Page 64 of Puck Sweat Love

“Maybe we should think about moving in together?” I whisper. “I mean, in a month or two or three? Whenever it feels right to you?”

“I’ll pack my shit tomorrow,” he says, making my stomach do a happy flip. “But I’ll keep my apartment for a while, in case you want to tell me to get lost. Unless you’d rather move into my place? It’s a little bigger, but not as nice as yours and farther from the studio.”

I shake my head before pressing a kiss to his chest. “No, you should move in here. And I don’t want to tell you to get lost. I want to keep you.”

“I want to keep you, too.” His arms tighten around me. “And I want you to know… Even if this plan doesn’t work, even if Garcia manages to wreck my rep and another shot at the NHL doesn’t happen for me, I still have hope. I still feel like good things are in my future, and…that’s all on you, Teach. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

I hug him tight. “You don’t have to thank me, baby. Just love me the way you love me, and I’ll be the happiest woman I know.”

He kisses the top of my head, and I silently send out a prayer to the universe that I never have to spend another night without this missing piece of my heart.

Except when he has away games, of course.

Eventually, we rouse ourselves to get ready for bed, let Mr. Sniffles out onto the balcony to use the puppy pad, then carry him in to bed with us.

As sleep claims all three of us, I’m filled with a quiet certainty that’s been building since the moment I met this complicated, wounded, but oh-so-wonderful man. Whatever obstacles lie ahead—jerk rookies, cranky coaches, the pressure of the coming season—we’ll face them together.

Just as much as he’s one of the Badgers, Tank and I are a team now.

And somehow, I know we’re going to win.

CHAPTER 16

TANK

Friday rolls around like a gift from the hockey gods.

Four brutal days of camp behind us, one more to go before we get a weekend to recover, and—if all goes according to plan—one lying snake to catch in our trap tonight.

My alarm goes off at 5:30 AM, but I’m already awake, staring at the ceiling of Stephanie’s apartment with my bicep trapped under her head and Mr. Sniffles sprawled across my wrist, pinning it to the covers. And honestly…there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, than here with the woman I love and her fur baby.

But I have to go face the day. At least it will be better than what I’ve been doing since 4:30—lying awake, staring at the fan, thinking of all the ways tonight’s sting operation could play out like I’m reviewing game tape.

Best case: Garcia shows up, takes the bait, we get the whole thing on camera, and I never have to worry about his bullshit again.

Worst case…

Well, there are too many worst cases to count, including Garcia figuring out it’s a setup, the fake “dealer” backing out at the last minute, or—my personal favorite—the recordingequipment failing and leaving us with zero proof of what went down.

Steph stirs against me, her warm body shifting closer. I bend my neck, pressing a kiss to the top of the satin cap she wears to bed. I’ve never been much of a cuddler before—too many hard edges, I guess, in every sense of the words—but with her, it’s different.

With her, I want to stay tangled up forever.

“You’re thinking too loud,” she mumbles against my chest, not bothering to open her eyes. “And I can feel your heart racing.”

“Sorry,” I whisper, kissing her forehead this time. “Go back to sleep. I’ll get up.”

“No.” She tightens her arm across my chest, trapping me in place. “First, I have to remind you that it’s all going to be okay. No matter what. Don’t worry. Don’t stress. We’ve all got you.”

“Okay,” I say.

“And don’t stick your toe pick in Garcia’s eye,” she adds. “He can’t take the bait if he’s in the E.R.”

I smile. “Yes, ma’am. See you in class.”

“You sure will.” She smiles, a soft, sleepy curl of her lips that makes my heart squeeze. “I have something special planned. We’re going to do chest openers. Get you all ready to start next week with open hearts and more room for your lungs. Between yoga and making you fuck me like a freight train, I’m going to elevate your cardio game so hard baby.”

I laugh, Mr. Sniffles farts, and just like that Steph and I are both up and out of bed, cursing the pug and his habit of eating anything gross that isn’t nailed down. Last night, it was a rancid-looking buffalo wing he spotted on the ground in the park and pounced on before we could intervene.

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