Page 100 of The Puck Contract

The casual mention of weddings sends a jolt through me that I carefully ignore. "Maya's cool too."

"Yeah, she is." Pride colors his voice. "Sorry about all the boring stories."

"Are you kidding? Those were the best part." I lean back in the seat, contentment settling over me like a physical weight. "Thanks for taking me."

He glances over, expression soft in the dim light of the dashboard. "Thanks for coming."

We drive in comfortable silence for a while, the city lights blurring past the windows. Eventually, I voice the thought that's been circling my mind all evening.

"Today was big. Coming out to my family. Meeting yours."

Groover nods, eyes on the road. "Too big?"

I consider the question for a moment. "No," I say finally. "Just right."

His hand finds mine in the darkness, fingers intertwining. Neither of us acknowledges the shift, the way this simple touch feels different now.

As we drive through the night, I can't help wondering what Maya meant. How does he look at me? And more importantly, how do I look at him when he can't see me watching?

Like now, in the shadowed privacy of his car, studying his profile and feeling something terrifying and wonderful expanding in my chest.

Something that feels a lot like falling.

CHAPTER 28

MATEO

THREE MONTHS.

It's been three months since I walked into a hotel room and uttered the single most embarrassing first words in the history of awkward introductions. Three months since I signed a contract to pretend to be in love with a man I'd never met. Three months of cameras and questions and careful public performances.

And somewhere in those three months, the pretending stopped.

I'm not sure when exactly it happened. Maybe it was during that first kiss, when his lips touched mine and something clicked into place. Maybe it was when he taught me to skate. Maybe it was when I saw him play for the first time.

Or maybe it was a thousand tiny moments—the way he remembers how I take my coffee, the sound of his laugh when I say something unexpectedly funny, the gentle way heguides me through each new experience without making me feel inexperienced.

All I know is that tonight—our official three-month "anniversary" as far as the contract is concerned—I'm sitting in a noisy club surrounded by his teammates, watching him laugh across the room, and I'm terrified by how real this feels.

"Earth to Mateo!" Devon waves a hand in front of my face. "You in there, Professor?"

I blink, refocusing on the conversation around me. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you wanted another drink," Devon says, eyeing me with suspicion. "But you were too busy making heart eyes at your man to hear me."

"I wasn't making heart eyes," I protest, heat creeping up my neck.

"You absolutely were," Leila confirms, patting my arm sympathetically. "It's cute. Disgusting, but cute."

I take a large swallow of my drink instead of responding. The alcohol burns pleasantly down my throat, adding to the warm buzz I've been cultivating all evening. I'm not drunk—not yet—but I'm definitely in that sweet spot where everything feels a little softer around the edges, where my usual overthinking has quieted to a manageable hum.

Across the VIP section, Groover catches my eye and smiles—that private smile that seems reserved just for me. My stomach does a complicated flip that has nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the man himself.

"God, you've got it bad," Devon says, following my gaze. "Three months and you're still in the honeymoon phase. I'm jealous."

"It's not—" I start, then stop myself. What am I going to say?It's not real? Because that's not true anymore, is it? "It's good," I finish lamely.

"Mmm-hmm." Devon's knowing look makes me squirm. "You know what you need? Shots."

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