Page 60 of Rush

Once I’m clean and dressed, I pick up my phone, biting my lip when Jameson’s name flashes on the screen.

KANE: That wasn’t nice, Pretty Girl.

KANE: Best striptease I’ve ever seen. Feel free to give me a repeat later.

I roll my eyes and scoff at his request, even while my stomach flutters just imagining stripping for him, straddling his lap, and seeing how long I can keep him on edge. My cheeks flush at the image and I saunter out of the hallway and to the kitchen. It's just me this morning so I grab some yogurt, granola and strawberries before diving into my phone. A notification for 48 text messages sits in my inbox. When I click on them, the majority of those belong to our girls’ group chat. I respond to the last few with a quick rundown on what's happened. Their responses are immediate.

EMMA: He actually locked you in!?!

RILEY: I can’t tell if you’re happy about this or not…

EMMA: How could she be happy about it?

RILEY: I’m sure Kane has been keeping her very entertained.

ISLA: She hasn’t asked us to get her out yet

ME: I’m fine. And I don’t want to leave yet…

RILEY: I KNEW IT!

Laughing, I quickly text that I’ll chat with them tomorrow. I’m determined to make it to practice. Coach will flip if I miss too much time right now before the playoffs. I finish eating breakfast and clean up around the house and Dylan’s room. I can’t wait to see our little girl tonight. I miss her and it's only been two days.

Soon, it's early afternoon, and the doorbell rings. My brow rises, and I walk over to the window, peering down. A moving truck sits outside. My phone vibrates with a new message from Jameson.

KANE: I’m on my way. Don’t answer it.

My lips pull tight in a frown. Sure enough, two minutes later, the doors open and I hear Jameson instructing where to bring the boxes. I watch as he and two other guys wearing matching polos with the moving company logo on them lug over fifteen boxes up the stairs and pile them in the corner they were directed to. When they’re done, Jameson hands one of the guys a stack of bills and claps him on the shoulder.

I glance around the room, unsure about what just happened. “What is all of this?”

Jameson eyes me and walks over to one of the boxes, popping it open. Instantly I recognize the white and tan fluffy blanket on the top. “That’s my blanket. From my apartment.”

He doesn’t answer, just pulls the material from the box and throws it on the couch. Photo frames come out next and I’m snapped out of my trance.

“Jameson! Is this all from my apartment? What are you doing?” I reach for the frame in his hand, but he moves his arm out wide and out of my reach.

“I’m helping you unpack.” There's a glint in his eyes and his smile is all mischief and zero regrets.

My mind whirls and anger slams into my chest. I stomp my foot, instantly wishing I hadn’t reacted that way when his grin grows bigger. Irritation climbs up my throat. “I don’t live here.”

His face darkens and his hand cups my jaw, forcing me to meet his fiery amber gaze.

“You do now, Pretty Girl. You and Dylan officially moved in today. Each box has all your things. Dishes, clothes, toiletries, decorations, everything. I put your furniture in storage for now until we decide what to do with it. Eventually we’ll move once you get drafted and we can choose then to bring it with us, sell it or donate it even. Maybe a single parent who is starting over might want it.”

I search his eyes for any hint of playfulness, but all I see is resolution. He’s dead serious. My heart slams inside my rib cage, and my stomach dips. “You don’t know that I’m going to be drafted,” I sputter out, my mind zinging in all different directions. “Don’t act like a caveman, Kane! I can’t just move here. I have a lease. Bills. I like my bedspread more than yours and my kitchen table. You can’t just–I can’t. You didn’t even ask me to live with you!”

He laughs. He actually laughs. My little anger bubble pops and I reach for him pinching his side.

“Ow!” He jumps back, smiling devilishly. “You want to play games, Sammy?”

I shake my head no, but it's already too late. Jameson tackles me onto the couch, pinning my body underneath his, stretching my arms above our heads, and holding my hands down with his own. I twist and roll my body, but it's no use trying to dislodge him. I'm breathing heavily and he smiles down at me, enjoying the way my body rocks against his. His head dips down, his lips running along the line of my throat.

“You feel so good, Sam.”

Scoffing, I try to wiggle my hands free, eventually giving up with a huff. “This is a big deal, Jameson. I’m trying to talk about this seriously. I’m mad again.”

“You aren’t mad, Sam. Think about what you just said to me. You don’t have a real lease or bills. I’ve been taking care of everything, not your aunt or your scholarship. The furniture and bedding are easy enough to switch out if you really like yours more than mine. I don’t give a fuck what table we eat dinner at as long as it’s all three of us here every night eating family dinner on it.” He kisses along my jaw, and I hate that I’m melting in his hold. “And, I do know you’re going to get drafted in the PWHL. You’re too talented, not to. When that time comes, we’ll figure it out.”