The Romance Line (Love and Hockey Book 2)

Everly

When Max buzzes that he’s at my place later that night, I hit the open button on my app so fast. My nerves are frayed thin after this morning.

I swing open the door to my home in record time and he’s bounding up the stairs two by two.

I peer around the hallway cautiously, even though my building is small and I never see my neighbors. But there are cameras everywhere. What if someone sees us hanging out? My stomach churns. How long can we get away with this? This morning wasn’t even a close call, but I hated myself for standing there and patently lying by omission.

I wiggle my fingers, urging Max inside my home. When I lock the door and shut out the world, I breathe a bigger sigh of relief than I want to feel. “Hey.”

“Hey, you. You okay?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” I say. We texted during the day, but I was busy with meetings and couldn’t let myself get distracted by spiraling too far into a relationship funk. I really can’t do that. I can’t risk being distracted. Well, any more than I already am. “Are you going to take it?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he tilts his head, studies me, then takes my hand and leads me to the couch. “You jealous?”

“Yes!” I say, aggravated.

“Is that why you’re asking? Because I hope you know there is no other woman in the entire universe who could interest me. You have ruined me for everyone. So there.”

My nerves settle but only somewhat. “I’m still jealous.”

“Why?” He sounds amused. Maybe delighted.

I groan, frustrated with the way we’re hamstrung. “Because I want to stake my claim on you and I can’t,” I blurt out. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to stand there this morning and just listen to all those dating suggestions? I wanted to drape an arm around you and say, he’s taken, back the fuck off .”Text © owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

His smile is the biggest cat-who-ate-the-canary grin ever. “That is the hottest thing you’ve ever said, Everly.”

Maybe it is, but I can’t enjoy it. Because I can’t enjoy him the way I want—out loud. I want him to be mine. All mine. So I ask again, “What are you going to do about the deal?”

He sighs heavily, his smile burning off. “This deal is a big problem.” He takes a beat. “If I turn it down, it looks like I have something to hide. If I say yes, what if someone figures out we’re together? And then I look like a liar.”

I recoil at the prospect. “That’s bad. It would ruin all the work we’ve done.”

“Exactly. That’s not good for my rep. But if I turn it down, then it looks to the team and my agent like I’m not playing along. Then Clementine might think about not renewing me.”

My gut churns harder. I don’t want him traded away. I want him to stay. But the powers that be want him to take this deal. “But do you want to take it? You didn’t answer when I asked earlier,” I say evenly. Well, as evenly as I can. The thought of Max being the face of a dating app makes me want to claw things.

He sneers. “I thought I made that clear. In case I didn’t—fuck no.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, but this time I’m asking because I like this one-track mind side of him.

He grabs my jaw. “Sunshine, you are the only woman I want. Full stop. Me promoting a dating app is like you promoting a butcher.”

I can’t help but smile, but it doesn’t last since I can’t figure out how to solve the problem. “So what happens next? I don’t want to make more complications for you.”

“You’re not making them.” He drags a hand through his thick hair. “I just wish it were coming to me next month, once everything is done, and the doc is about to shoot. Right now if I turn it down, I look like a jackass to management,” he says, frustration in his tone.

I sigh heavily, racking my brain. “Well, is it the worst thing if you just make a profile?” The question tastes bitter on my tongue.

He narrows his eyes and inches away from me like he needs some distance. “You want me to do that?” He sounds offended.

“Max, I don’t want you to. I’m just trying to figure this out.”

“Is there a reason you want me to?” He’s tense everywhere, his muscles tight .

Oh god. This is a man who has major trust issues. “No,” I say, meaning it from the bottom of my heart as I rope my hands around his neck. “I’m trying to weigh all the options, but you have to know—I meant what I said earlier. I don’t want anyone else to even think they have a chance with you.”

He presses his forehead to mine, relaxing again. “Good. Because no one does. You have me, Everly. You fucking have me.”

I feel his certainty in my bones. It gives me the courage to even think about doing something risky. I pull back to meet his face. “Max, let’s get through the next event, but once we do, I could try to talk to my boss.”

His eyes light up like a thousand sparklers on the Fourth of July. “Yeah?”

I nod, even though the prospect is terrifying—like offering my job for the chopping block. “There’s not really any other way around this than for me to ask Zaire if I can keep my job, while…”

“Being with me?” he supplies.

I love that he says being rather than dating . Being feels deeper. A promise. A commitment.

“Yes. But I don’t know how to say it to her or when exactly. And I don’t want to organize it while I’m still working on this makeover. I just need a little more time to plan out how to do it. Can we figure it out once we finish the project? In a week or so? Does that buy you enough time without giving Date Night an answer?”

His smile isn’t disappearing. It’s growing. “I can buy all that time for you. You’re worth it,” he says, then he kisses me like we’re together.

Except the clock is also ticking, and it sounds a little more foreboding than it did before.

In the morning, he takes off early to work out with the guys while I get ready to meet up with my friends for a Saturday morning pole class. Before I leave, my camera app shows there’s a delivery for me. Curious, I head downstairs and grab a soft padded envelope.

From Lace and Wishes.

Huh. I’m not familiar with that shop. I don’t remember ordering from there. I trot back upstairs, anticipation crackling under my skin. Before the door even closes behind me, I rip it open.

When I take out the soft seashell pink tissue and unwrap the gift, my breath catches. He sent me a pair of panties. Again.

They’re royal blue again—team colors. Again.

But this time they’re custom-made. With his number stitched on the front.