Page 28 of One Pucking Life

“I learn more about you every day,” he says with a smile. “Like your obsession with sticky notes. You do know there’s a Notes app on your phone, right?”

I roll my eyes playfully. “I know about the Notes app. But I’ve always been a stationery girl.”

He shrugs, hands raised in mock surrender. “Fair enough. Who am I to change you?”

Everything about Max—and his sheer proximity—makes my body heat and my heart race. I can’t deny the attraction I’ve felt this past week. I look forward to waking up just to see him. I count down the hours until he gets home. And I can’t help but notice the parts of Caroline that remind me of him—like the shape of her smile and the way her eyes squint at the corners when she grins, turning almond-shaped. She’s such a beautiful baby. A total mini Max.

I love watching him with her. He’s such a natural. It’s hard to believe he’s only had her in his life for a few weeks. I’ve admittedly done some light social media stalking—and just because he doesn’t go on TikTok doesn’t mean he’s notonthere. He’s in more videos than I can count as the gorgeous young star of last year’s Stanley Cup–winning team.

I’ve never been a sports person, especially not hockey, but I’ve watched every single clip I could find of him playing. Multiple times.

Of course, I’ve seen the off-ice stuff as well. He’s usually got a beautiful woman on his arm—and there have been more women than I can count, too. Not that every girl who’s posted a video with him has slept with him… but I can’t stop my brain from wondering how manyhave. Not that it’s any of my business. It’s not. I’m here for Caroline. He’s my boss. End of story.

Nothing is going on between us.

There will neverbeanything going on between us.

Max reaches past me again, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts, and sticks the note back on the fridge. He gives me a quick smile before turning to the drawer and pulling out a pad of sticky notes. He scribbles something down.

Sriracha.

He peels it off and leans past me again to add it to the fridge.

“Would you mind picking me up some sriracha when you’re getting all your beans? I’m out.”

I swallow hard. “Of course.”

He tucks the pen and pad back into the drawer and closes it.

I shake my head, trying to clear the delicious way he smells from my brain. “So how was your game?”

He smiles wide, and my heart twists.

“It was great. We won by two goals. I finally reclaimed my starting position.” He steps forward and takes my hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thanks to you.”

“No.” I force a smile and quickly pull my hand away, rushing to the sink and grabbing a sponge to wipe an imaginary spot on the counter. “That’s all because of your hard work.”

He steps beside me again, reaching for a glass from the cupboard.

“I can’t play well when I’m exhausted. So once again, I’m giving the credit to you.” He fills the glass with water from the fridge and takes a long sip.

I watch the way his neck moves as he swallows, then mentally slap myself.What iswrongwith me?

It’s too soon to ask for time off. I’ve only been here a week, and he’s finally back in the lineup. We’ve just gotten into a rhythm. But I clearly need to get laid or something because I’m acting like a feral cat ready to pounce. I’m better than this.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” he asks, setting his glass in the sink.

“No, I…” I force a yawn. “I think I’m gonna head to bed.”

“Okay. Sure.”

I start to leave the kitchen, but before I can fully escape, he says my name—and I stop in my tracks.

“Laney.”

I inhale slowly through my nose, paste on a smile, and turn back. “Yeah?”

“Thank you so much for all your help with Caroline. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re here. Truly. I just… you’re happy here, right?”

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