Page 130 of Playing for the Hat Trick
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she shoots back, bumping her shoulder against mine.
Fuck, I love her. The smart mouth, the wild heart, the way she looks at me like I’m more than just a guy who spent most of his life chasing a puck across frozen concrete.
“I was actually thinking . . .” I start, then trail off because, Jesus, my palms are sweating. “Might be time for a bigger move than a vacation.”
Her eyes sharpen, locking onto mine, the magazine forgotten. “Bigger, how?”
I take a breath. Not because I’m nervous about her answer—I’m not. I’m anxious because she deserves everything, and I’m still figuring out how to be the guy who can give it to her.
“Well, as you know, I’m retiring,” I say, voice low. “End of the season. No more road trips. No more early morning practices. No more dragging my body out of bed feeling like I got hit by a truck.”
Scottie blinks, processing. “You’re serious? I thought you were . . . wow.”
“Dead serious.” I shift closer, brushing my knuckles along the inside of her thigh just because I can. Just because I’ll never get tired of touching her. “I’m done chasing the game. I already caught what matters.”
She stares at me, lips parting like she’s about to argue, but then she sees it. The way I’m looking at her. The way I’ve always looked at her.
Before she can say anything, I pull the ring out of my pocket and set it in the middle of her magazine.
Not exactly subtle. Definitely not smooth.
Very on-brand for me.
Scottie freezes, staring at the tiny diamond like it just punched her in the face. Then she drags her gaze up to mine, wide-eyed, mouth falling open.
“I was gonna do a whole speech,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Something about how you wrecked every plan I everhad and made me want better ones. How you made home a real thing instead of just some address on a paycheck. But honestly?” I grin, crooked and helpless. “I just want you to be my wife. Everything else is noise.”
She blinks fast. Swears under her breath. Throws the magazine somewhere behind her with a dramatic flair that would make Lucian proud. And then she’s in my lap, straddling me, grabbing my face with both hands like she’s about to either kill me or kiss me stupid.
(For the record, I’m good with either.)
“Yes,” she says, voice shaking but sure. “Yes. Yes. Yes . . . of course I’ll marry you. You didn’t even have to ask.”
I laugh, arms locking around her waist as I drag her closer until there’s no air left between us. “Still felt like the right move,” I murmur against her mouth before I kiss her—hard, deep, reckless, the way loving her has always felt.
She kisses me back like she’s claiming me, like she’s never letting go, and somewhere in the background, the ocean keeps crashing, and the world keeps spinning, but none of it matters.
