Page 327 of Wrong Pucking Player

“I am,” I mutter shyly, my body shivering from the touch of his lips at the nape of my neck.

“Then?”

I can’t disobey him.

“I’ll go enjoy a nice dance with Cyrus Jr. while you talk with our parents,” I summarize and turn my head to see his taunting smile.

He rewards me with a tantalizing kiss while his fingers enjoy gripping my right side almost possessively.

“I’ll dance with you afterward,” he reassures me.

“Promise?” I mutter against his lips.

“Promise.” I can see in his eyes he means it.

Guess if I’m too stubborn, that’s being a bitch.

“Fine.” He releases me and kisses the top of my head. “Have fun dealing with our dads,” I suggest.

From the dinner table, I could tell Chief DeCosta and Papa had a competitive vibe between them in comparison to when we were in the hospital.

Our moms, however, got along lovely. Mrs. DeCosta seemed like a businesswoman who could run the shit out of multiple grand corporations that bring in a shit ton of money.

Mostly profit.

“Don’t worry,” Armani reassures me as he’s walking away. “I’ll get Coach Cyrus to ref.”

“Huh?” I look to Cyrus Jr. “Your Dad is here?”

“He heard what happened and offered to attend as well,” he admits but doesn’t look pleased about it in the slightest. “Mikayla is still recovering from surgery, so he said he wouldn’t be of use sitting at her bedside when Coach Johnson, Maddox, Damien, and Wolfgang are present and alternating.”

“Guess that makes sense,” I quietly admit.

Realizing it’s just me and him, I don’t know what to talk about.

“You don’t sound pleased about him being here, though,” I end up pointing out. “Or maybe it’s having to bodyguard a woman who you love but doesn’t remember you.”

“I have no problems with protecting you, Xan— Kenzie,” he corrects himself as he slips his hands into his pockets while glancing around. “As for my dad, I don’t want him being around when Fernandez is still on the run. He may be able to protect himself but that doesn’t mean I like the idea of him being present in a space that could be targeted. I already lost one parent. I don’t want to lose another.”

“That’s understandable,” I quietly admit, leaving us in a moment of silence. “Um…”

“You don’t need to force yourself to keep a conversation with me, Kenzie,” he acknowledges.

“I get that,” I point out, yet I feel bad. “But…”

“But?”

“You were standing there the whole time, weren’t you?” I shyly glance up enough to look into his eyes. I can tell his demeanor is different tonight.

Stoic. Cold. Professional on a different level.

I get he’s “working” right now. He’s doing his job and taking it seriously, so the events that happened on the ice almost forty-eight hours ago don’t happen a second time.

Yet it bothers me that there’s this tension between us.

“I was,” he admits as his eyes briefly meet mine.

Compared to in the hospital where it was so easy to read him just by peering into his eyes, I can’t predict what he’s feeling because his face—those stormy blue eyes—aren’t giving me a chance to see what’s going on with him.

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