Page 57 of Pucked In Vegas

I try to ignore the delicious shiver his touch sends through me.

"Are you even listening to me talk about work, or are you just thinking about getting me naked again?"

"Both." He flashes that dimpled grin that still makes my stomach flip, even after six months of marriage. "I'm excellent at multitasking."

"That's actually true," I concede, remembering exactly how good his 'multitasking' skills are.

My phone buzzes again. I groan when I see the sender.

"Let me guess," Jackson says, glancing over. "Big Mike with another job offer?"

"How'd you know?" I open the email and clear my throat for my dramatic reading voice. "'Cassandra, the pre-season events need your expertise. The team misses your energy. Just think of the legacy, sweetheart.'"

Jackson snorts. "If he says 'legacy' one more time, I'm reporting him To Coach Brody for emotional blackmail."

"Right? Like I haven't heard that word five hundred times since we moved back." I lock my phone and toss it into my purse. "He acts like I'm betraying the family business by running my own company instead of working for the Icehawks."

"While conveniently forgetting that you're building your own legacy," Jackson adds, reaching for my hand and bringing it to his lips. "One that doesn't revolve around hockey."

"Well, not entirely," I correct, looking pointedly at him in his Icehawks tracksuit. "I did marry the star rookie."

"Best decision you ever made."

He kisses my palm, then each fingertip, his eyes flicking between me and the road.

"Second best," I tease. "Best was telling my dad I'd plan your draft night. Otherwise, I might never have seen you again after Vegas."

"Fate," Jackson says with absolute certainty. "We would've found each other somehow."

The conviction in his voice makes my heart swell. For a guy who grew up with nothing, Jackson has an unshakable faith in us that still surprises me.

The car slows at a red light, and Jackson leans over to kiss me properly, his tongue teasing mine. His hand slides higher up my thigh, fingers brushing against the lace edge of my underwear.

"Jackson," I gasp against his mouth. "We're in the middle of town."

"So?" His teeth graze my bottom lip. "It's Iron Ridge. The place might be beautiful, but at this time of night? There's not a soul to see."

I swat his hand away, laughing. "Even still, I'm not giving Clara at Summit Café a free show."

I never thought I'd fall in love with Iron Ridge again. This town that once felt like a cage now feels like... home.

The Ridgeview Tavern was glowing warm when we drove past, its windows fogged with laughter and hockey talk. Every Friday night, the team piles in there after practice. Jackson's teammates slowly becoming our makeshift family. Logan Kane buys everyone's first round. Connor Walsh challenges rookies to darts and never loses. Blake's always there, too, chatting with Eli Thompson, the town's hockey legend about his hockey program.

"Slow down," I tell Jackson, pointing at Chapter and Grind, the local bookstore. "Look. Emma put up new curtains."

He obediently eases off the gas and stops right out the front. "Nice. Blue matches the mountains."

"She's hosting our book club there next week." I can't help smiling at the thought. "Can you believe I'm in a book club now? With hockey wives?!"

Jackson squeezes my hand. "Can you believe I'm married to Big Mike's daughter who once claimed to hate everything about this place?"

"I never hated everything," I correct him. "I just hated being defined by it."

And that's the difference now.

Iron Ridge isn't just "hockey town" to me anymore. It's where Mrs. Abernathy leaves fresh flowers on our porch when Jackson scores. It's where the high school coach asks me to judge the winter formal decorations because "you've got that fancy event planner eye." It's the place where I can wear sweatpants to the grocery store and everyone still calls me "Cassie" not "Ms. Hawthorne."

Another set of lights turn green, but instead of continuing toward our apartment, Jackson makes a sudden left turn.

---