Page 77 of Pucking Wild

“No, we can’t forget the cut-up hotdogs,” I deadpan. “The cheese powder needs enough surfaces to congeal to.”

“God, I love it when you use words like congeal,” he teases, leaning in a bit closer.

I smirk, shaking my head as I snatch out a sparkling water from the fridge and finally shut the door. “When are you gonna let me expand that palate with some creamy lobster mac drizzled with black truffle aioli?”

“Wait—are you asking me on a date?” he replies, his tone more serious. “Is this an invitation to a stay-in date withtheTess Owens?”

My heart flutters before I roll my eyes. “In your dreams, hockey boy. If anything, it’s an intervention. Clearly, you need one,” I add, gesturing around at the mess.

“This place will be spotless, I promise,” he replies. “They just got a little carried away.”

“It’s really fine,” I say, placing my hand on his arm again.

We both follow the line of my arm with our gazes, ending at where my hand is touching his bicep. I leave it there a second too long before dropping it away again.

“Is it weird that I’m not used to seeing you with clothes on?” he says, trying to break the tension.

I laugh. “I think it’s about time the tables were turned. Why don’t you give us a little spin?” I tease, twirling my finger.

The corner of his mouth is tipped up in a smile as he obliges me, making a ridiculously cute one-legged hop circle, keeping his weight off his bad knee. Like the other guys, he’s dressed only in those Rays logo workout shorts. He’s long and lean, built for speed more than making hard hits. Jake is the one with the body of a defenseman, and Shiny Patrick over on the chair.

“Those shorts should be illegal, by the way,” I say, unashamedly ogling his hockey butt.

It’s his turn to laugh, but I can see the heat in his eyes. “You like what you see, Tess?”

“It’s fine, I guess,” I reply with a disinterested shrug. “You’re not quite as impressive as Shiny Abs McBuff Boy over there,” I add with a nod to the living room.

The heat burns darker in his eyes. He steps in closer until I feel my hip press against the counter. “Oh, yeah? Well, which one of us has a starting spot on an NHL team, huh? Which one of us just got offered a four-year extension contract with a three million dollar signing bonus?”

I blink, eyes wide. “Ryan—wait, what? Ohmygod, that’s amazing! When did this happen?”

“Today,” he replies, smiling wide.

“Ohmygod!” Setting my drink can down on the counter, I step forward, arms wide, and wrap him in a hug. “That’s so great, Ryan. Really, I’m so happy for you.”

He hugs me back, his arms going around my waist. He drops his head down, tucking it in at my shoulder, his breath warm on my neck. I don’t miss the way he breathes me in. It raises the hairs on my neck and makes my stomach flutter.

I pull back, and he lets me go. My hands slide down his arms to his elbows. He cradles my elbows, too, and we stand there touching, enough space between us like we’re at a middle school slow dance.

“Well, are you taking the offer?” I say.

He nods. “Yeah, I think I am. My agent is going to negotiate a few terms, but I’ve honestly been waiting for something like this for a while.”

I give his arms a squeeze, still smiling. “That’s great news.” Then I glance around at the mess all over the kitchen. “Well, this is just silly. You can’t celebrate life-changing news like this with boxed mac and cheese and cut-up hotdogs. Let me take you out.”

He goes still, one brow raising in question. “Like…outout?”

I snort another laugh. “God, you are incorrigible.”

“I prefer relentless,” he says with a wink.

“You know what, fine,” I reply, flashing him a smile. It feels good to smile after the day I’ve had. “For one night, and one night only, yes, Ryan Langley. I’m taking you out on a date. Let’s go celebrate your big contract news.”

He just gazes down at me, his hold tightening slightly on my elbows. “You better not be fucking with me,” he warns.

“Puppy, go find some clothes,” I say, dropping my hands away from him. “I can’t take you out in public like this,” I say, gesturing to his short shorts.

He flashes me that All-American bubblegum smile, and then he’s turning away from me. “Guys,” he shouts into the living room. “Fun’s over. You gotta go.”

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