Page 152 of Make the Play

Before I can close the email tab, my phone lights up again.

Chase:We’re not cooling anything, sweetheart. Come home and let me lick you so you can report me to HR

Me:you’re all bark, Walton

Chase:just got home from 4 days away and you’re not here. rude.

Me: Some of us have actual jobs

Chase: Some of us haven’t seen our girl in 4 days and just learned they have a pink luxury vibrator.

Me:You jealous of a toy, big guy?

Chase:Nah. Just ready to show you whatDolce Waltonatocan do.

I suck in a sharp laugh and glance around to ensure no one is reading over my shoulder, even though I’m in my office.

Me: It’s the home opener, you’re lucky I don’t block you

Chase: You’ll forgive me when you find what I left you.

I frown, thumb hovering over the screen.

Me: What did you do

Chase: who, Zo. The question is who did I do. And the answer’s you. And I will again tonight. After we win.

I lock my phone and toss it face down on my desk before I can do something unprofessional like combust in the middle of my office.

The day passes in a sprint, and I don’t make it back to the condo until almost four, Pulse lanyard still around my neckand a half-drunk coffee in hand. I’ve got just enough time to shower, reapply my make-up, and change into something semi-rinkside-appropriate that will have Chase still begging for me later. Though going off the state of his texts, which have declined into unhinged filth throughout the day, I could wear a paper bag tonight and he’d still get on his knees. Good.

I shake the thought off and toss my bag on the couch, unbuttoning my blouse as I walk toward his bedroom. I need to keep it in check, especially today.Especiallyon the day the Head of PR just reminded us to cool the PDA. This is the home opener, not an excuse to straddle a Storm player in public, even if every bone in my body wants to.

The bedroom is quiet when I step inside, just how I left it this morning. But now, there’s the faint smell of citrus and cotton in the air, a ghost of a scent to remind me he was here just a few hours ago.

My eyes scan the room, searching for any other little hints of him, when I spot something neatly folded at the foot of the bed. His jersey. Storm navy blue with blocks of white and a burgundy trim.

I walk closer, fingers brushing over the fabric, and see a small note tucked just underneath the hem. The paper’s creased, the handwriting messy and boyish, like he wrote it in a rush before heading to the arena.

Want you to wear my favorite name on your back.

P.S. Also want a photo with nothing under it.

I scoff automatically, because of course he wants me wearing his name. But my thoughts stall the second I flip the jersey and see what’s on the back.

Taped over his last name in white athletic tape is a new one, hand-scrawled in Sharpie pen. Messy and bold and stupidly perfect.

CARLSON

I stare at it, breath catching in my throat, because of course he did.Of coursehe turned it into this sweet and impossible and devastating moment.

My cheeks heat, and I take a beat to settle my racing heart, which seems to be in some sort of battle with my brain because it hasn’t accepted how fucking in love I am with this man yet.

I’m about to pull the jersey over my head and do exactly what he asked when my phone buzzes.

Pulse Ops – Event Day Chat

Hey Zo, can you handle Storm walk-in content tonight? Lee’s out sick. Would be a huge help ?? Reel template + shot list just sent to your inbox.

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