Page 23 of Match Penalty

"Want some wine?" Brynn asks him.

"Water is fine, but I can get it," he says, moving to the cupboards.

I open up my food on the kitchen island, the steam billowing from the box making my mouth water instantly. "Left side cupboard above the sink," I call out.

I hear the cupboard door open, but it seems that JP has stopped whatever he was doing. I look up from my food to realize that he's staring up at the top shelf of the cupboards—the pucks he tossed to me over the years all sitting there. I never expected JP to be playing on my team, much less in my kitchen. No one else has ever asked about them, so I sort of forgot they existed all the way up there.

"You kept the pucks I threw to you," he seems to almost gloat, his tone sliding between surprise and pleasure. There’s more behind his gaze, something that tugs at my heart. "And on the top shelf no less," he teases.

I run over, as JP reaches up and pulls one down, spinning the puck between his fingers to read the silver marker.

"You look cold," he reads, and then grins. "I remember this night. It was a home game for the Hawkeyes on Halloween. You were dressed as tinker bell in that tiny little dress."

Oh God… how did he remember that?

"I don't remember that night at all," I say, grabbing the puck out of his hand, setting the puck back on the top shelf while pushing on my tippy toes. I grab him a glass, and then slam the cabinet closed. "You weren't supposed to see those pucks anyway—"

"I don't see how you could have forgotten," he says cutting me off. "Your lips were turning blue. You looked miserable but also the cutest fucking thing I'd ever seen. I almost missed the winning save that night because I kept checking to see if anyone had brought you a blanket yet. I asked a couple assistants on the Blue Devils side to at least take you my jacket."

I remember blushing at the puck he sent me over the plexiglass, but I was too damn cold to think straight.

"You did?" I ask, my treacherous heart warming at his concern for me.

"Yeah, but don't let it go to your head," he says with a warm smile.

"All the girls were supposed to dress in theme. Brynn was Captain Hook, Penelope was Wendy, Slade was Peter Pan, and somehow we convinced my dad to be the alligator," I giggle at the memory. That night turned out pretty good actually, though it took hours after we got to Oakley's after the game, to feel my toes again. "Just for the record, I didn't keep them as a memento… It's just blasphemous to toss away a perfectly good puck."

We face each other, his eyes searching mine for sincerity as I challenge him with a raised brow to call me a liar.

“I’m glad you kept them. It tells me what I needed to know,” he says.

I lean a hand against the counter and roll my eyes. “Really? And what does a random pile of hockey pucks forgotten in the back of my cupboards tell you?” I ask.

“That each puck I tossed to you meant as much to you as they did to me. Maybe there's more to us than you think there is,” he says, his eyes soft as he searches mine for some kind of answer.

“There is no us,” I mutter, hating the way it sounds off my lips and for some unknown reason, wishing I could take it back.

“Maybe not yet,” he says, taking a small step closer, his eyes drifting down to my lips.

I force myself not to wet my lips with my tongue.

The sound of Brynn moving on the couch breaks me from the moment between us. "What's going on in there?" she asks.

"Nothing," I singsong and head back for my food, swiping it off the island and sending JP a warning glare.

Eventually, he joins us, digging into the food he brought for himself.

"So," he says, settling onto my charcoal gray couch like he's been here a hundred times before—a box of noodles in one hand, setting another box of pot stickers on the coffee table. "What are we working on?"

"We're brainstorming auction items," Brynn explains, already diving into her lo mein. "Beyond the usual signed jerseys and sticks."

JP leans forward, his knee brushing mine. I pull back, pretending to adjust my notepad on the coffee table, but the faint smirk on his lips tells me he noticed.

"Remember when Briggs offered to hang Christmas lights in a Santa costume?" Brynn laughs, tucking her legs under her. "It went for five thousand dollars."

"We could do something similar," JP says, reaching for his fried rice. "Get the guys to offer experiences. Skating lessons, dinner dates, that kind of thing."

A spark of an idea comes to mind.

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