Page 174 of The Pucking Arrangement

“I love you, Dmitri,” she rasps, voice raw, breathless. True.

And then she shatters, trembling in my arms, and she takes me with her, falling, falling until there’s nothing left but the two of us.

Chapter36

The Afternoon After

Erin

Dmitri moves around my tiny kitchen in nothing but boxer briefs and morning confidence. The contradiction of him slams into me all over again—on the ice, he’s a wrecking force, built to destroy. And yet here, he moves like he belongs, handling my chipped, mismatched mugs with a care that makes my throat tighten.

My body aches in the best ways, muscles I’d forgotten announcing their presence with every shift. We’ve barely left my bed since last night. Every time I try to bring up what the hell is happening between us—his love declaration, my love declaration—Dmitri finds a new way to derail me. With his hands, his mouth, his body pinning me down until words cease to exist.

His methods? Unparalleled. His timing? Abysmal.

“You should eat.” He sets a plate in front of me—eggs, toast, and perfectly fanned-out avocado slices, arranged with a precision that feels almost absurd coming from a man who handles a hockey stick like a weapon.

I pull his discarded shirt tighter around me, the scent of cedar, mint, andhimwrapping around me like a second skin. “Thanks for the food, but I’d really prefer some answers.”

He hums, noncommittal, sliding into the chair across from me. His knee brushes against mine under the tiny table, and even that small contact sends a slow, curling heat through my body, like embers catching fire.

“Eat,” he repeats, pushing the plate closer.

I stab at an egg. “So, we’re just...not going to talk about this?” I wave my fork between us, yolk dripping dangerously. “About what happened? About what this is now?”

His impossibly dark eyes track the movement of my fork before flicking up to meet mine. “What do you want to talk about specifically?”

I let out an exasperated laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe why you showed up at the team celebration looking like you were about to murder someone, dragged me home, fucked me into oblivion, then told me you love me?” My voice wobbles slightly on the last part, my cheeks heating at the memory. “Or maybe, just maybe, what we are to each other now? Or where we go from here?”

Dmitri leans forward, steals a bite of my toast with the kind of easy confidence that would normally make me throw something at his head. “Your eggs are getting cold.”

“Dmitri.” I drop my fork with a sharp clatter, making us both jump. “You can’t just fuck me into submission every time I try to figure this out.”

The corner of his mouth curves, slow and knowing. “Submission?”

I grab a piece of crust and hurl it at him, but the bastard catches it midair, smirking. “I’m serious!”

“Ah, always these labels,solnyshko.” He pushes to his feet, circling the table with that effortless grace that shouldn’t be possible for someone his size. Before I can protest, he lifts me from my chair, my legs automatically wrapping around his waist as his hands settle firmly under my thighs.

“What are you doing?” I protest weakly.

“What I’m doing,” he murmurs against my skin, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss just below my jaw, “is making up for lost time.With my girlfriend.”

My breath stalls completely.

Girlfriend.

He feels the shift in my body, the way I freeze in his arms, and when he pulls back, his smirk is pure devastation. “Is that,” his lips brush mine, teasing, coaxing, “a label that will work for now,solnyshko?”

I nod, my heart hammering like it’s trying to beat its way out of my ribs. But we’re right back to where we started.

I’m leaving in a week.

He lives in Tarrytown.

I’m in the West Village.

What’s the plan here?

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