Page 55 of Rookie Moves

I open my mouth, ready to ask if this is what he wants, but he speaks before I can get the words out.

“I mean, I do want this, Colbs. Don’t for a second think I don’t want you.”

And it’s the significance in those words that has me at Tyler’s mercy. My feelings grow even stronger for him with each day that passes.

How could they not?

Unable to find the words to give my gratitude justice, I brush my mouth over his in a kiss worth a thousand thank-yous.

“Come on,” he murmurs against my lips, giving me one more kiss before stepping back. “Let’s go and see what trouble we can cause in Boston.” He winks.

After a quick freshen-up, we follow Tyler’s maps app to the underground arcade he found. The floor is filled with so many different games, we struggle to decide what to play first.

After a few minutes of doing a coin toss to narrow down the options, I own him on the hoops, but then he gets me back on the air hockey table. We lose several hours playing all the various games, laughing and having fun, forgetting about the pressure that looms in the distance.

Tomorrow, we head to Tampa for the Frozen Four. The most important tournament of the year.

Since the regionals nearly two weeks ago, my inbox has been blowing up with interview requests. It’s become overwhelming, so I’ve deleted all social media apps from my phone, along with my email app too. The people who need to reach me have my cell number, and anyone who doesn’t isn’t important.

Coach Vaughn has blocked any press from being allowed in or around the practice facility too, but it doesn’t stop them from lingering outside.

And through it all, Tyler has been a rock, steady and calm, and it feels he’s taken it upon himself to step into the role of my bodyguard. Anyone who tries to get close has to get through him. Our teammates rib him for it, but he takes it all in his stride, though I’m fairly certain Liam is picking up on the amount of time we spend together.

But I trust Tyler to handle it.

“I’m out,” Tyler says from behind the wheel of his virtual race car. “Are you ready to grab some food?”

My stomach chooses that moment to let out a loud grumble, and Tyler tips his head back and laughs. “I’ll take that as a yes. Come on, superstar, I think I’ve had my ego wounded enough for one day.”

“You won some,” I counter as we slide out of our race seats.

“I won five games.” He holds up one hand, his fingers stretched out. “Five, Colbs. You obliterated me at everything. Maybe I need to find a vending machine or something so at least I know I’ll win that.”

I scoff, my smile spreading impossibly wider. “I went easy on you.”

“That makes it even worse!”

Laughing, we make our way through the machines. As we near the doors, I spot an old-style photo booth out of the corner of my eye. It’s the kind that prints out the strips. An idea forms in my brain, and I quickly turn to Tyler, grabbing his wrist to stop him from walking off.

“I have an idea.” I grin, tugging him toward the photo booth. “We’ve gotta do this.”

Before he can argue, I take his hand and pull him inside. It’s a tight fit for both of us, clearly not made for two hockey players, but Tyler doesn’t seem to care when I’m practically sitting on his thigh. I tap my phone against the card reader, and it flashes up with a timer.

We’re given five seconds to get ready, and our first photo has us with the widest, cheesiest grins possible. On the second, we stick out our tongues, then he grabs my chin and slams his lips against mine for the third. As the clock ticks down for the fourth one, it’s like we’re unable to do anything except stare into each other’s eyes with a silent promise of everything we want to do to each other.

My pulse kicks up, beating rapidly in my ears.

The whirling sound of the photos being processed breaks our heated stare, and I quickly lick over my lips and get up from his lap. I slip through the curtain and wait for the photos to be printed.

It spits out two matching strips, and when I pick them up from the small opening, the back of my eyes burn at the sight of us.

We look so fucking happy. So carefree and alive.

I’m used to seeing photos of us together on the ice, but none of them look like this. None of them have captured the glint in our eyes that looks a lot like two people who are falling in love.

Fuck.

Tyler clears his throat over my shoulder, carefully taking one of the photo strips between his thumb and forefinger. I glance over at him, watching his reaction as he comes to the same realization.