hart Memorial trophy.”

“Let me guess,” I tease, pouring my wet ingredients into the bowl. “Goofiest and cockiest player.”

He flashes a big grin. “Nailed it. Can I help you?” he asks, watching as I stir.

“You’re not supposed to do anything.”

“Please.” He gives me a pleading look I’d dare anyone to resist. “I need to dosomething.”

“Fine.” I cave. “Can you mix the dry ingredients? The sugar, cocoa powder, flour, and chocolate chips.”

“Sure thing.” He bends down, grabbing another bowl from the cupboard.

“Oh, and salt. Just a pinch.”

He nods, adding the ingredients and stirring them carefully.

“By the way, I was kidding,” I say. “About the trophies. I know the dedication and sacrifice your sport demands. You deserve them.”

The corner of his lips pulls up. “Thanks.”

“So, what were they for, anyway?”

He grins. “Curious, aren’t you?”

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