Page 64 of Pucking Daddy

I slip away quickly in search of a bathroom.

Post-game chaos has swallowed everyone—players giving interviews, families posing with mascots, PR handlers orchestrating the whole circus with military precision.

I find the bathroom, take care of what I need to, then wander for a bit.

A hallway opens up, quieter, more secluded. At the end of it, a door marked Staff Only.

Privacy.

I need five minutes. Just enough to catch my breath, to process everything, to convince myself that agreeing to this wasn’t the most reckless decision of my life.

The lounge is small—a couch, a counter with coffee supplies, a window overlooking the service corridor. I lean against the wall and press my palms to my eyes.

What am I doing? Marrying a man I've known less than a week for money and stability, when two weeks ago I had him inside me against a Zamboni maintenance rack?

The door opens.

Jaxon fills the doorway, still in his suit, still wound tight as piano wire. His eyes find mine in the dim light, and something in the air shifts—sharp, electric.

He looks… dangerously good.

“Simone’s looking for you,” he says.

"I needed a minute."

"So did I." He steps inside, letting the door close behind him. The click of the latch sounds very loud.

"We should probably discuss the timeline. The wedding, I mean. My lawyer thinks sooner is better—"

"Jaxon."

"—and there's paperwork to consider, prenuptial agreements, obviously, though my attorney will handle—"

"Jaxon."

He stops talking.

I cross the space between us before I can second-guess myself, fisting my hands in his lapels and pulling his mouth down to mine.

The kiss ignites instantly. No careful build, no tentative exploration—just raw, desperate hunger that has been simmering since the moment I recognized him in his own kitchen.

His hands find my waist, yanking me closer, and I gasp against his lips as my back hits the wall.

"This is a terrible idea," he growls.

"I know."

"We just agreed on boundaries."

"I know."

His mouth traces down my throat, teeth grazing my pulse point, and my head falls back against the wall. "We could get caught. Simone has people everywhere."

"Then you'd better make it fast."

Something shifts in him—control snapping, strategy abandoned.

He lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me toward the counter. Coffee supplies scatter as he sets me down, stepping between my thighs, his hands pushing my skirt up my hips.