Page 77 of Cold Front
Niall’s hands slid up my back, pulling me closer until our foreheads touched. His voice dropped to a murmur, soft and sure. “I’ll never stop loving the way that sounds.”
My heart flipped.
Then, because my brain short-circuited from how unfairly hot and sweet he was, I blurted, “Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”
His laugh rumbled between us, and just like that, the tension in his shoulders eased. He pressed a kiss to my temple, then another just below my ear, making me shiver.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, holding me like he never wanted to let go. “I think I’m okay with that.”
Another long beat of silence. Then his grip on my hoodie loosened, just a little, like some invisible weight had shifted.
I kissed the corner of his mouth, lingering just a second longer than necessary.
His expression softened again. “Thanks, Eli.”
“For the food?” I teased.
“For you.”
And just like that, my heart didn’t stand a chance.
CHAPTER28
NIALL
Stats was going to be the death of me.
I stared at the numbers on the page, my vision blurring. Nothing was sticking. The formulas, the concepts, the logic—none of it made sense. My brain was like a wall that Stats kept bouncing off, refusing to settle. And the worst part? Eli had been nothing but patient with me. For days now, he’d sat beside me, explaining things, re-explaining them, breaking them down into the simplest terms. Yet here I was, still stuck, still failing to grasp it.
A hot rush of frustration burned through me. I wasn’t used to feeling this fucking helpless. On the ice, things clicked. I knew my body, my movements, the game. I could read plays, anticipate actions, and control the puck. But this? This made me feel small. Dense. And the last thing I wanted was for Eli to think that, too.
I ran a hand over my face, exhaling sharply. “I don’t get it,” I muttered. “I just—fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Eli, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside me, tilted his head, watching me closely. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
I scoffed. “Then why can’t I figure this shit out?”
He reached over, squeezing my arm. “Because your brain is tired. You’re overthinking. Stats is all about patterns, logic—you already do that in hockey. You just don’t realize it.”
I clenched my jaw, staring at the worksheet, willing my brain to cooperate. My stomach twisted. What if I was just stupid? What if Eli looked at me and thought I wasn’t worth the effort? What if he realized I wasn’t as put together as I wanted to seem?
Eli shifted closer, his fingers brushing my wrist. “Okay,” he murmured. “Time for a new approach.”
I turned to him, wary. “What do you mean?”
He grinned, mischief flickering in his eyes. “Positive reinforcement.”
My brow furrowed. “What?—”
Eli leaned in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of my mouth. My breath hitched.
“Every time you get something right,” he murmured against my skin, “you get a reward.”
My pulse thumped hard. “A reward?”
He hummed, trailing his lips down my jaw, nipping lightly at my throat. “Mmhmm.”
Fuck.
