Page 116 of Fake Shot

That’s when McCabe rolls his eyes and circles his finger in the air, just like I did to Jules when I wanted her to turn around so I could see her wearing my name on her back. I move out of the crease, turning to skate behind the net, and that’s when I come face to face with her.

My heart pounds powerfully at the sight of her—it can’t be. How is she here? Then I notice what I think has everyone staring—her WAG jacket is wide open, and instead of a plain white shirt like she wore at our last home game, this one has a big red fabric heart sewn into the front. And in thick block letters that match the Rebels font, my name is spelled out over the heart.

She made that. For me.

She finally let me see her closet Saturday morning, showing me where she sews all the sexy lingerie she designs. And sometime between then and now, she made the decisionto surprise me at this game, and crafted this shirt, so I’d know she’s mine.

I’ve been hers since the moment I kissed her in that alley. I tried to fight it at first, but it was no use. Sometimes it felt like I’d be waiting forever for her to admit that she was mine too. But somehow, Jasmine trying to pull us apart actually brought us closer together—made us realize what we stood to lose, and made us both want to fight to keep what we have.

When I told her I loved her the other night, her first response was, “I know.” Which means I did what I set out to do. I showed her how I felt, proved she could trust me, and made her feel safe and secure in her feelings for me.

My jaw must be hanging open from the shock of seeing her, because her laugh is airy as she smiles down at me. She seems more certain about us, and more carefree, than I’ve ever seen her.

I skate right up to the glass, pull my glove off, and put my hand up. She meets it with hers.

“I love you,” I tell her. “I love you so fucking much.”

She laughs again. “I love you too.”

As I skate back to the net, ready to warm up, I’m more driven to win than I’ve ever been. Because if we win the series in Game 4, we’ll have a whole week off before the next series starts. And that’s a lot more time to spend with her.

Jules is standing next to AJ, waiting for me right outside the locker room post-game, as I walk out in my suit, dreading the flight home. The second she sees me, shecomes barreling toward me. I drop my bag so I can catch her as she jumps into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist like she’s a koala.

She nuzzles her face into my neck, breathing in deeply as she squeezes her arms around me. “You did it.”

“We all did it.”

“Yeah, but that save you made on the penalty shot right at the end secured the win.”

“I was just determined to be able to spend next week with you.”

We’ll still have practice, but not having two more games in Boston, or the possibility of traveling for a Game 7, means I’ll be home every night with her.

“I can’t wait,” she says. And then she lowers her voice, her lips ghosting across my ear. “I also made lingerie that matches the shirt, and I’m really looking forward to modeling it for you the minute we get home.”

“Jesus, Tink.” I squeeze her tighter to me, wishing we were alone and naked.

“Speaking of going home,” she says, sitting up in my arms, “AJ said I could come on the team plane with you guys.”

“Good.” I press a kiss to her lips. “You’re sitting with me, then.”

Drew must have come out of the locker room right behind me. “Hey, where am I going to sit?”

“I don’t fucking care,” I say as Jules puts her feet back on the ground and I turn toward him. “You can sit with AJ.”

His eyes flick over to where she stands, chatting with Coach Wilcott, and he drops his voice low. “No way.”

Next to him, McCabe says, “You can have my seat.”

Drew and I turn to look at him in surprise, because notonly is he giving up one of the best seats on the plane, but he and AJ barely tolerate each other. It’s not a hostile relationship, exactly. They’ve always maintain a level of professionalism, but it’s easy to tell that he doesn’t like her, and she seems like she puts up with him because she has to. I’m pretty sure that years ago, she was the Assistant GM in St. Louis when he played there, right before he was traded to Boston. He’s never mentioned it, though, so I’ve never asked.

“It’s no big deal,” McCabe shrugs. “I’m going to be sleeping. Why do I care where I sit?”

Given that I haven’t been able to sleep on a flight home this entire season, I’m fully expecting that I’ll be wide awake all night, gazing at Jules as she rests in my arms. But that’s not what happens. She cuddles into my side before the plane takes off, and about half an hour into the trip, she falls asleep. And somehow, with her curled up next to me and our seats reclined, I sleep on a flight home for the first time all season.

When we get back to Boston, I bring her back toour house—the one she grew up in, the one she started her business in, the one I moved into as her temporary roommate, the one I am planning on living in for as long as she wants to stay here.

It’s almost four in the morning when we arrive home, but I’m more well rested than normal. So when we get upstairs, I follow her into her closet, no longer a secret room I’m not allowed into now that I know about her sewing projects and exactly which drawer she stashes her vibrator collection in. And as I slide her jacket off her shoulders, and undo her belt, pulling her jeans down those long, muscular legs, she’s left standing in front of me in nothing but an almost transparent thong with a big red heart sewn acrossthe front. It exactly matches the one on her shirt, but without my name.

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