Page 13 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
"Are you? Because when I asked how your week was going, you actually told me about your week instead of just saying 'fine' and asking about Emma."
Fuck. She's right. I have been more talkative lately, haven't I?
"I should go," I say, suddenly uncomfortable. "Early morning tomorrow."
"Okay, sweetheart. Have a safe trip. And Dax? Whatever's making you happy lately, don't overthink it to death."
"I should go," I say, my voice rougher than I intend. "Early morning tomorrow."
"Okay, sweetheart. I love you."
"Love you too, Ma."
I hang up and find Jamie staring at me with that look again.
"What?"
"Something's going on."
I go back to folding clothes. "You're just imagining things."
I'm so fucked.
CHAPTER 5
TESSA
The team bus to Detroit is basically a mobile testosterone chamber with wheels, and I'm seated in the coaching staff section pretending I don't notice that Dax Kingston is three rows behind me reading what looks like a philosophy book. Because of course he is. Because apparently my secret husband is not only devastatingly gorgeous and skilled with his hands, but he's also intellectually stimulating.
I'm so fucked.
"Dr. Bennett, you okay?" Ethan Chen asks from the seat beside me, following my gaze. "You look like you're about to throw up."
"Just reviewing game footage," I lie, turning back to my laptop where I've been staring at the same spreadsheet for twenty minutes. "Making notes about player behavior patterns."
"Mm-hmm." Ethan's too smart to buy that, but he's also too polite to call me out. "Well, if you need anything, just let me know. Road trips can be overwhelming at first."
If only he knew how overwhelming.
I risk another glance back and immediately regret it. Dax has shifted in his seat, and now I can see the title of his book:Being and Timeby Heidegger. What kind of hockey player reads German existentialist philosophy? The same kind who made me feel like I was the only woman in the world during one perfect night in Vegas, apparently.
Our eyes meet for exactly two seconds before I whip my head around so fast I probably look like I'm having a seizure. Professional. Calm. Definitely not thinking about how those same hands holding that book had mapped every inch of my body.
"You sure you're okay?" Ethan presses. "You seem... tense."
"I'm fine," I say through gritted teeth, just as the bus hits a pothole and my laptop nearly flies off my lap. "Perfectly fine."
From somewhere behind us, I hear Jamie Torres's voice: "Yo, Dax, what the hell are you reading? That looks like homework."
"It's philosophy," Dax replies in that low, gravelly voice that makes my insides do gymnastics.
"Philosophy?" Another voice—I think it's one of the rookies. "Like, on purpose?"
"Yeah, on purpose."
"Great. But why?"
"Because understanding existence and consciousness makes you a better player."
