23. Weston
WESTON
“ G round rules, huh?” The corner of my lip quirks as I suppress a smile.
She didn’t say no.
The white string lights illuminate the pulse fluttering in her neck, warm humidity hanging between us.
“Yes. Rules. To protect our jobs—and us.” She tucks a golden lock of hair behind her ear and I can’t wait to unravel her again. Tangle my fingers in her silky strands, her breath coming in quick, shallow pants as I kiss her and make her mine.
“Weston? Are you good with that?”
Even agreeing to rules feels like a victory when Harbor Hayes is involved.
“Rules?” I steeple my fingers, pretend to contemplate her proposal. Because right now I’m saying yes to anything she’ll offer me. But I’m not about to admit that. “If that’s what makes you feel better, Hurricane, sure.”
“Okay.” Her face breaks into a smile. “Good, we’re on the same page then. So rule number one: No one can know about this. Not even your brothers.”
My gut twists into a tight knot and I huff out a slow breath, oxygen leaking from my lungs.
“I won’t offer the information up freely and I’ll try to downplay as much as I can.
But I’m pretty sure they’re going to figure it out, Harbor.
We’re triplets. Practically inseparable from birth. Trust me—they’ll know.”
Especially since both Bennett and Callum already called me out.
“Plus, we’re living together in the rental house Gia found for us. It’s going to be damn near impossible to sneak around. Driftwood Cove’s not Manhattan.” I point out the obvious and she cringes, her face going pale at this reality check.
“Right. I suppose you’re correct. Your brothers will most likely figure it out.
What if they tell someone? What if Coach Keller finds out?
” Her voice tips up with panic, her teeth worrying at the corner of her lip, and I’m drawn to her mouth.
I’d rather be somewhere totally private, kissing her on those glossy lips, than establishing ground rules. But here we are.
Reaching across the table, I cover her small hand with mine. “They won’t. And even if they did, I’d handle it. I won’t give them details, okay? It’s not my style anyway.”
“That’s fair.”
“And I’ll swear them to secrecy. No one else on the team will know.”
“The team. That’s rule number two. This thing between us can’t affect the team. Not my work on the PR campaign or your performance on the ice. We both need to stay focused on winning.”
“Obviously. ”
“I figured that was a given.” She takes a quick sip of her wine, sets the glass down. “Rule number three: no talk about the future. Let’s take this day by day and see what happens.”
This last rule catches me off-guard, my chest squeezing.
No talk about the future.
That cuts deeper than I expected. Not because I planned to propose or anything—but because part of me wanted to imagine something more to us than a casual day-to-day thing.
“I’m fine with that…” My voice fades out for a second as I process this last rule. “But what’s your reasoning?”
Her smooth brow furrows for a quick second and she drops her gaze to the table, avoiding eye contact. She takes a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling. The sound of the waves crashing in the distance is loud in the yawning silence stretching between us.
Finally, her eyes flick back up to mine. “It’s just safer that way. We don’t know how the season’s going to go, what the future holds for either of us. Let’s stay focused on the present for now.”
My gut churns, and I want to push back on this third rule. Call it out for the bullshit that it is.
Harbor’s scared of getting hurt.
It’s written all over her face—in the tightness of her jaw, the thin set of her lips. She’s protecting herself, putting up walls before we’ve even started.
I recognize this play. It’s the same defensive strategy I use when a season’s not going as planned. Control what you can, avoid committing to outcomes you can’t guarantee.
But relationships aren’t hockey games. You can’t play it safe and expect to win. You need to put everything on the line.
I need to prove myself to her.
Show her this thing between us is real.
That we can go the distance.
“Okay. Live in the moment. Got it.” I squeeze her hand, and her breath catches when my thumb traces across her knuckles.
The simple touch sends heat shooting up my arm, the tension in her jaw loosening as she breaks into a slow smile bright as the fucking Florida sun.
I’m grateful she’s giving me a chance to knock down those brick walls she’s so carefully built.
“Good. If we stick by those rules, we can definitely make this work.”
“Why do I feel like you’re going to make me sign a contract or something, Hurricane?”
She giggles, the light, tinkly sound floating on the wind, and my stomach unclenches.
“Not a half-bad idea, Steele. I can throw one together real quick.”
My phone buzzes against the metal table—probably Bennett wondering where I disappeared to for the ‘strategy meeting.’ I don’t even glance at it.
Harbor’s eyes dart to the phone, surprise flickering across her face. “Aren’t you going to get that?”
“Nothing’s more important than this conversation.”
She blushes and every muscle in my body tenses. I want—no, need—to get Harbor alone again. To be with her.
“I have a better idea. Let’s seal the deal—in private.” I shoot her a heated stare, and the pink of her cheeks deepens .
“I want you to know—I don’t usually do this with hockey players.” Her admission is shy, quiet.
“Good thing I don’t usually lose.” The way her lips part tells me she understands exactly what game we’re playing.
“Walk me back?”
“Sure.”
I toss a massive tip on the table, as promised, and we slip out the side exit, avoiding the crowd inside the Rusty Anchor.
I’ll follow the rules. For now.
Harbor Hayes thinks she’s protecting herself with the rules.
She has no idea she just handed me the playbook for winning her completely.
And I’ve never played a game I didn’t plan to win.