Page 109 of Coach's Temptation

Lucy cups her hands around her mouth. "Coach, leave her alone! She's ours tonight!"

Hunter's fingers tighten slightly on my hip.

"Yes, Coach," I grin, kissing him on the cheek. "I'm going to talk with the girls. Don't miss me too much."

Hunter grins and slaps me on the ass as I walk off.

I push through the crowd in Ridgeview just as Mia spins around in her seat, wrapping her arms around herself in what I can only assume is her impression of Hunter and me.

"Oh, Coach," she swoons dramatically. "Your scowl is so sexy."

"I do not sound like that!" I laugh as I slide into the booth.

"Please," Sophia snorts into her wine. "You practically purr every time he gets all commanding."

"Speaking of commanding..." Lucy's eyes drift across the bar to where Connor is still posing with Hunter's cutout. "His playoff beard is actually starting to look... decent."

I nearly choke on my wine. "I'm sorry, what was that? Did Lucy Daniels just compliment Connor Walsh?"

"The same Connor you called 'an arrogant puck-blocking asshole' last week?" Sophia adds, leaning forward with interest.

"And the week before that," Mia chimes in.

"And pretty much every week since you met him," I finish.

Lucy shrugs, tracing the rim of her cocktail glass with one perfectly manicured finger. "Things change."

"Things change?" I echo. "That's all we get? After months of you ranting about his cocky smirk and how he thinks he's God's gift to goaltending?"

"Don't forget the time she threw her drink in his face at Big Mike's party," Mia adds helpfully.

"He deserved that," Lucy protests. Her eyes track Connor as he makes his way to the bar, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly when he runs a hand through his messy hair.

"Oh my god," Sophia gasps. "You like him!"

"I do not!" Lucy's cheeks flush pink. "I just... don't completely hate him anymore. There's a difference."

I lean back in the booth, taking in the scene around me.

God, I don't think I've ever been this happy.

Iron Ridge isn't just a town anymore - it's home. My home. Our home.

The front door of Ridgeview swings open, and a blast of cold mountain air sweeps through the bar. The entire tavern falls silent and the cutout of the team practically blows over with the change in the air.

Every set of eyes watch the Vegas Knights swagger in like they own the place.

My stomach drops as I watch their head coach, Wes Callahan, lead the pack.

He's all polished edges and expensive suit, radiating the kind of confidence that comes from decades of success. The kind of presence that fills a room without trying.

The Knights players follow. Not cocky, but there's hunger in their eyes as they scan the bar. They've got that Vegas shine to them, like winning is just part of their DNA.

Of course it is. That's why we're playing them in Game One of the Stanley Cup Finals tomorrow.

The whole tavern is quiet. Even Eli stops wiping down glasses, his eyes forming daggers aimed directly at the enemy.

I've never met Wes Callahan, but I know exactly who he is the second his sharp gaze locks onto Hunter across the room. This is the man whose name keeps lighting up Hunter's phone. The one behind those late-night calls that make Hunter all quiet and retract in himself until he's deep in thought, lost in something he never quite lets me see.

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