And I believe he does.

  I close my eyes because this moment is overwhelming. But I lean back against his shoulder, resting on him. The tears slide down my cheeks, and when they slow I say, “You make me feel everything.”

  I can feel his smile. Can hear his grateful murmur. He kisses the salt from my face until I turn and capture his mouth.

  We kiss, and it’s hot and needy and unstoppable.

  We’re clawing at each other, grabbing at the last bits of clothes. He whisks off my panties, and I tug down his boxer briefs, and we’re tumbling together on my bed. A tangle of arms and limbs, skin and flesh, bodies and hearts. He’s on top of me, and then I’m on top of him. His hands coast up my back again, fearlessly, then into my hair as he hauls me back down for another passionate kiss.

  When he lets go, I’m so amped up, I blurt out, “Put me on all fours.”

  His fantasy.

  His wish.

  But mine too.

  He closes his eyes for a brief second, but he’s smiling. He’s smiling so wide, like I’ve given him a dream come true. What a wild thought. When he opens them, he says, “Are you sure?”

  My lips curve up. “I’m serious about everything with you.”

  He holds my face. “You’re my real favorite thing.”

  Some men just say things, but I know Max means his words. This man adores me, and it’s such a thrill to feel the full weight of his affection. “And you’re mine,” I say.

  I move to my hands and knees, shifting into a position I never thought I’d want. Or really, I never thought a lover would want to see me like this.

  But as I bow my back, I’m hardly thinking about how I look to him. I’m simply feeling. The ache inside me. The trembles racing over my skin. The curl of pleasure intensifying in my stomach.

  And the heady anticipation as Max kneels behind me, rubs his hands over my ass, then covers himself. He notches the head of his cock against me, and I gasp, sharp and fast. He pushes in. My skin tingles. He groans. He sinks into me all the way. Then he does as he promised a few nights ago.

  I can still hear his words echoing in my mind. “Want to get you naked. Put you on all fours. Fuck you from behind. Touch you everywhere.”

  He fucks me like that. It’s hard and passionate and fearless. No one would look at us and say we’re making love. But as he fucks me, I know that’s what we’re doing. He runs his hands up and down my back. He doesn’t shy away from my scars. He doesn’t hold back his lust. He groans and he grunts. He touches and he explores. Most of all—he shows.

  He shows me with his actions that he’s not leaving.

  As we’re both getting closer, he pushes on the small of my back and rasps hotly in my ear, “Lower your tits to the mattress.”

  I shudder from the command.

  That wasn’t what I expected him to say, yet it’s perfect too.

  I drop down and with my face turned to the side, pressed into the bed, he covers me. Roping a powerful arm around my chest, he tugs me impossibly closer. Then he fucks me hard and powerfully, and I don’t even need a hand between my thighs to help myself along. All these raw emotions, all these wild, risky feelings storm inside me, whipping into bliss till I grab the sheets. I fall apart beneath him, and he pumps hard a few more times, then jerks, stills, and groans my name like I’m all he’s ever wanted.

  The world spins away, and I let it go.

  This is all there is, and I don’t want to give him up.

  42

  A BEAUTIFUL TRIAD

  Max

  I’m playing a long game, but sometimes the long game involves little things.

  Like a regular London fog latte. Like her favorite egg sandwich for breakfast. Like an invitation to watch another movie.

  I send the first two to her office a couple days later because I reason those can be easily passed off as something she’d ordered, if need be. Then, after I finish listening to a new class—I aced navigational tools and started one on the Pyramids of Giza—I toggle over to a graphics app I downloaded and make an invitation for movies and popcorn in a few nights’ time.

  I’ve got an ulterior motive though. Maybe we can talk then. At the ice rink the other day, she said she wants the same things I do. Maybe we can start to figure out how the hell we’re going to get them. We’ve got one more community outreach event next week, so the timing feels right for a deeper conversation. A roll-up-your-sleeves kind of talk.

  As Athena saunters into the kitchen with a sassy meow, I send the invite to Everly, then add one more note.

  Max: You were right.

  Everly: Yes to movies and popcorn of course. Also, what am I right about? Tell me now.

  I scoop up the furball and snap a shot of her in my arms. I make sure she’s nice and snug against my bare biceps. I’m not above a little arm porn. I send the pic and a note.

  Max: I sent in the adoption paperwork for Athena.

  Everly doesn’t text back, but a minute later after I’ve pulled on a sweatshirt so I can head to morning skate, my phone rings. “You kept her! I’m so excited.”

  So you can spend every night with us?

  But Everly is a flower that opens slowly. You can’t rush the bloom. So I don’t say that. “Me too,” I say. “Especially since Athena is excellent at watching movies with us, and she doesn’t try to steal the popcorn.”

  She’s become our movie companion at my home.

  “She is,” Everly says, then takes a beat. “Thank you again for the breakfast and the latte. You’ve been spoiling me. This is the third day in a row.”

  “Good. I like spoiling you.”

  And I want to do it every damn day. Just let me.

  “You really do,” she says, and briefly I wonder when my special gift will arrive. The company emailed that the custom order had been delayed, which is annoying, but it should arrive soon.

  I hear the sound of a door snicking shut. “What can I do for you?” she asks quietly, even though she must have privacy now in her office. “You do so much for me and I want to do something for you.”

  “Sunshine, there’s no ledger here.”

  “But you give me all these gifts and do all these things.”

  “And you give me you. It’s more than fair,” I say.

  “Max, you know what I mean. What can I do for you?”

  Tell your boss you want her to bend that rule. Tell her you’re falling for me too. Tell her to let you keep your job and date me.

  But nothing worth having comes easily, and this is not a convo for the phone. It’s too important to have offhand. “My parents are coming to the game this weekend. I want to introduce them to you.”

  “That’s what you want me to do? Let you introduce your parents to me?”

  “Yes,” I say, emphatically. “I told you my dad knows about you. So my mom does too. And Sophie figured out long ago that I had it bad for you.”

  “I like her,” she says, then her tone shifts. “How will you introduce me? Will you say I’m your secret girlfriend?”

  I punch the sky. She’s calling herself that. That has to be a good sign. “Works for me,” I say.

  “Then I want to meet them,” she says. “Also, don’t forget The Ice Men producers are here today shooting B-roll. Garrett’s already arrived. I’ve been keeping an eye on them. Everyone seems to be in a good mood. He’s been chatting with them the whole time.”

  “Look at you. You’re like my inside woman, spying for me.”

  “It’s secret girlfriend work,” she says, and that excites me more than a saved goal. I say goodbye, then head downstairs to my car. I swing by Asher’s place to pick him up.

  The second he slides into the car, he says, “What are you going to do about the auction?”

  “What auction?” I ask, wondering if that’s a new event Everly will want me to do.

  “The annual player auction. I’m doing it. Gotta keep up my streak of going for the highest bid. Every year I’ve gone for higher and since I first entered the auction I haven’t missed a game.”

  “I guess someone has to get the sympathy vote,” I needle him as I pull away from the curb.

  “When they drop that hammer in a couple months’ time, I think you’ll see it’s lust in the ladies’ eyes.” Asher corrects me then grabs his chest, as if he’s been mortally wounded. “Wait—no. Are you jealous cause you didn’t get an invite? I mean, I figured it would be part of your makeover.”

  “Ah, the bid-on-a-date-with-a-player thing. No, they didn’t ask. But I’d say no.”

  “Because you’re taken,” he says in a leading voice as I cruise toward the arena.

  “I fucking hope so,” I say seriously.

  “How’s everything going with her?” he asks, dropping the teasing.

  “She’s…incredible. I don’t deserve her and somehow she still wants me. She’s smart and bighearted, and cares deeply about her friends and the team and her job and the world. She likes to try new things, and she’s a great listener. She keeps me on my toes and doesn’t stand for any shit. She’s fiery and easy to talk to and she also likes to hang out at night and watch a movie, and she’s abundantly honest. Like, I know I trust her. I know she trusts me. She’s perfect for me.”

  He whistles. “Damn. That’s quite a speech.”

  “It’s just the truth,” I say as we reach the players’ lot. But even though it’s true doesn’t mean it’s easy. It’s harder than it should be. “Trouble is, I don’t know how to make it work since she faces most of the risks.”

  He sighs thoughtfully. “We’re lucky, being athletes. A lot of things are easier for us. We’re forgiven for breaking rules. Well, not in the game itself,” he says wryly.

  “Exactly. No one’s going to give me a hard time about wanting to be with her. And really, I have very little to lose at this point. She’s already done the hard work for me of rehabbing my image. She faces all the risk. So what the fuck do I do for her?” I ask as I pull into a spot and cut the engine. “I feel a little helpless.”

  His expression is pensive, but then he shrugs. “I really don’t know…except be there for her, one hundred percent. Be there and mean it every step of the way.”

  He’s right. “Good advice.”

  We head inside, where Garrett’s waiting for me near the locker room, chatting with a woman with sleek black hair. He looks a little like a proud dad. I smile when I reach him since that’s probably the documentary producer Everly mentioned. Asher heads into the locker room while I join my agent and the woman.

  “I’m Lily,” she says to me, extending a hand. “I used to play hockey myself, and I knew I had to have you in an episode.”

  “Glad to do it. Well, if it all works out,” I say, shaking hands.

  “I bet it will,” she says with a hopeful grin. “We can start with some B-roll of you at practice.”

  “Have at it,” I say.

  We chat for a few minutes, then she takes off to set up. Once she’s out of earshot, Garrett is practically bouncing again.

  I arch a suspicious brow. “What’s up with you?”

  He slugs my shoulder. “Guess who got you a new sponsor?”

  I blink. “What? You did?”

  “I sure did. Sooner than expected. You’re in, baby. It fucking worked,” he says and he’s…ecstatic. It’s a little infectious. Sure, I could make do on my hockey salary. That’s no hardship. But hell, some extra to set aside for my family, for me, for a future in case I’m injured and can’t play? I wouldn’t mind that at all.

  “Who is it?”

  “Date Night. The dating app. Or, I should say, the premier dating app.”

  I flash back to our first meeting about this makeover. “But you said you didn’t want me fake dating?”

  He scoffs. “Not fake dating, man. Real dating.” He waves a hand airily. “Or real…making a profile on it.”

  I furrow my brow, trying to process this news out of left field. “You want me to just…set up a profile and then what? And say I’m using it?”

  That sounds like a recipe for disaster but maybe I’m missing some key detail. Well, I probably am.

  Garrett’s face lights up. “Yes, my man, yes! It’s so easy. They’re one of the advertisers for The Ice Men. They’ve been a lead ad partner for every episode so far, and they’re booked for the episode they’re considering you for too. Plus, they sponsor fan engagement promotions during the month of February for the Sea Dogs. It’d be like a beautiful triad—the Sea Dogs, The Ice Men, and you.” He stops, his expression more contemplative. “Or is that a quartet? Since we do need to include Date Night. Huh.” But then he shakes off the philosophical debate even though my mind is still reeling on what this might mean. “Point is it’s a win-win-win-win. It’d be a great partnership. And it’d be an excellent way for you to keep your face out there.” Shoes click from behind me, growing closer, and he pauses, but only for a second. “Plus, your likeability quotient is so high right now that this could be the thing you need to land other sponsors. They’d see you out there even more with your new good guy rep, and then…bam.”

  He mimes shooting a basketball. Nothing but net.

  “So what do you want me to do for them exactly?” I ask, since something isn’t adding up. “Posting a profile on it feels like a lie that’d be easy to sniff out. And we know the press loves to sniff out a lie. I’m amazed no one has sniffed out Lyra’s lies yet, but she’s the mistress of fables, so there’s that.”

  “Then maybe don’t lie,” he says, oh so helpfully. He pats me on the biceps. “You could actually go on a couple dates if you want.”

  The fuck I will. But before I can say a word, he adds, “So you’ll think about it. Excellent.”

  “Garrett,” I warn him.

  “Just think about it,” he adds as the sound of clicking shoes turns even louder, and multiplies. Everly’s here, tilting her head in curiosity. But she’s not alone. She’s flanked by Elias, Jenna, and Zaire.

  “Think about what?” Everly asks.

  “I hope he’s thinking about it,” Zaire says in a smooth, confident tone.

  Garrett beams and looks to Everly. “Thanks to your kickass makeover work on our guy, my agency got him a sweet new deal with Date Night. Think you can convince him to take it?”

  The look in Everly’s easy-to-read eyes is crystal clear to me. But can Garrett tell she wants to murder him?

  43

  CAN I GET A FIST BUMP?

  Max

  “Dude! That’s sweet!” Elias offers me a fist for knocking.

  What’s the etiquette for turning down a fist bump? I do not want to knock fists about a sponsorship deal for a dating app with the guy who wants my secret girlfriend’s promotion. I don’t want to bump fists with him about anything.

  I hold up a stop sign hand instead. “Nothing’s signed yet,” I say.

  With a pfft, he says, “It’ll happen. I’m confident for you.” Like that’s the issue. Like I’m just being superstitious. “And if you need any tips let me know. I signed up for it a month ago,” he says, like he’s beyond stoked to have a buddy on the app. “Definitely the best one out there, especially for⁠—”

  He cuts himself off, maybe realizing it’s best not to discuss how it’s the best app for single dudes in front of the boss.

  “I’m glad to hear Garrett brought you the info,” Zaire says in a professional tone, since she’s always a professional.

  “Me too. But I don’t know about going on dates,” I say, since I’m not going to act like that’s cool with me.

  Zaire offers a placating smile. “Of course you don’t have to do that. There’s no requirement. We would never expect it of you. That’s not fair and certainly not appropriate to ask you to.”

  I whip my gaze to Garrett, a little annoyed he suggested I go on dates. But my agent reads me like that, jumping in with, “I was saying you could, Max. That’s all. No worries if you’re not ready.”

  I appreciate his support now, but it sure sounded earlier like he thought it’d be a good idea if I were.

  And I’m sure it would be for a dating app. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out a brand could benefit more from a partnership if the athlete actually used the product. So while Date Night might not make using it a condition of a partnership, I bet they’d sure as shit like me to.

  “I don’t know,” I say, since I need to buy some time. No way do I want to make this decision now in front of an audience.

  “Think about it,” Zaire says in a calm tone. “There’s time. I’m just glad to see the work you and Everly did is paying off so soon.”

  Zaire shoots a pleased look to the woman I adore, but Everly might as well be a mannequin, standing there with a frozen smile. Jenna softly clears her throat, likely for Everly’s benefit.

  Everly blinks then says woodenly, “It’s so great.”

  “It really is,” Jenna seconds, “but only if Max truly feels it's right for him. Brand deals need to be right for the athlete.”

  “I think you’ll like it,” Elias says to me, selling it once again. “And really, there’s no reason to turn it down, since you’re not seeing anyone, right?”

  He says it so earnestly, so hopefully, that he legit sounds like the dude-bro he is, wanting to hang with the big dogs and shoot the shit about girls. But I don’t trust him. Hell, I’m not sure I trust anyone right now. I don’t know who Jenna’s loyal to. I don’t even know what my agent truly wants for me.

  I feel entirely unmoored.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say, more gruff than I’d intended.

  Or maybe exactly as gruff as I’d intended.

  “Great. Maybe we can let them know by the end of next week,” Zaire says, “after Meals on Wheels?”

  Right. We’re delivering food to seniors on Tuesday. “Sure.”

  “I’d love to go to that,” Elias says.