Page 18 of Chips & Checks
Dante licks his lips and stares down at my tiny hands. Lord knowsI’mnot the punching type, although with all my experience in massage and PT, I could certainly take advantage of some pressure points. I’m not saying that Iwould. Just that it’spossible.
“Right. Come along, then, Violet.” He gestures for me to follow him and plunges into the crowd. I follow along at his heels.
Working for Dante has its pitfalls, but for the most part, I like my job. Thanks to his whole “Bring Back the Magic” campaign, a lot of my childhood friends have ended up back in Vegas. Is it a little weird that we’re all working for the same guy who once hired our parents? Definitely. But it also makes the rink feel like home. Like we’ve inherited something bigger than just a team.
I wave to Camden and Knight as I pass, and Knova throws me a thumbs-up from across the corridor.
The one downside to all this? Even if I did want to date a hockey player—which I absolutely don’t—I’m surrounded by guys I’ve known since they were covered in popsicle juice and baby teeth. People who were more like cousins or little brothers growing up. Camden Beck? Sweet. Thoughtful. Cute, even.
But kissing him would feel like violating some unspoken family code.
It’s different for Knova and Viktor, for Knight and Sofia—they’ve always been in their own gravitational orbit. But for me? The line between family and flirtation feels too blurry. Too weird.
So I drew a hard boundary: no dating hockey players. Not just the pseudo-relatives, either. All of them. Because I’ve seen what it costs. My dad, my stepdad, my found family—I watched them sacrifice their bodies, their relationships, and their sanity for the game.
I love hockey. I just don’t want to build my future around someone who’ll always love it more.
But Murph… Murph is new blood. He didn’t grow up in my living room or make mud pies with me at birthday parties. He doesn’t play in the NHL. He doesn’t know my history, and I don’t know his. And yeah, he was cocky. Just passing through.
He’s not mine. He’ll never be. I know that logically.
Still.
There was something about the way he touched me. The way he looked at me—like I was a mystery he actually wanted to solve. Not a checklist item. Not a brag. Not a distraction.
Just… me.
And I’ve been trying all day not to wonder what might’ve happened if I’d stayed. Or what he might’ve said if I’d let him wake up with me beside him. If I’d grabbed his phone and put my contact information in there before I slipped out the door.
Dante stops abruptly, waving a hand like he’s pulling a rabbit out of a hat. “Violet Sawyer, meet Bowen Murphy, our new winger.”
I turn away from my friends, hand outstretched. “Nice to meet you…”
And then I see him.
Standing there. In real life. Fully clothed, thank God—but still unmistakably Murph. My Murph. My mystery man from the hotel. My one-night stand turned into a walking HR violation.
His hand is halfway extended, his eyes blown wide like someone just hit him in the chest with a defibrillator. “Vi,” he breathes, like he’s not sure I’m real.
I momentarily lose the ability to function as a human being. My stomach drops. My soul evacuates my body. My brain screams ABORT MISSION in seven different languages.
I’m going to pass out. When that doesn’t happen immediately, I consider holding my breath until I lose consciousness and become a medical emergency. I can barely think about the other night without swooning. The things I said. The things Idid!God, that was so out of character for me.
And now Dante’s just smiling like he didn’t accidentally detonate my entire life by telling me I have to work with the human orgasm dispenser with no excuse to keep him at arm’s length.
Cool. Cool cool cool.
RIP, me. I’m done. I have officially expired.
For some reason—maybe witchcraft—Murph, or Bowen, apparently, doesn’t look the least bit stricken.
Not like me, who’s having an out-of-body experience and also possibly a stroke.
Nope. He looks amused.
There’s a sparkle in his eyes like he’s already picturing me naked again and maybe writing a Yelp review.
God, please let this not turn into a violation of the morals clause.
