Page 129 of Zero Pucks Given (Las Vegas Angels 1)

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Beau

The flower arrangement I’d bought Gigi a week ago still looked fresh and brand-new. She’d forgiven me for acting like a dick. I thought the least I could do was buy flowers.

They’d cost me a pretty penny. To be honest, I would have paid anything for the look on her face when they were delivered. She said nobody except her dad had ever given her flowers before.

I thought that was a crying shame. Gigi more than deserved them.

Right now, she was dancing around the kitchen while I played, “Let your Love Flow” on her dad’s guitar. I’d asked what other musicians her dad liked. After a second’s thought, she’d replied, “The Bellamy Brothers.”

It was a great fuckin’ song. What was even greater, was watching G as she swayed her hips, smelling the flowers I picked out just for her.

The kitchen was small, but she didn’t give two shits. Happiness flowed out of her as she sang along with me and made supper—and prepped for tomorrow’s lunches.

Never a gripe, never a complaint.

She was always happy. Always the first one to offer help or assistance to her team.

Always a word of encouragement on the tip of her tongue. A born leader.

At that moment, I felt something inside of me burst. My heart filled with so much—love? Yeah, love. For this woman dancing around the smallest kitchen I’d ever seen. Yet there she was. Happy.

I knew then that I needed this for the rest of my life.

Waking up next to Gigi every morning for the rest of my life. Having her cook breakfast as she danced, sang, and tossed tiny treats to our dogs—as she instructed them on proper doggy manners.

The ache behind my ribs affected me so profoundly, it was difficult to breathe. I stopped playing and rubbed my chest, trying to get rid of the pain.

“Are you okay?” G asked, her face turned serious.

“Fine,” I answered, unable to massage away the burning sensation.

She put down the knife she had in her hand and asked, “Then why are you clutching your chest?” She grabbed her stethoscope and in no time was removing the guitar from my grasp. When she bent in front of me and stuck the cold end down my shirt, I yelled, “What the hell?” and tried to squirm away from her.

“Sit still so I can hear.” She admonished my efforts to flee.

“Geneviève?”

“Would you be quiet? I can’t—”

“I love you.”

Her jaw fell open. “What? Are you trying to get out of me examining you?” she asked skeptically.

“I’m trying to get you into examining me. For a long time. I love you, Geneviève. I love watching you shake that perfect ass of yours in our kitchen while you blend an array of green things that were never meant for human consumption.”

“I love how you care for your teammates, even when you have your own shit to deal with. You want the best for them, and you’re always watching out.”

“I love how you take care of me and our dogs. I love that we share the same passion for the greatest game in the world.”

She put her hands on my head. “I’ve heard of this happening. Sometimes concussion symptoms take days to show up,” she muttered to herself, gently palpating the spot that idiot at the bar hit me. “I’ll do a basic test on you. But first I should check your heart,” she said to me quite seriously.

My hands captured hers. “My heart didn’t stop beating, Geneviève. It finally started.”

I shoved my hand into her hair at the back of her head. Feeling her soft waves between my fingers, I pulled her close and crushed my lips to hers.

This is exactly what I needed.

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