Page 117 of Goalie's Obsession

She doesn’t notice me at first. Her arms are folded, head tipped slightly like she’s studying the mural and trying not to feel everything she’s feeling. There’s this little line between her brows like her heart hasn’t fully caught up with what just happened tonight.

God, she’s beautiful. Even more so when she thinks no one’s looking.

I start walking, trying to ignore how annoyingly fast my pulse picks up just being near her again.

“You waiting for an autograph,” I ask, smirking, “or just here to ogle my ass again?”

She doesn’t laugh. But her lips twitch like she’s trying not to.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Walsh. Though… you did look mildly competent out there tonight.”

“Mildly?” I clutch my chest like she’s wounded me. “I put on the performance of my life.”

She hums, folding her arms tighter. “I was more impressed with Ryder’s spin move.”

I huff, dropping my gear bag with a thud.

"Ryder's spin move? Really? The kid who tripped over his own feet in LA trying to impress you with stories about his 'dedicated fan pages'?"

Lucy's smile grows wider, and I know exactly what she's doing. It's the same game she played on that hiking trail, deliberately praising everyone else just to watch me squirm.

"He was very entertaining," she says with an exaggerated sigh. "Such natural charisma."

"Natural charisma my ass." I close the distance between us, backing her against the mural wall. "As I recall, you weren't exactly focused on Ryder's jokes when we were behind that Joshua tree."

Her cheeks flush pink, but she maintains that sexy fucking smile. "I don't know what you mean."

I lean in closer, bracing one hand against the wall beside her head. "Funny how you didn't laugh at any of his jokes once I pulled you away from the group."

She finally lets herself smile—the kind that crumbles me from the inside out.

“Well,” I say, quieter now. “At least you stayed tonight.”

She nods. “Yeah. I stayed.”

She shifts her weight, eyes lifting to mine.

“So.” Her voice is softer now. Curious. “How did you pull it off?”

I lean a little closer, letting my smirk return just enough to be obnoxious. “What, the standing ovation? The screaming kids? Or the part where I managed to look this good in Eli's retro pads?”

She rolls her eyes and giggles so softly my heart skips a beat. “Connor…”

I grin, dragging a hand through my damp hair like I’m trying to style it into sincerity.

“I called in every favor I had. Bullied Blake into doing it. Bribed Eli with that imported smoky-ass whiskey he likes. Paid Ryder to stop singing in the locker room so I could think straight.”

Her brow lifts. “And the coffee sachets?”

I chuckle and shake my head. “No. That was all Logan.”

Her smile curves slowly. “But why? Why did you do it, Connor?”

And just like that—she looks at me. Really looks. Not with sass or fire or frustration, but something gentler. Something that cracks me right open.

I exhale, my voice dropping. “Because this wasn’t ever just about hockey.”

She watches me closely, her blank expression unreadable but open.

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