Page 158 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
Fuck.
I know exactly how she sounds turned on now. That information should not make me feel this powerful.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
She nods too fast.
It’s cute.
I lean down slightly. “You’re blushing again.”
“Whose fault do you think that is?”
A grin pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.
“There it is,” she says triumphantly.
I raise a brow.
“You smiled.”
“I smile.”
“Rarely.”
“That’s a lie.”
She gives me a look.
I shrug. “Fair assessment.”
We eat dinner at the island while soft music plays quietly from the speaker near the fireplace.
For the first time in what feels like forever, my head feels… quiet.
No spiraling from the media’s intrusive questions.
No cameras watching our every move.
Just Peyton laughing when I tell her about Connor nearly skating face-first into the boards during practice.
Just her sitting across from me, stealing garlic bread off my plate, looking warm, flushed, and real.
This isn’t supposed to feel this normal.
That’s the problem.
After dinner, Peyton curls up beside me on the couch beneath a blanket while some terrible reality baking show plays on the television.
I barely pay attention to it.
Mostly because Peyton falls asleep against my chest halfway through the episode. Her breathing evens out softly. One of her hands rests against my stomach, trusting and comfortable.
My arm tightens around her automatically.
The fire crackles quietly nearby while leaves blow in the breeze outside.
And for the first time in years, I don’t feel restless. Or angry. Or alone.
