Page 77 of Double Puck

“Yeah. Because I did fuck up." He shrugs easily. Like his life doesn't depend on the next few games. "I had the smart play sitting right there, and I went for the highlight. It cost us the game. If you wrote anything else, I'd be worried about the integrity of the analytics department. Which, as we've established, my tongue has already compromised."

I stare at him. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"You're not angry?"

"At you? For doing your job?" He tilts his head. "Darce, I'm furious. Just not at you. I'll be at the rink at six tomorrow watching that film over and over again until my eyes bleed. But that's tomorrow's problem. Tonight I have a date with a woman who's never had one." He leans in and kisses me again. "And lucky for you, I take that responsibility extremely seriously."

Oh my God.

I don't understand this man. I genuinely don't.

I've spent my whole life watching people fall apart over mistakes a tenth this size, and Beck's just absorbed the worst professional night of his season and moved on like it was a parking ticket.

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Just... put it down. Push your problems aside and just… keep going."

He considers this. "Well, when you grow up in a family like mine, you kind of get used to moving on quickly. Now, unless your report also says I suck at skee-ball, I'd like to do exactly that."

"Skee-ball?"

He holds out his hand.

"Come on, Spreadsheet. You're about to have the best night of your life."

By the time we load into Beck's Bronco, navigate what's left of the post-game traffic around the arena, and finally reach the boardwalk, Beck is cursing into the wind because Goldie's is dark.

The OPEN sign flipped to CLOSED and the chairs already stacked on the tables. Beck knocks anyway, because apparently NHL players don't believe in operating hours.

"Beck Morrison, you have terrible timing." Luna appears from the back, her face red and flushed as she yanks open the door.

"Luna Reeves, you have a heart of gold and the best brown-butter cookies in the western hemisphere."

He flashes that grin, and my stomach does the stupid little flip it's apparently decided to perform every time Beck Morrison looks pleased with himself.

It's getting embarrassing.

But I am starting to understand how this man has spent most of his adult life getting away with absolute bullshit.

Because he's utterly addictive.

"I'm on a date," Beck continues, casual as hell. "Darcy's first date, actually. So please, I know I'm late, but you're not going to make me explain to this woman that the best coffee shop in Beachside closed before I could prove I have taste."

Luna's eyes flick to me, then back to Beck who's face now looks like Biscuit's did the other day when I was shoving tacos in my mouth by the pool.

Only with less drool. Sort of.

Luna sighs and waves us in. "Five minutes. And only because it's you. You'll have to pick from the leftovers."

She moves toward the pastry case when a voice drifts from the back room. "Babe, did you get the camera to—"

Kai emerges through the curtain separating the front from the back.

And he's wearing nothing but a leather harness.