Page 108 of Dangle

“And the rule…”

“UGH! There are too many rules.”

He laughed. “Keep that up, and there will be more.”

There weren’t too many rules. And even if there were, they were rules I either suggested or agreed to, and I loved every one of them just as much as I loved Slone because he cared enough to give them to me.

My lips rolled between my teeth, and I bit down as my eyes darted around, making him laugh even harder. I really loved making him laugh. He kissed my mouth, then swatted my ass on his way back to the kitchen. I stood there looking at the bowl and my keys and my keys in the bowl.

This wasn’t the first time he casually and thoughtfully made space for me in his life and home, but somehow this felt different. And I didn’t know how to feel about it. So, I shoved the emotions into the back corner of my mind and headed back to the kitchen.

I found him in front of the stove again. Kissing his neck with one eye on the pan, I reached forward to sneak an onion from the pan only to pull my hand back when he smacked it.

“You know better.”

I did, but that didn’t stop me. Smirking, I kissed and sucked his neck while making another attempt.

“You’re gonna burn yourself.”

“I’m a D1 hockey player with excellent spatial… Fuck!” I yelled, popping the injured finger in my mouth.

“You were saying?” he asked, turning around.

He flipped on the sink faucet, then guided my hand under the water. “Leave it there until I tell you to remove it. Understand.”

I nodded. “It hurts.”

He pressed a kiss to my temple with a soft hum. “I’m sure it does. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Where are you going?”

He kept walking, but he called back, “To get the first aid kit. You have a morning skate tomorrow.”

Burn ointment and a bandage later, we were sitting at the table, facing the living room, a game playing on the large wall-mounted television. Plates of steaming fajitas sat before us, our phones charging on the docks Slone had in the living room.

His rule for dinner together: No devices. We compromised on the television since we experienced it together.

“How was practice?” he asked.

“Good. I hate the new kid…” My voice trailed off, not yet ready to share the phone call I received.

I still couldn’t believe Charlotte Hamilton Richmond, the billionaire owner of the NHL’s New York Wardens, actually listened to me. No one did that. Well, no one other than Slone, really. And Coach Grigor. But for her to let me pitch my idea to her, that blew my mind.

“Let’s celebrate!”Ethan Ruggers screamed through the locker room several weeks later after a win. The season was in full swing, and we were playing well. Really damn well. All of us were excited about the possibilities none of us could give voice to. I felt what they felt—excited anticipation, elation, and all the other emotions that came with coming out of October leading our division. However, it also triggered some emotions that I had a horrible time keeping from Slone. My time with the Maulers could end at any moment.

I shook my head while everyone else joined in with the yelling. I knew what was coming. The team loved karaoke. They’d shower and change, then head out.

Crammed into various cars.

Phones lit up.

Fingers flying over screens.

Texts sent.

Pushing and shoving and stumbling into Bear’s Den.

Beer and liquor flowing.