Page 47 of Match Penalty

“And you didn’t want me to think that you were taking advantage,” I finish for him.

He just stares back, no point in confirming it—we both know.

“Your voice sounds better.” The corners of his mouth lift slightly into a grin.

“After a long, hot shower, I’ll be good as new,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “Thank you for taking care of me last night. I feel bad that you had to leave your friends to take me home.”

The corner of his mouth curves up. “Say that last part again,” he interrupts, his tone teasing.

“What part? Take me home?”

I catch the glint of his smile in the low light. “Yeah.” He lets out a gravely sigh. “I like the sound of that.”

I bite my lip and glance down at my toes digging into the carpet, fighting back the smile threatening to take over. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I didn’t mind leaving my friends or that club. Without you in it, it would have lost its appeal anyway,” he says, his voice dipping low. “And I like taking care of you. I think that’s becoming obvious.”

His words hang between us, the weight of them sinking into my skin.

“Is that why you’ve been tossing pucks at me for years?” I ask, deflecting with humor to steady myself. “Or is that something you do for all the puck bunnies?”

JP’s laugh is quiet but warm. “You think I toss pucks at everyone?”

I raise a brow, crossing my arms. “Don’t you?”

He leans forward slightly, his eyes locking on mine. “Besides the kids in the stands who ask for them, I only toss pucks at one person.”

The space between us shrinks, the air thickening as his words settle over me. “Why just me?”

He sits up, his movements slow, deliberate, until he’s closer—so much taller than me even though I’m kneeling before him. His hand shifts, brushing against my knee in a touch so fleeting it could almost be accidental. But it’s not.

The contact is electric, sparking something inside me that I know I should extinguish for the sake of my own heart. He hasn’t told me the truth about that night, the one that left me doubting everything. But here, in the quiet darkness of this room, it’s easier to push those fears aside. At least for just this moment.

“Because you’re the only one I have a message for.”

“And what’s that?”

JP leans closer, his voice a rough whisper. “That I want a shot with you.”

The world tilts. My throat tightens as I try to process his words, but there’s no sarcasm to shield myself with, no witty comeback to deflect the truth I see in his eyes.

Before I can overthink it, I push up on my knees, my hand finding the back of his neck, pulling him toward me. My lips crash against his, desperate and searching. His arm wraps around my waist, and suddenly I’m in his lap, straddling him. His mouth claims mine, his hands skim up my sides. The heat of his touch sears through the thin fabric of his shirt I’m wearing, and his thumbs brush just beneath my breasts, sending a jolt of heat pooling low in my belly. I arch into him instinctively, a breathy moan escaping past my mouth as he deepens the kiss.

He groans against my lips at the friction. “You have no idea what you do to me, or what I would give to be close to you. Every time I see you, it’s all I can do to not pull you into the nearest corner just to feel you close—just to steal a minute with you. Just to get your beautiful hazel eyes on me for just a second. My world calms when you're near.”

His words hit me like a truth I’ve always known. He’s always sought me out, always found a way to get time with me, no matter how crowded the room or how impossible the timing. Whether it was at games, charity events, or chance encounters, JP Dumont has been relentless in making me feel like I was worth the effort. The girl from his rival team.

I tilt my head back as his lips trail down my neck, grazing the sensitive curve where my pulse races. My fingers tangle into his hair, pulling him closer, needing more of him the way he needs me. The tension between us builds with every kiss, every touch.

“JP,” I breathe, grinding down against him. The hard length of him pressing against my panties sends another jolt of heat spiraling through my core, dampening the thin fabric. His groan vibrates against my skin, low and guttural.

I feel so small in his arms—as if he could take me any second that he wants—but he doesn't. He's watching, waiting, letting me take control of where this leads.

“Say my name again. The way you know I like it,” he demands, his voice rough.

I whisper it again, my voice trembling with the weight of how he's breaking down my walls I've built to keep him out.

“What do you need, Cammy? Whatever it is, it’s yours. Just please… let it be me.”

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