Page 92 of Make the Play

He grins. “Best sleep of my life.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why do you sound so proud of yourself?”

“Who, me?” He rubs a hand slowly up and down his bare chest. “I’m just a man who had a restful night. No reason. No reasonat all.”

“Well, good.” I turn away before I combust. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

He follows, voice way too innocent. “Oh, I definitely did. Especially the cuddling. Very comforting. Ten outta ten, would do it again.”

“Iwasn’tcuddling.”

“Right. You were just… clinging to me for warmth?”

“I hate you.”

He huffs a laugh. “No, you don’t… Besides, it’s okay. Denial’s one of the stages.”

I throw a death glare over my shoulder as I make a beeline for the coffee station. “Are you always this annoying before coffee?”

He opens the fridge. “Only when I’ve been drooled on.”

I freeze.

Chase doesn’t even look at me. Just pulls out the creamer, calm as anything.

“I… did not do…that.”

He shrugs. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

I bury my face in my hands. “I’m never recovering from this.”

“You’ve survived worse,” he says, patting my arm with mock sympathy. “You’restrong.”

He sets the creamer down, leans one hip against the counter, and crosses his arms, which I’m convinced is a power play on his part to make me look at his naked biceps. “Anyway. Training camp starts in a couple weeks, then it’s pre-season.”

I exhale through my nose. “I know. I’ve got the PR schedule blocked out already.”

“Which means you know what’s coming.”

“The press rounds. The content day. The open practice. The home opener, yep, I know.”

He smiles wider. “Good. Then you also know you’ll need to be wearing my jersey.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“At the home opener,” he says, like it’s obvious. “You’re my fake girlfriend. You’ve gotta wear my name.”

“No.”

“It’s expected. All the WAGs do it.”

“I don’t care,” I sing-song sweetly.

“You call me Walton most of the time anyway,” he adds, casual on the surface. But I hear it—that shift in his voice, like he remembers how I say his first name when he’s pushed me to my limit. Or more recently, when he made me moan it like a prayer. “Might as well make it official.”

I shake my head. “I’m not wearing your name on my back.”

His eyes spark with mischief. “Well, who else’s name would you wear?”

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