Chapter 21
HANNAH
“I have a problem with my husband,” I tell Kinsley a week later after training.
“Your problem is most girl’s dream,” she says with an eye roll. “Dressing up, trying to win your affection, gifting you extravagant jewelry, should I go on?” Her lips curve into a grin. “What did he do this time? Did he dress up like a cowboy or a fighter pilot?”
I laugh. “No, the costumes have stopped.”
“Pity.”
“This is worse.”
“Worse than your hot husband playing dress-up for you?” She gasps with a hand on her chest. “Pray tell. What has the monster done now?”
I toss a wad of athletic tape at her. “This is serious!”
She laughs and tosses the tape back at me before leaning back on the gym mats.
We’re the last two here tonight. We should have gotten dressed and gone for dinner, but we’re both too tired to move.
I thought I knew how hard I’d need to train under Coach Rodier, but it’s been a lot.
Pushing for a day or a couple weeks at a time is one thing, but the intensity here doesn’t let up and my body is still adjusting. Maybe it always will be.
I take a breath and let it out slowly. “He’s started packing my lunch every day.”
Her smile grows until she’s beaming at me. She glances over to the top of my duffel bag where a cute purple and teal butterfly lunchbox sits on top.
“I’m going to need more information.”
I can feel my face heating. “I think it started as a joke. We had leftovers and he asked if I wanted to take them to eat between training and then it just sort of escalated. From leftovers in paper bags to a new lunch box with an elaborate assortment of my favorite foods, always carefully packed and waiting for me in the morning on the counter next to my coffee and muffin.”
She is downright brimming with amusement. “What does he pack in these glorious lunches?”
“Today was a small Caesar salad, a chicken sandwich, a banana, and a white chocolate chip cookie.”
“I hate you.” Her jaw drops, and she shakes her head. “I had a protein bar and a handful of pretzels because my Uber Eats app was being glitchy.”
“I hate me too. And I hate that I find it so freaking hot. Why is this my fetish instead of cosplay?” It’d be so much easier to explain.
“It makes sense, actually. You’ve spent so much of your life taking care of yourself and Wren, now someone’s taking care of you.” She shrugs one shoulder.
“I can never tell him.” I lean forward. “And neither can you!”
“Tell him and then kiss him some more.”
Just the thought of our last kiss makes my stomach do a complicated series of somersaults. I glower at Kinsley.
She chuckles. “Fine. I’ll keep your secret, but can you ask him to pack double? Your fab best friend needs to eat too.”
The next afternoon while working on beam, I take a fall and twist my ankle. Coach tells me to call it a day so I don’t make it any worse. I sit on the side at the gym with my foot propped up and watch the other gymnasts.
Kinsley comes over after she finishes with floor. “You’re still here?”
“Travis has a game tonight. I didn’t want to interrupt his routine.” I check the time on my phone. “He should be leaving for the rink soon and then I’ll head out.”
“So considerate, but I have to wonder if it’s dual purpose.” She narrows her gaze playfully. “Are you avoiding him?”
“Shut up.” I’m not avoiding him so much as keeping myself away from temptation.
She takes a seat next to me.
“Are you done for the day?” I ask her.
“Yeah.”
“What are you and Skylar doing tonight? Do you want to grab dinner?”
“She’s working late, but I’m free.”
“Great. Where do you want to go?”
She grins. “I know the perfect place.”
“Our friendship is officially over,” I tell Kinsley as we take our seats.
“Hot dog?” She holds up our dinner. Two hot dogs with ketchup and mustard and a side of relish for her.
Begrudgingly, I take my hot dog and then let my gaze fall to the ice where the Moonshot hockey team is warming up.
“Trickery and deceit,” I mutter as I take a bite. It’s delicious.
Her laughter is barely audible over the music pumping through the speakers.
She leans over. “Is this a bad time to also remind you that you owe me ten dollars?”
I had been certain that Travis’s offer for tickets was a one-time thing, and Kinsley bet me that there’d be two waiting at will call. She was right. Has he really been putting aside tickets for me at every home game?
“Yes,” she says as if she can read my thoughts.
“He probably forgot.”
She shakes her head and yeah, I don’t believe it either. The idea that he’s been putting tickets aside for me since he asked me to come, weeks ago, makes me feel all warm inside.
The seats are good, I think. We’re on the same side where the players are warming up, close enough that I can see them well but far enough up that other people aren’t blocking my view simply by being taller than me. Floor seats at events are a real struggle sometimes.
“What number is he?” Kinsley asks.
“Eighty-eight.” I found him the second we sat down. He’s currently stretching in front of the bench with Nick. Seeing his teammate makes me wonder if Ruby is here. I do a quick scan in case her seat is nearby but don’t find her anywhere.
“I can’t believe the full uniform didn’t do anything for you.”
“And it’s doing something for you?” I ask, lifting a brow. Kinsley has dated men in the past but admitted to me once that she didn’t find them as attractive as women in general.
“Don’t worry.” She winks. “I’m very in love with Skylar.”
Just before the clock runs down on warmups, Travis glances up to the stands.
It’s a brief scan, so quick that I’m not even certain he’s looking for anyone—more just noticing that there are people filing in for the game—but then his stare whips back directly at me.
He stops skating and a grin slowly stretches across his face.
My face turns hot, and I fight the instinct to duck down where he can’t see me.
I think it’s too late for that. Plus, he just looks so happy that I’m here I don’t want to ruin that even for my own pride.
He lifts a hand in a wave that I return and then stops next to Conrad.
He must tell his friend I’m here because soon he’s looking too.
Slowly he tells what feels like the whole damn team. My cheeks are on fire.
“What is he doing?” I ask, glancing down to partially hide my face.
“I think your man is showing you off.”
“Oh my god. I am mortified.”
Her laughter continues while Travis stares up at me from the ice, grinning and occasionally pointing me out to another guy on his team.
A couple of men sitting in the row in front of us turn and look at me when they notice the attention I’m getting.
“Are you famous or something?” one of them asks, looking me over with a confused and frankly, dismissive, glance.
“Or something,” I say.
“She’s married to number eighty-eight,” Kinsley says in the ultimate betrayal.
I gape at her.
The guy finally perks up. “No shit? You’re Travis Bennett’s wife?”
Holy shit, I’m Travis Bennett’s wife.
Once the game starts, I relax. All eyes are finally on the ice and not on me. Well, except for Travis. Every time there’s a whistle or break in play, he looks at me like he’s checking to make sure I’m still here.
It’s different seeing him play in person than it was watching video clips.
More of his personality shines through that the camera couldn’t catch.
The grins and glove taps with his teammates to hype them up, the constant chatter—I can’t hear it, but his mouth is always moving when he’s out there, and then the sheer awe-inspiring talent he possesses.
It’s breathtaking, the way he moves down the ice with the puck, dodging defenders, and getting off passes to his teammates.
When he’s off the ice, I’m a lot less interested in what’s happening.
Five minutes into the first period, Travis scores the first goal of the night. One second, I’m watching him steal the puck on the far side of the ice, and the next thing I know he’s breaking away, sprinting toward the goal with such grace and speed it’s impossible to look away.
When the buzzer sounds, the arena is on their feet. Me included. I jump up and down, then wince at the discomfort of my ankle.
“You good?” Kinsley shouts, glancing down at my foot. She’s clapping along with everyone else.
“Fine,” I yell back, ignoring the bite of pain as I watch Travis’s teammates congratulate him.
All the guys on the ice crowd around him.
They pat the top of his helmet or wrap an arm around his neck, it’s a free for all, whatever part of them they can touch as they all pile together in one big, purple heap.
Finally, he emerges from the center and as he skates by, he looks up to me. The grin he flashes me is so sexy—no way a video could have compared.
I put my hands around my mouth and yell down at him, “Nice shot, Bennett!”
I doubt he can hear me, but his smile pulls higher anyway.