Page 142 of The Pucking Date
He exhales like that knocked something loose in his chest. Then he pulls me close, both hands gripping my waist, foreheads touching.
“You gonna finish the song?” he murmurs.
I nod toward the speakers. “You gonna survive if I do?”
“No,” he says, dead serious. “But what a way to go.”
I skate back toward the boards, chest heaving just a little, not from effort, but from adrenaline. From being back in my skin. From being seen by him like this.
Finn glides up beside me, one hand bracing the glass behind my head, the other settling low on my hip. His breath still isn’t steady, and it makes me want to do things to him that would definitely violate the terms of our childcare agreement with my parents.
“I missed this,” I murmur, tilting my head to rest against his chest.
He brushes his lips across my hair. “I missedyou.”
We stand there for a moment, just breathing, the echo of our blades still humming faintly through the air.
Then I pull back, catching my breath. “You know what? Carving out that sunroom for my office was genius.”
“The NOVA wing was nonnegotiable when we house-hunted,” he says. “Now you’re running an empire from our sunroom.”
“Half the league’s begging for meetings,” I agree. “Not bad for seven weeks postpartum.”
Finn laughs, full and proud, and tugs me tighter against him. “God, I love watching you in your element.”
“What? Dominating the male sports PR market in compression leggings?”
He dips his head. “That. Exactly that.”
We stay pressed together like that for a beat—his arms strong around me, my cheek against his chest. His heart still hasn’t slowed down. Neither has mine.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod against him. “Yeah. Just…” I pull back, meeting his gaze. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel sexy again. After the mesh underwear. The stitches. The night sweats. The six thousand pads.”
He lets out a low, affectionate groan. “Red…”
“I’m serious,” I say, forcing a smile. “I felt…gone. For a minute. Like my body belonged to everyone but me. The babies, the doctors, the schedule. I didn’t even look in the mirror for the first three weeks.”
He lifts my chin. His thumb brushes across my cheek.
“Let me be clear,” he murmurs. “I have never, not for one second, looked at you and seen anything but the sexiest, fiercest, most maddening woman I’ve ever known.”
My eyes sting. I don’t look away.
“You made our children,” he says, voice thick. “Youarethe miracle. Every time I look at you, I fall harder. Not because your ass looks great in those leggings, which, by the way, it does. But because I’ve watched you carry them. Feed them. Soothe them. Still show up for me, for your business, for yourself. That’s real. That’s sexy as hell.”
I blink fast. “Okay, nowI’mthe one with the cardiovascular problem.”
He grins. “Want me to check your vitals, Novak?”
I lean in. “You’re not certified.”
“Wanna test me anyway?”
We start skating again, slow and quiet, just the scrape of blades humming around us. A lazy lap. Then another.
No rush. No audience. No expectation.
