Page 20 of Goalie's Obsession

I take a long pull of champagne from the glass a passing server hands me and move.

I don’t say anything to Ethan. Just walk away, steps slow, deliberate.

I fall into step beside Lucy, my voice low and easy like it hasn’t taken me six years to finally follow her like this.

My cock’s still half-hard from the way she looked at me. Like she was deciding whether to kiss me or kill me as she walked past.

Either way? I’d let her do whatever she wants with me.

“So, Lucy Lou,” I murmur, watching her out of the corner of my eye as she looks up from her clipboard, lashes dark and fluttering. “You gonna actually put your money where your mouth is?”

Her brows lift, and that perfect mouth curves.

“Bold words,” she says, “from a man still using hair gel like it’s 2010.”

I smirk, letting the heat of her words land. “You love it.”

“Itolerateit.” Her voice drops half an octave. “Barely.”

Behind us, I canfeelEthan watching.

But I don’t look back.

Because if Lucy’s really planning to outbid everyone tonight, then maybe I should have done more than shave to impress a woman like her.

Chapter Five

Lucy

TheballroomatIcehawkHQ sparkles like something out of a dream… and for once, it’s mine.

Not my mother’s doing.

Not some black-tie fundraiser for one of my father’s corporate friends.

Mine.

So far, the night has been perfect. My vision come to life.

The Icehawks logo gleams on the screen behind the stage, rotating through player highlights and sponsor shoutouts. The air hums with low laughter and the delicate clink of champagne flutes. Velvet chairs. Mirrored tables. Candlelight dancing in every corner.

It’s all intentionally curated.Strategic.

And it’s working.

Special guests and fans in gowns and sharp suits are already angling for the best seats near the front, eyeing the lineup of auction paddles placed neatly at each table. Servers circulate with trays of drinks, and the buzz of excitement is almost electric.

I double-check everything with the team now stationed at the AV booth one last time, and finally slip into my assigned seat at the marketing table.

I take a deep breath, trying not to make eye contact with the giant projection screen currently flashing Connor Walsh’sheadshot in soft cinematic lighting like he’s starring in a hockey-themed perfume ad.

I ignore the twist in my stomach. The low thrum of awareness humming under my skin since he walked through the doors an hour ago.

God, he lookedgood.

Suit tailored within an inch of its life. That clean-shaven jaw I hadn’t seen in months.

God. Why did he have to do that tonight?

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