Page 12 of Much Ado About Hockey

His eyes darkened with a mischievous gleam as he leaned in a little closer, his voice dipping low and intimate. “And does that mean you are attracted to me?” he whispered. “Is it time to show your new husband those hidden garters?”

Her breath hitched, eyes widening in horror, and then—she moved. Fast. Reflexive. Her fingers closed around the nearest thing on the counter—a half-full bowl of Hershey Kisses—and she shoved a handful into his mouth, foil and all, smacking his chin upward with sharp determination to get his mouth away from hers.

She wasn’t kissing him again. Not if he was going to be adisgusting twerpabout it. The one when they said ‘I do’ was enough.

Her cheeks were flushed, and not just from embarrassment or surprise. There was warmth behind it, an ache she hadn’t wanted to feel again. Not so soon. Not after everything. Her hand, the one he’d barely brushed, trembled slightly as she let it fall back to her side. One flower—no matter how delicate or thoughtful—didn’t erase the confusion. It didn’t untangle the knots he’d left in her, didn’t undo the echo of that first, fleeting kiss when they said ‘I do.’

That kiss had startled her with its tenderness, and worse, it had made herhopefor something. Something she wasn’t ready to name. Something she wasn’t ready towant.

Not yet, anyhow,a traitorous little voice whispered from some quiet, vulnerable corner of her mind.

With a sharp exhale, she turned away, breaking the moment like a snapped twig. She grabbed her notepad and pen from the table, flipping to a new page like she could start over, rewrite what had just happened, and organize the chaos swirling inside her.

Enough.

“Okay, enough with the funny business,” she said aloud, voice clipped and businesslike as she turned to face the table. Her tone had shifted, sharp and authoritative, like the one she used when her classroom was getting out of hand. Her pen poised in her hand like a weapon or a shield. “What’s your full name again and where are you from – because I must have been crazy to have married a stranger,” she continued, eyes narrowing just slightly as she looked at him.

A line had been drawn.

Emotion was being folded neatly and set aside.

“So you and I are about to get acquainted, Mr. Acton. Now sit down, shush, and get ready to have your life dissected… by me.”

She wasn’t ready to remember that kiss, imagining its tenderness or how it made her feel. Not yet. But shewasreadyfor answers and desperately clinging to the idea of forming some sort of plan to make sense of this.

Of him.

4

JETT

Jett was still reelingfrom the surreal whirlwind of the day.

Married.

He wasmarried.

The word alone felt foreign, heavy, almost too serious to apply to the woman sitting just a few feet from him at the kitchen table—a stranger in all the ways that mattered, but his wife just the same.

She looked so put-together, calm and competent, even though he could see the pink flush on her cheeks betraying nerves she probably didn’t want him to notice. Her eyes flicked over a page in front of her, pen tapping a rhythm that didn’t match the beat of her foot beneath the table. She was trying to maintain control. That much was clear. And Jett? He found it unexpectedly endearing.

He smiled, more to himself than anything, as he slowly pulled out the chair beside her. His little bride was smokin’ hot when she got all bossy and businesslike. It was that fire in her—restrained, elegant, but unmistakable—that had caught him off guard earlier. She wasn’t the type of girl who normally crossed his radar. No, she was refined, with a sharp tongue hiddenbehind a polite smile and eyes that seemed to read right through people.

Still, he couldn’t resist putting on a bit of a show.

Instead of sitting down right away, he pushed himself back up from the chair in a deliberately slow, calculated move. Reaching overhead, he made a big production out of flipping on the coffeemaker, dragging the stretch longer than necessary, his shirt conveniently rising to show off the defined abs he’d worked so hard for. His body was his temple these days—a tool he’d fine-tuned through punishing early mornings, weighted circuits, and a diet that made most people miserable. It was supposed to be for the season… until that dream had blown up in his face earlier.

He was still trying to wrap his head around it—fired. Life sure knew how to twist the knife, and now he was married to secure another hockey gig.

Still, petty as it was, the flash of curiosity in her eyes made something in him settle.Yup,he thought with no small amount of satisfaction,she looked.

He’d caught it—the way her lashes dipped, the way she bit her bottom lip before composing herself like a lady who had just caught herself staring and wasn’t about to admit it. She tried to act unfazed, but her features told the truth. His classy little wife, the one who’d kept him at arm’s length with that sweet, chaste kiss at the altar, wasn’t immune to him after all.

And that pleased him more than it should have.

Most women made it easy for him. They chased him, flattered him, and practically flung themselves into his lap without effort on his part. It had always been fun, light, and meaningless.

He’d made it that way on purpose.

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