Page 82 of Proposal Play

“Isn’t it?” I say with a happy, newlywed sigh. “Sometimes, he can’t keep his hands off me.”

“Well, that’s clear,” she says with a conspiratorial smile.

She waters the seed I planted, reposting the photo that afternoon with the caption:For every repost, I’ll donate one dollar to any one of these three charities our team supports.

Then she lists a food bank, an animal rescue, and the Friends of the Library Association. When I tell Asher about it that evening, he says, “I’ve always said you were a good luck charm.”

Or maybe I just wanted to give him what he wanted.

29

THERE’S ALWAYS A CATCH

Asher

The third period is winding down, and New York clings to a one-goal lead. We have ten minutes to shave that. I race down the ice, passing the puck to Falcon as we hunt for an opening.

But New York’s relentless, and their defenseman Karlsson won’t lay off me. The second I spot an opening and try to sneak it past the goalie, he cuts across, swiping it from me, then flashes a dickhead smile. “You’re a little distracted, Callahan. Must be all that kissing.”

I know better than to rise to the bait. Assholes like Karlsson thrive on getting a reaction, and he’s the league’s leading asshole. If you don’t give in, they’ve got nothing. But I can’t ignore him completely—that fucker is talking about my wife. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t expect you to know what that’s like.”

“Don’t expect you to know what good hockey is like,” he says, then races ahead of me.

I dig my blades into the ice, muscles burning as I chase him down. My breath comes in sharp bursts as I fight for control of the puck along the boards with Karlsson and a couple of New York guys. I grit my teeth, jabbing my stick into the scrum and snagging the puck, but Karlsson’s still tight on me, his breath hot against my ear.

“You thinking about kissing her now, Callahan?” Karlsson’s smirk is almost audible in his voice.

The puck bounces loose, and I rush to recover it. But fuck me—I swing too high, too fast. My stick clips Karlsson across the chest.

Before I can react, he drops theatrically to the ice.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I mutter as the whistle blows, sharp and shrill. The referee’s arm shoots up. High-sticking. It wasn’t intentional, but that doesn’t matter. The damage is done. Jaw ticking, I skate to the penalty box as New York fans chant, “Power play.”

And New York scores ten seconds later.

I slam my stick against the boards in frustration. When the clock winds down, I’m back out there, determined to make up for it. I chase down the puck, race toward the goal, and fling it at the empty spot in the net—but the New York goalie deflects it.

Karlsson skates past me. “Bet your wife can kiss you and make it better.”

She can, but that’s not for him to know. I spin around, gloves halfway off, my voice razor-sharp. “Leave my wife out of this.”

I’ve never been a fighter. I’m the one who stops fights. But right now, I’m ready to throw gloves. Before I do something I’ll regret, Falcon grabs my right arm. Bryant grabs the left, holding me back.

“He’s not worth it,” Bryant mutters. He should know—he used to play with that jerk.

I blow out a harsh breath and skate away.

Hopping over the boards for the shift change, I yank off my helmet and drop my head in frustration. Coach McBride strides by, cool and focused, like he always is. He levels me with an intense stare. “Keep your head in the game, Callahan.”

“I will, sir,” I reply with a tight nod.

Hockey is my happy place. My escape. It’s where everything makes sense. I need to get that mentality back.

Pep talk done, I shove off the frustration and jump back out there for the next line change, scrambling for the puck. But New York’s faster, and they keep it away from us till the horn blares with their win.

When the game ends, Karlsson sails past me. “Maybe next time your wife wants a quickie marriage, she’ll choose someone who plays to win.”

He’s not getting the last word in. No fucking way. The game’s over. The refs are skating off the oval. So I catch up to him before he reaches the gate, flashing a fuck-off smile. “Say one more word about my wife, and you’ll be picking up your teeth off the ice. Got it?”