“Fuck no.” Jasper grins. “We’re winning.”
Yeah . . . That’s what I thought.
“You had to go and marry the captain of our biggest rivals, Livvy?” Uncle Max asks as we watch the last two minutes of the clock count down. The Nobles are upby three, but anything could happen, so I’m not about to jinx us by assuming. “That husband of yours is on fire. I’ve never seen him play like this before, and he’s been on my radar for years.”
“Oh yeah?” I grin up at my uncle and cross my arms over my chest. Max Kingston has this way of sucking the oxygen from every room he walks in. He’s larger than life and has that kind of magnetic personality that draws people to him, even if the only people he’s ever wanted to surround himself with are his family and small circle of friends. “And why has he been on your radar, Uncle Max?”
“You asking as his wife or his agent?” Max grins before turning back to the ice and side-eyeing me.
“Wife. I’m not his agent.” Something that is definitely not changing any time soon.
“He’s a leader, Liv. He’s that player. The one who stands out. He leads his team. He plays harder. Skates faster. Scores more. He’s been doing it since he was in college. The first time I saw him skate was against Cohen when Kroydon U played Boston U. And when he lined up against Cohen, I knew we were in for a hell of a game.”
“If he’s so good, how come you didn’t take him in the draft?” I ask, curious but also relieved. Pretty sure everything played out the way it was supposed to.
“He was gone by the time we got to him. The Nobles had gotten to him first. Rumor was he and Langley were a package deal. They wanted to play together, and the Nobles got the package.” Max smiles as Hendrix Sinclair slams Logan into the boards, but Logan gets off fast and gets the puck right back.
Holy shit.
It’s a breakaway.
He goes right.
Left.
Gets by Hendrix and two other players.
The goal’s wide open. One-on-one with the goalie.
“Come on, Adler,” I chant and feel Max shaking his head.
The clock counts down.
Three.
Logan pulls back.
Two.
He slapshots the puck, and the sound echoes as I hold my breath.
One.
The goalie drops down and lifts his glove up, but the puck sails right through his hand and hits the back of the net.
The light flashes and clock runs out, as the hometown crowd goes wild.
Their Nobles just won the game.
“Your husband just got a hat trick, Liv,” Max tells me, less than thrilled, but somewhere down deep, I think he’s hiding a smile.
His team may have lost, but I’m wearing the jersey of the man who just won.
Thirty minutes later, I’m standing in the back of the press conference where Logan is seated on the dais next to his coach and his goalie as questions are volleyed every which way. Every now and then, it pays to have agent credentials that get you into something like this. Even if more than half of the questions have been about our marriage.
I might be dying inside, but no one but me knows that.
My husband is turning out to be quite the rockstar as he sits up there, tossingno commentsout left and right. His hair is damp and in his eyes, and my fingers absolutely itch to runthrough the soft strands. To brush it off his face. And to fucking pull it as he buries himself inside me.
