Page 138 of In It to Win It

He gives me a look, chin down, lips puckered. “Uh-huh. Anyway, don’t worry, I didn’t take advantage of your state of inebriation.”

“Youweren’t inebriated?”

“Yeah, I was. I admit it.” He grins. “Not as much as you, judging from your condition this morning.”

“Ugh. I haven’t been hungover since I was a teenager. I really don’t like it.”

“No one does. By your age, you should have learned how to pace yourself.”

I frown.

He slides a mug of coffee across the counter. “Do you need milk and sugar?”

“A little milk?”

“Sure.” He opens the fridge and pulls out a carton.

I splash a tiny bit into the dark brew and stir it with the spoon he provides, then pick up the cup and sip it.

“What do you want on your toast? I have butter, peanut butter, or... well, that’s it.”

“Just butter.” I don’t usually eat bread, but I need something in my stomach. “Thanks.”

While I eat mine, he makes himself toast, spreading his thickly with peanut butter.

I don’t know what else to say to him. Last night we had plenty to say to each other... we argued about politics, hockey, and climate change, which he didn’t even take seriously! There’s something about him, a cocky confidence, that makes me want to poke holes in that self-assurance, disagree with everything that comes out of his mouth, and prove him wrong.

One of the first times we met, we got into an argument about men being “showers” or “growers.” Wyatt was trying to tell me there was no such thing and I concluded I needed to do some research on that, which seemed to piss him off.

I enjoy pissing him off.

Judging from the dick print in those soft sweats, he’s a “shower.”

I normally try to avoid conflict, but there’s something about sparring with him that makes my blood sizzle and energy flow through me.

As for kissing him... whoa. If I thought my blood sizzled just from talking to him, making out with him had me shorting out and melting down.

“So, looks like JP and Taylor are a thing.”

“Yep.” I smile, my chest softening. My friend Taylor looked so happy last night, after the guy she loves showed up to apologize for being a dick to her, and did it in style. She and I were supposed to share a room at Théo and Lacey’s place, who hosted the New Year’s Eve party, so we didn’t have to drive home, but after JP arrived and he and Taylor made up, how could I not let them have the room?

Which is how I ended up at Wyatt’s place, in need of somewhere to park my drunken ass for the night. And how we somehow ended up rolling around on his bed, desperately kissing and groping each other.

It was hot.

I gulp some coffee.

“I’m happy for them,” I say, not letting on how my heart swelled with tenderness watching the scene last night. “They’re good for each other.”

“Can she keep him out of the penalty box?”

I lift an eyebrow.

JP is my nephew, and don’t think that makes me old. My dad remarried and had me when he was forty-eight, right around the time the kids from his first marriage, my half brothers Mark and Matthew, were having kids. I’m twenty-seven, only a year older than JP. JP is also a hockey player, like Wyatt. JP plays for the Long Beach Golden Eagles—the enemy. Awkward, due to the fact that Matthew owns the Eagles, Mark coaches for them, another nephew and my brother play for their farm team, and my niece is the goalie coach for the farm team.

Yep, we’re a hockey family.

“Well, I don’t think it’s up to her,” I say, lifting my chin. “But she’s good for helping him manage his emotions, so that may be a benefit.”

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