Page 145 of Double Puck

I kiss the top of her head. Then I do it again, because I can, and because I don't want to do anything else in the world.

She pulls back just enough to look up at me, her cheeks flushed.

"Beck." She drops her heels on the boards and steps back. "I need you to know what happened this morning. Before anyone else tells you their version. Or before you—"

"Before I what?"

Her eyes drop to the boards between us, and she goes all cute and quiet.

I can see it on the tip of her tongue.

Before you leave.

Her fingers close around the ear of the stuffed bear, and she tugs at it nervously.

"Hey." I tip her chin up with two fingers until she has to look at me. "Tell me what happened at the meeting first. My phone's been going absolutely insane for the last two hours and I've been ignoring it, which is either the best or worst decision I've made today."

Her breath catches. And then, finally, she meets my eyes.

"I reversed my recommendation." Her chin comes up, and she says it the way she'd present to a boardroom. "In front of Colin and Coach Pearson. Pete was there too, and your brothers—" She pops her eyes wide, which I absolutely understand as holy shit. "I'm fairly sure Diego was live-texting Zoey the entire time. But I did it, Beck. I told them my original model was wrong. That I was wrong."

The wind pushes her hair across her face, and her eyes are shining beautifully now. Like she's as proud of herself as I am of her.

"I told them the Bears shouldn't trade you under any terms. And then—" her voice wobbles, "—then I told them I fell in love with you during the assessment."

I stare at her, my heart exploding. "You told a room full of management you love me?"

"I did."

"Darce." I press a hand to my chest. "That's the filthiest thing you've ever done."

She laughs, wet and cracked around the edges, and swipes at her eyes with the back of her wrist. "But it doesn't matter, though. Does it? Colin said the teams already agreed to your contract overnight."

My phone vibrates in my pocket again. I don't have to look to know it's Philip. The contract is sitting in my inbox, right now.

One signature. That's all it takes.

One signature and I'm on a private jet to Nevada, trading California coastline for casino lights, and somewhere on the Las Vegas Strip a billboard is already waiting for my face to fill it.

I'd finally be the guy. Nobody's little brother. Not the punchline, the afterthought, or the one Darcy's spreadsheet said to cut.

Just Beck Morrison: Hockey Superstar.

"Darce—"

"Beck, if you've decided on Vegas, if that's what you really want, I'm not going to stand here and—"

"I'm not going."

She stops. Completely.

"You… what?"

"I'm not going to Vegas." I pull my phone from my pocket as it starts vibrating again, Philip's name flashing across the screen. "This is probably him calling for my answer. Again."

Darcy stares at the phone. Then at me.

"You haven't accepted?"