Page 94 of The Puckable Playbook

I chuckle. “You’re delusional.”

“Mmm,” he muses. “At least we found a new tradition.”

Lord help me, but I might’ve just wished he’d lose more often.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Zaiah

“And this!”Len exclaims, twirling into the room with another new outfit. The way she glows, not only lighting up the room but making my chest warm, should tell me everything I need to know about my feelings for her as she gives me an impromptu fashion show with the clothes Iz helped her buy.

“Oh, I like that.”

She poses in the doorway, one leg up on the frame, arching her back with her hand outstretched. The thin material of the shirt tightens around her chest. I laugh while a thunderous need to claim ricochets inside.

She giggles, pushing away from the door, unaware of how transfixed I am. Of the feelings coursing through me. I could kick myself for letting my loss dim her light yesterday.

It’ll never happen again.

She holds up a finger. “There’s more.”

“More?” She’s already shown me a few. Iz must’ve talked her into buying a whole new wardrobe.

“Oh yes,” she calls back from within the confines of her attached en suite. “I had to call Dad to tell him I was using the emergency credit card he gave me. I was worried he’d report it stolen.”

“So, you made up with him, then?”

“I…spoke to him.” Shopping bags rustle and then stop. “It was brief. We didn’t talk about what happened, but he knows I barely ever use the card, so he was fine with it. In fact, he told me I should use it more often.”

“But you don’t?”

“I can do things myself. Without him.”

I love how strong she is. Determined. Her dad is only misguided when it comes to her future. It’s clear he loves her. “You should have a candid conversation with him—without yelling. Get your feelings out there.”

She peeks her head out, her blonde hair cascading down like a waterfall. “I agree. Easier said than done, though. To catch time with him, I have to contend with the very thing that bugs me about him.”

I move up the bed, my stomach flopping with her words. “Is it really about hockey, though? You don’t mind me playing hockey.”

I hold in a breath, worried about what she’s going to say, especially with our argument yesterday.

When she doesn’t say anything, I keep going. “What I mean is…he could be a businessman in another field. Maybe a corporate hotshot for a big financing company, and I bet he’d still work a lot and try to get you set you up with his work…”

She steps out of the bathroom, a light tank top hugging her. It stops an inch above her shorts, and it’s hard not to take her in like that, even though we’re talking about such a serious topic.

“I know you’re right,” she says, brows furrowing. “I’ve had conversations with myself about how hating hockey is irrational.To be fair, I don’t much like any sport. Remember the articles I wrote about the football team?”

“Yeah, but I don’t care about football either.”

A grin pulls her lips apart. “You’re too cute. You don’t want me to hate hockey.”

“I already know you don’t.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Just because I go to the rink to cheer my man on? I could be dying inside. Slowly suffocating.”

“You aren’t,” I challenge.

“Maybe I only enjoy hanging out with your family?”

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