“We are in public,” I excuse with a wink. I gesture to the runner, who’s crossing in front of us now. The woman nods a greeting and glances at Libby, squinting before she picks up her pace and hurries on.
“Is that hard?” I ask when the runner is well out of earshot. “When people always recognize you?”
She bumps me with her shoulder. “You tell me. Do you like it? She could have just as easily been gawking at you, hot stuff.”
“I knew it. You think I’m hot.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her.
She laughs, and the sound warms me despite my butt getting cold in the sand. “Everyone thinks you’re hot.” She shakes her head and stretches her legs out in front of us, digging her toes into the sand. “I thought it was cool when I was a teenager, for people to know who I was. For them to want to beme.I don’t mind it now—most people in real life are respectful, like that woman.” She nods toward the direction the runner disappeared in.
“Probably thought I was your bodyguard.” I flex for her and enjoy the way pink dashes into her cheeks.
“Yeah, the way I was curled up into you really screams bodyguard vibes.” She tilts her head at me.
“Makes the story even more intriguing.” I grin. “I can see the comments now.Is Libby Bennet dating her bodyguard?Multiple question marks. Strings of shocked emojis.”
She laughs again, and I think I’ve found my kryptonite. Well, it’s possible everything Libby does is my kryptonite. I just married the woman because she asked nicely.
“Come on,” she says. “You must have dealt with some crazy hockey fangirls.”
“They’re called puck bunnies.”
“Puck bunnies?” she repeats, scrunching up her nose.
“Well, it’s kind of a mean nickname, and reserved only for the most … intense. Women who follow teams just to date the players. I’ve had a couple obsessed with me, but it’s nothing to your fame. I got more new followers when you posted a picture of us at lunch than I ever did for winning a game.”
“So are you ready for what’s coming?” Her voice drops, tentative. Like she thinks she tricked me into this part or that I didn’t understand.
I flex again. “I’m ready for anything,babe.”
She shakes her head, but her eyes are bright with amusement. Doing that for her after she was so stressed about everything with the wedding makes accomplishment swell in me.
We notice someone else farther up the beach sitting on a deck, so we snuggle back up and turn to the ocean. The sky is slowing fading into oranges and pinks in colors that are never done justice in photos I take. The roll, in and out, of the waves is a soothing soundtrack, and having Libby’s warmth next to me makes this the most perfect sunrise I’ve ever witnessed.
When the sun has cleared the horizon and the sky is light, Libby leans in and kisses my cheek. “I’m going back to bed,” she says.
I stand, pulling her up with me, and we hold hands as we walk back into the house. The man on the deck a few houses down turns and watches every step. I don’t point that out to Libby. Instead I watch her climb the stairs, and then head up to take a shower and head out for groceries to make her breakfast.
We spend the rest of our time in Hawaii mostly relaxing at the house and on the beach, always making sure to act lovey-doveyif we’re anywhere a camera could capture us. We go out to dinner a couple times, but I usually cook because she seems to love it, and it’s clearly easier on her when we don’t have to act like we’re in love. I’m quickly getting to the point where I’d do anything to make life easier for Libby Bennet.
Or was I already there a long time ago when I agreed to marry her so she could buy a hockey team?
Sure enough, by the time we get back to Houston, social media is exploding with reshares of a few pictures of us in Maui that have been posted, including the one Libby shared of us on the beach with three emojis: a sun, sunglasses, and a beach umbrella.
Libby Bennet dating former hockey star?is written across the most recent grainy picture of us I’ve come across on Instagram while I sit on the couch in Libby’s bougie apartment. The picture was taken of us lounging on the beach by the house we rented. Libby is reading a book, and I’m snoozing next to her.
Definitely romantic, I think with a snort of laughter. I can’t complain about being labeled a hockey star. That never happened to me when I was playing.
I flick past it and then scroll. It’s astonishing how many pictures of us are coming up. It’s only going to get worse when there’s an official announcement from Libby about our elopement. I groan and toss my phone on the couch. I’m bored and beginning to feel like a kept man. Libby is at her office. We have a couple weeks before we head to Denver for some meetings with her new staff. There are things I could be doing for the Redhaven Foundation, but to be honest, I’m avoiding my sister until I have to see her at dinner tomorrow night with my parents. I’ve done what work I can here, from my laptop, that doesn’t require me talking to her. I haven’t heard from her for a few days either, so I might be getting payback for ghosting her and not telling her before I ran off to Hawaii with Libby. I could always watch Denver White Wolves film to study up on theteam. The start of the season is in a couple months, and any changes she wants to make need to happen right away.
I check my watch and realize Libby’s going to be home from work soon. Perfect. I can start dinner. That will keep me occupied until she gets here.
I’m stirring the chicken noodle soup with roasted garlic when I hear Libby coming in.
“Oh, heavens,” she says. “What is that amazing smell?” She rounds the wall that separates the entry area from the living room and kitchen. “I am not paying you enough,” she says, a smile blooming. “Personal chef was not on your résumé.”
“You’re paying me plenty,” I assure her.
She arches an eyebrow. “I’m not talking about that ten million.”
