Page 69 of Playing for Keeps

“A ring?” Emma repeated.

“He’d bought an engagement ring,” Aidan said, his eyes gleaming. “His girlfriend almost found it in his jacket pocket, so he panicked, shoved it in his mouth and swallowed it, right as she walked in.”

“What did you do?” someone asked.

“What we always do,” Aidan said. “We had a frank conversation about how long it takes for the human body to… return jewellery. He begged us to help him, because he wanted to propose that evening. So we went for the nuclear option: laxatives. Two hours, a very anxious nurse and one strainer later…”

“No,” Emma said, covering her mouth, horrified and amused.

“Yes,” Aidan said. “He sterilized it and proposed. She said yes. Nothing like beginning a marriage with some brutal honesty.”

“About straining?” I asked.

“About the stupid, beautiful things you’ll do for love,” Aidan said, raising his glass.

We toasted to stupid, beautiful things.

Eventually, the questions came to me, as they always do. “How’s hockey?” Aidan’s friend asked. “You lot going to make the playoffs or what?”

“We’ve got a shot,” I said, trying not to sound like I was bragging. “We’re gelling. Special teams are looking better. If we keep our heads and don’t take dumb penalties, we’ll be in the mix.”

“Any big fights?” someone else asked, half teasing.

“Not as much as you think. I’m more useful on the ice than in the box. And my coach likes his defence-men boring.”

“Max is never boring,” Grace said dryly as she walked by with a plate, patting my shoulder. I draped my arm over the back of Emma’s chair, my thumb brushing lightly against her back. She didn’t move away. If anything, she leaned back now and then, like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

The table fell into that comfortable silence that comes after too much food and just enough wine.

Emma was the first to get up. “I’ll help you clear the dishes,” she said to Grace.

Grace flapped her towel at her. “Not a chance. You’re a guest.”

Emma smiled sweetly and picked up half of the plates before Grace could even blink. “Sorry, but that’s not how I was raised.”

I stood up too, grinning at Grace’s glare. “Guess I’m drafted.”

We carried the plates to the kitchen and moved around each other in that easy, unplanned way that somehow worked. Emma was at the sink while I scraped plates beside her. The kitchen was a little too warm. Or maybe it was just her – sleeves pushed up, hair slipping from its clip again, grabbing my attention whether I wanted it to or not.

I put down another stack and moved close enough to feel her warmth. She glanced over her shoulder, lips parting like she was about to ask if I needed space. I didn’t. I bent down, found the spot where her neck met her shoulder, and kissed her there, slow and deliberate.

Her breath caught. “Max…”

I let my hand slide over her stomach, hesitated just long enough to feel the tension build, then drew her gently back against me. She went still for a second before leaning back into me.

“You have no idea how lucky you are that there aren’t any good walls in here,” I whispered in her ear.

The sound she made took me right back to that night in the alley. “You’re incorrigible,” she said with a soft, laughing voice.

Just then, Grace came in through the kitchen door with the last few plates stacked in her arms. “Whoops,” she said, her eyes flicking between us with a look that was half apology, half amusement.

Emma slipped out of my grip like it was a dance move and reached for the plates. “Here, let me…”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Emma’s smile was easy. “No, it’s fine. After all, it’s your kitchen.”

Grace put the plates in the sink, rinsed them quickly, then turned back and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Emma, about what I thought I saw in the lecture hall…”