“Wait, you’re tracking your ovulation schedule?”

  I blink slowly, holding back an annoyed sigh. “Obviously not. I just downloaded the app and put in fake information. Then I sent it to him.”

  She snorts, her fair skin going pink. “Okay, you may continue.”

  “He showed up with chocolates and a heating pad and all kinds of junk food because he thought I was on my period.”

  Eyes widening, she gapes. “No, sir.”

  “Oh yes, sir.” I throw my hands out. “He’s perfect, Josie. Freaking perfect. And later, when I admitted that it was an ovulation tracker, he still didn’t freak out.”

  “Wait,” she says, leaning forward. “How did you explain that with a straight face?”

  I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “I have no idea.”

  She whistles, bringing her coffee to her lips. “Damn, Daddy Snow is obsessed with you.”

  Forcing my chin up, I roll my shoulders. “I don’t know what to do. He won’t break up with me. I think Sutton’s right.”

  With a ridiculous smile, she stares at me.

  Eventually, I can’t take the scrutiny any longer. “What?”

  “You don’t want him to break up with you. It’s written all over your face.”

  “Yes, I do. I need him to.” I stab at my laptop with one finger. “I can’t lose this job.”

  Smile falling, she sets her coffee down. “You’re not going to lose your job. The column’s numbers are up already. You’ve hooked your readers. They all want to know what you’ll do next to get the poor guy to dump you.”

  “That’s just it.” I slump. “I can’t do it anymore. You’re right. I like him, okay? He’s nice and sweet and so fucking good in bed.” I lean forward. “Like so fucking good.”

  She tips her head back and laughs. “Yeah, I can see that. So enjoy it. Your readers are enjoying your antics, and it seems like Camden is too.” She shrugs. “If he didn’t dump you after the ovulation tracker incident, it sounds like you’re in the clear. The man is smitten.”

  I squirm in my seat, processing her words. “So I just keep doing the crazy shit?”

  She shrugs, brows lifted. “Or stop. But then you don’t have an article, so yeah, I don’t know about that.”

  I slump back and sink down in my seat. I’m no closer to getting this week’s column written than I was ten minutes ago. “What would Sutton do?”

  She laughs. “Probably invite him over for the holidays and doodle her first name with his last name on a piece of paper.”

  Head hung, I bury my face in my hands and sigh.

  Josie only laughs harder. “You know she would.”

  Straightening, I pick up my phone and dial Sutton. The second she answers, I cut her off. “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done in a relationship.”

  She coughs out an affronted laugh. “Excuse you. How about ‘hello my dear friend? How are you doing?’”

  “Hi, Sutton,” Josie singsongs like a goody two-shoes.

  “Hi, Jose.”

  “I’m serious. I need your help,” I whine.

  “She really does,” Josie chimes in. “The man didn’t even dump her after she sent him her ovulation calendar.”

  “Oh my god,” Sutton wheezes. “That’s amazing. By the way, I’m thoroughly enjoying your article and I’ve been following all your rules.” Her words get faster, her excitement palpable. “Royal and I are going on our third date next week. He’s coming to see me when the Bolts get back from their away stretch next weekend.”

  Warmth blooms in my chest. “Aw, Sutton, that makes me so happy.”

  “He’s really great,” she chirps. “And no, I haven’t slept with him or doodled our names or even asked him to come to Maine for Christmas. Honestly, your column really is helping me.”

  Josie beams at me from across the table.

  “My column, where I detail the things a woman shouldn’t do, even if they’re somehow working for me?” I scoff. “Or maybe you’re just taking a relationship at a normal pace and not molding your life around that of a man’s since he’s as busy as you are.”

  Sutton hums noncommittally. “Maybe. But this call isn’t about me. You need help coming up with more what-not-to-do ideas, huh?”

  “You should invite him to spend Christmas with you,” Josie says.

  I lower the phone and pin her with a glare. “No.”

  She shrugs. “Chances are he’s going to be at the Langfields Christmas Eve party anyway, and since Addie has claimed you this year⁠—”

  “Yes, like I’m a puppy the three of you pass around,” I say with a laugh.

  “You know it’s not like that,” she says, her head tilted and her lips turned down. “We all just want to spend the day with you.”

  I give her a small smile. My friends make sure I don’t feel like the girl without a family by acting like they’re fighting over me instead. Last year I spent Christmas with the Warrens, but this year Addie asked me first.

  I blow out a breath, my phone back at my ear. “You really think Camden will be there?”

  Josie nibbles on her lip. “He’s kind of like you in that way. He’s always in Boston for the holidays rather than with his family. And since Camden is attached to Daniel at the hip, and Daniel’s twin married into the Langfield family, he’s always done the holidays with them.”

  Lips pressed together, I consider it. “I don’t think it’ll cut it for the article. Doesn’t sound like asking him to spend the holiday with me will freak him out.”

  She scrunches her nose and huffs. “What is something that Camden is super into that we could use to freak him out?”

  I snort. “I barely know anything about the guy, other than he loves hockey and he’s great in bed.”

  Josie’s eyes light up. “Oh my god, I have the best idea.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  CAMDEN

  This time when I pull up in front of Savannah’s building, I’m far less nervous. I’m also wondering what the hell I’m doing coming back here.

  Without the bet hanging over my head, I don’t know that I’d be pursuing Savannah like this. Or would I? If I’d been asked the question a few days ago, I’d have said the bet has nothing to do with my need to see her. I like her. A lot.

  But after the ovulation calendar thing…I don’t know. It was so bizarre. And so unlike the woman I’ve been getting to know. Sure, over the years, women have tried to trap me in relationships. Not because of me as a person, but because they wanted the fame. The money. The supposed perks that would come with being the baby mama of a pro hockey player.

  I don’t get it. Maybe because I’ve seen what true love looks like and I’d never settle for anything less than that. All my lifelong friends have found it. Aiden and Lennox have the kind of love that’s legendary. Brooks and Sara started it all. Brooks fell hard for Sara when she was the head of PR for the Bolts and he was our goalie. Now she’s the organization’s CEO, and she’s one of the coolest chicks I know. Funny as fuck too.

  War and Ava have a wild story. Daniel and Hannah too. Even Noah found an epic love. It didn’t come easy at all, because his wife was the team’s CEO back in our day, as well as Aiden and Brooks’s baby sister. Screwing with a teammate’s sister is a no. Not even up for discussion. And yet he won her over, and now he’s the Bolts’ GM and married to the love of his life.

  If love like that exists, then why in God’s name would anyone want to marry for money and a little magazine time?

  My radar for gold diggers is impeccable after all these years. I can tell right away when a woman is only interested in my fame and what I can buy her, and I did not peg Savannah as that kind of woman at all.

  But what is she after? Could it really be that she took my comment about how I once thought I wanted kids and got the wrong idea? Maybe this is my fault. After that, I even asked about her damn birth control and said it would be fine for now.

  And I can’t even fucking say I made the comment in the heat of the moment, because with any other woman, I’d never even consider the threat of knocking her up as a way to turn up the heat in the bedroom.

  Never have I imagined a woman pregnant with my child and considered the notion sexy.

  But envisioning Savannah, belly slightly rounded and a smile on her face? Imagining her with a newborn with dark red hair in her arms? I can picture the late nights and the early mornings. I can picture the house, the life, and the love. And none of it fucking scares me. In fact, while I sit in my car, parked on the curb, my mind creating a fantasy that involves a family with Savannah, I’m fucking hard as steel.

  So maybe it’s not so fucking scary that she’s thinking about it too.

  I adjust myself, take a deep breath, and snag the bottles of wine from the back seat. I’m not any closer to figuring her out, and I’m here, so I’ll go inside, act normal, and hope that she doesn’t pull out a pregnancy test or a baby bottle tonight.

  If she does, then I really will have to leave. Bet or no bet. These feelings be damned.

  As I lock the car and head to the door, I consider that this could be the last time I walk toward her place, and the idea makes my chest constrict painfully.

  I shake off the sensation. Tonight will go well. I’m sure. Last night was an off night. Everything is going to be fine.

  The door swings open as I hit the bottom step outside, and a woman with blond hair pulled up in a messy ponytail appears. Before she can even cross the threshold, a cry sounds from inside. “Mama, please!”

  The woman turns around and crouches, talking in soft tones to the crying child. “Mama has to go to work, but Daddy’s taking you up to the Donadios’ for dinner, and you get to hang out with Savvy.”

  Ah, this must be John’s wife. What did he say she did for a living? A nurse, maybe? If so, the scrubs she’s wearing make sense.

  John himself appears, scooping the little boy up, then grasping his wife’s neck and pulling her in for a kiss.

  When she smiles up at him, the warmth already growing in my chest expands, blooming into something stronger. They’ve got at least two little ones, and with their professions, they probably don’t get a ton of time together, yet their love is palpable even from several feet away.

  “Night, babe,” she says, spinning toward the door again.

  I step back so I don’t take her by surprise, but when she gets through the door, she spots me.

  “Oh!” She pulls up short.

  I move the bottles of wine into one arm and hold out a hand. “I’m Camden Snow, Savannah’s boyfriend.”

  Beaming, she adjusts the bag on her shoulder and moves her Thermos from one hand to the other so she can accept the greeting. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  My heart skips in my damn chest. “From Savannah?”

  She laughs. “No. My husband. He hasn’t shut up about meeting you, and once he found out you were going to the Donadios’ for dinner tonight, he spent all afternoon on the phone with his buddies from work, acting like a gossip girl.”

  I chuckle. “You heading to work?”

  Her smile falls a little. “Yeah, wish I could join you all for dinner but”—she shrugs—“duty calls.”

  I dip my chin and skirt around her to get out of her way. “I hope you have a good night.”

  The building is quiet when I step inside, so I head up the stairs and knock on the Donadios’ door, assuming Savannah will already be there. Instead, I’m greeted by Rosalie, and Savannah is nowhere in sight.

  “Ah, good man. You brought two bottles.” She nods at the wine, grinning. “Come in. You can help me set the table.”

  The scents of fresh baked bread and garlic hit me as I enter the small apartment. The place is bigger than Savannah’s studio, with the living room to the right and the kitchen separated from it by a half wall. Nick is seated in a recliner with the television blaring, and past his chair, there’s a hallway.

  Quickly, I slip off my jacket and hang it on the coat rack by the door. I greet Nick, who gives me a smile and a nod before turning back to the television, then follow Rosalie into the kitchen, where a folding table has been pushed up against the four-person table. Several folding chairs are propped in a stack against it, waiting to be set up.

  I put the wine on the counter and turn to Rosalie. “Any particular way you want the table set?”

  She’s shuffled to the stove and is stirring a pot of sauce. “Nope,” she says over her shoulder. “Not much room in here, and it will only get smaller when the Donovans come, so as long as you can get all the chairs around the table, we’re good.”

  I make quick work of positioning them, then bring the stack of plates set out on the counter over and place one in front of each chair. While I work, Rosalie promises to teach me how to make her meatballs and pasta, explaining that they’re Savannah’s favorite.

  When the door swings open, I spin around, a big smile on my face and my heart practically fucking floating.

  But rather than Savannah, John appears with the little boy I saw earlier and another little guy who looks almost identical to him. “The girls went up to Savvy’s to do their makeup,” he says with a laugh.

  The little boys—twins, John Junior and Frankie, I’m told—are busy immediately, clambering up on chairs and picking up silverware and napkins.

  Rosalie peers over at me, a sweet smile on her face. “Why don’t you go tell Savannah that dinner will be ready in a few minutes?”

  My stomach flips in response to the idea. Is it nerves, maybe? Yeah, I think I’m nervous about seeing her. Worried, I guess, that things will be awkward after last night. Anxious to find out whether she’s back to being normal again.

  But more than all of that, I’m excited to see her. I’ve attended plenty of family dinners like this, where I’m the odd man out. I can make conversation with just about anyone, and considering John is a fan, we’ll always have hockey talk to fall back on. But for the first time, I’m attending a dinner with a person I actually want to sit beside. Someone I want to share the meal with. And unlike all the other meals I’ve had with friends, tonight’s includes sitting at the table with the people who belong to the woman I think I’m falling for.

  At the bottom of the stairs, I blow out a breath. Then I take them two at a time. When I hit the top, I discover her door is ajar. Panic flares immediately, but it fades quickly when I hear music playing from inside.

  Sounds like an old Lake Paige song. I can’t help but smile when a wave of nostalgia hits me. Once upon a time, I met Lake at a New Year’s party, and she actually married Daniel’s dad years ago. It was crazy as fuck back then, but now I see her most holidays.

  My smile turns to a full-on grin and my chest pinches strangely when I push the door open farther and find Savannah brushing the hair of a little girl. She stops at the chorus and brings the brush to her mouth, dramatically singing the lyrics along with Lake, much to both girls’ delight.

  The smaller of the two jumps up on the bed and bounces, hair flying. Rather than stop her or scold her, Savannah holds out a hand to the other girl and helps her up onto the bed. Then she jumps up herself and the three of them flail in what I suspect are supposed to be dance moves and scream-sing the lyrics.

  I ease the door shut and lean against it, watching them, and that ache in my chest unfurls. Seeing Savannah like this makes it easy to imagine a future I thought I’d long missed out on.

  I feel lighter than I have in years.

  When she catches sight of me, she bites down on her lip, trying and failing to suppress the big smile on her face. She’s so fucking gorgeous it actually hurts to look at her sometimes. But right now, it’s like first aid to my damaged soul. Her smile is contagious.

  She bounces off the bed and rushes toward me, the excitement in her expression making me feel more important than I think I ever have.

  “You came!”

  As she crashes into me, throwing her arms around my neck, I fall back against the door.

  “Sorry,” she says quickly, pulling back, like she’s as surprised as I am by her excitement.

  I don’t let her get far before I pull her back in and bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume, or maybe it’s her hair products. “Don’t apologize for being happy to see me.” I press my lips to her soft skin and breathe her in again. “It’s nice to be wanted.”

  The words are meant for myself, but when she pulls back and gives me a soft smile, it’s obvious that she heard me.

  She pops up on her toes and presses a kiss to my jaw. “I’m really glad you came.”

  Our quiet moment is cut short when the girls squeal about kissing boys, their voices so high-pitched they make me wince.

  Savannah introduces me as her boyfriend. Piper, the older of the two, straightens and informs her that we’ve already met. The smaller one, Alice, suddenly turns shy and clings to her sister.

  Damn. The two boys downstairs and the two girls up here, the oldest of which can’t be more than four? The Donovans have their hands full.

  We head down for dinner, and the apartment descends into complete chaos. It’s tight quarters in the kitchen, and Alice refuses to sit anywhere but on Savannah’s lap.

  I sit beside her, and while John asks a million questions about my time with the Bolts—and the kids interrupt every five seconds asking for the cheese or another meatball, or to see a video of a play John brings up—Savannah relaxes beside me, squeezing my thigh here and there and shooting me secret smiles. It’s not a romantic dinner to say the least, but it’s nice, just being with her and observing her as she interacts with the people she cares about.

  “Did you know Santa is coming this week?” Piper tells me seriously.

  I nod. “Yeah, three more days, right?”

  Her eyes shine bright. “He’s bringing me a Barbie dream house.”

  “And me too,” Alice says from atop Savannah’s lap.

  “Maybe,” John says. “So long as you’re on the nice list.”

  “Oh, these girls would never be on the naughty list,” Rosalie says. “And to make sure, they’re going to go sit in the living room quietly while we clean up, aren’t you, girls?”