Page 111 of One Good Puck
I start to sit up, but he gently grabs my hand.
“Stay and cuddle with me for a bit?” he asks in a soft voice, almost like he’s shy.
I smile and nod, giddy that he wants to stay with me for a little longer. When I lie back down, he wraps his massive, muscled arms around me and tucks me against his broad chest. He kisses my forehead.
“You’re leaving for a string of away games on Monday, right?” I ask.
“Yeah. Then we have two home games, then we’re gone again the week after.”
“Then it’s Thanksgiving. You don’t have to play over the holiday, right?”
“Nope. I get to host dinner for everyone instead.”
I lean back and smile up at him. “You host Thanksgiving dinner for your team?”
“Sometimes. I try and make it a point to have the guys over who aren’t able to be with their families.”
My heart swells. He’s so kind and thoughtful to do that.
He traces his fingers lightly along my jaw. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
“Emma and I usually go to my parents, but this yearthey’re visiting my mom’s cousin in Grand Junction. So it’ll just be Emma and me.”
He hesitates for a second before speaking again. “Would you, um, want to spend the holiday with me?”
My tummy does a backflip at how nervous he is to ask me that. This man, who’s fierce and unflappable when he coaches hockey games, is nervous to ask me to spend Thanksgiving with him.
“You want Emma and me to join you?”
He traces his thumb softly along my bottom lip and gazes into my eyes. “Of course I do. I always want you and Emma around.”
There goes my heart doing that fluttery thing again. It feels like a pinwheel spinning like crazy in the wind.
I try to ignore it and remind myself that Gavin is just being a good friend. Any decent person would invite their friend over so they didn’t have to be alone on Thanksgiving.
“Emma and I would love to come.”
He flashes a wide grin and kisses me. I try to keep the butterflies swarming in my tummy at bay, but I can’t. I’m too excited. I can’t wait to spend Thanksgiving with Gavin.
Chapter 43
Gavin
“How the hell did you burn the gravy?” Xander asks Blomdahl, grimacing after tasting the gravy.
Blomdahl frowns at the saucepan he’s been stirring on my stove top. “It’s not burned.”
“Dude, taste it,” Xander says before wiping his tongue on a napkin.
Blomdahl grabs a spoon, dips it in the gravy, and tastes it. He makes a grossed-out face. “Okay, yeah, it’s burned.”
I shake my head as I finish setting up drinks on the far end of the kitchen island. “Maybe I should have catered the whole Thanksgiving meal for today and not just the turkey,” I say.
Abby walks up to me, smiling as she grabs a champagne flute and pours herself some Prosecco. “I think it was a fun idea to ask everyone to bring a side,” she says. “That way we get to try everyone’s cooking.”
“Trust me, you don’t wanna try that gravy,” Xander mutters.
Blomdahl shoves his shoulder. “It was my first time making gravy, you jerk,” he says.
