Page 42 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
"Maybe. Though I noticed he's been asking more questions about team psychology lately. Specifically about leadership dynamics and how personal satisfaction affects professional performance."
Oh God. He's been asking about me. About us. In the most Dax way possible—philosophical and analytical and completely transparent.
"That shows intellectual curiosity," I say carefully. "It's a good sign for potential captaincy."
"Agreed. Martinez has been talking about making it official soon."
Practice begins, and I force myself to focus on actual work instead of the way Dax moves across the ice like he's choreographing poetry. I take notes on team communication patterns, individual performance markers, and the subtle shifts in dynamics that indicate growing confidence.
Twenty minutes in, my phone buzzes with a text.
Dax
We never finished that movie Friday night.
Because someone interrupted us with atmospheric physics lectures.
Dax
We should watch the ending sometime. See how it all turns out.
I glance up to find him looking directly at me from center ice, and the heat in his gaze makes it clear he's not just talking about the movie.
You're supposed to be practicing.
Dax
I’m multitasking. Thinking about Christian Grey's techniques while working on my defensive positioning.
That's a very specific combination of skills.
Dax
I'm a very thorough student. Especially when it comes to... learning new methods.
My cheeks burn so hot I'm surprised my phone doesn't melt in my hands.
Focus on hockey. We'll talk later.
Dax
About the movie?
Among other things.
I put my phone away and try to concentrate on my job, but it's impossible to ignore the fact that Dax is playing with the kind of intensity that makes it clear he's showing off. Every pass is crisp, every hit is perfectly timed, and when he scores during a scrimmage drill, he glances up at the observation window with a grin that makes my stomach flip.
"He's on fire today," Martinez observes. "Whatever's motivating him, I hope it continues."
If only he knew that his star defenseman's motivation is currently sitting three rows behind him, trying not to think about atmospheric physics lectures and pantry hideouts.
After practice, I'm gathering my notes when a knock on the observation window door makes me look up. It's one of the administrative assistants, holding an envelope with my name on it.
"This came for you this morning, Dr. Bennett. Marked urgent."
"Thank you."
I recognize the law firm's letterhead immediately, and my stomach clenches as I tear open the envelope. Inside are the final annulment documents, official and intimidating, requiring both signatures for processing.
