Unravel Me (Playing For Keeps Book 3)

“I’m not doing your TikTok, Carter.”

You wouldn’t believe how often those words are spoken in this dressing room. You’d think most captains would be hyperfocused before the home opener game, maybe even instilling the fear of God into his teammates, but not Carter. No, our captain is so excited for his daughter to see him play tonight, he’s been blaring “My Girl” on repeat, shaking his ass at his cubby, and filming a shitload of content for his TikTok page. He’s been trying to get someone to agree to some Mean Girls– inspired video for the last ten minutes, but no one’s biting.

“Why not?” Carter asks Garrett, frowning.

“’Cause I’m trying to get ready for our game.”

“After the game, then?”

“No.”

“But it’s Mean Girls day! This one’s so easy! All you have to do is look at the camera and say the date.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I won’t give you permission to marry my sister unless you do the video.”

“The only permission I need to marry your sister, is your sister’s. Plus, you already told me you’d be happy to call me your brother-in-law since I make Jennie so happy.”

“Ssshhh !” Carter’s gaze darts around the room. “I told you that in confidence!”

“You know he got Ireland a jersey that says Daddy on the back of it, right?” Jaxon whispers to me. “And Olivia a leather jacket with his number and Mrs. Beckett on it. The man’s obsessed.”

“You know, Jaxon, Carter was a lot like you before he met Olivia. Maybe worse.”

“What’s your point?”

I shrug. “Can’t wait to see how obsessed you turn out to be for the right woman.”

Jaxon stares at me, disgust curling his lips. “Gross. If I ever voluntarily get a woman a jacket that says Mrs. Riley on it, just kill me. I’ve obviously been possessed.”

I snort a laugh, doing up the straps on my goalie pads.

“Hey, Adam?” Carter calls.

“What’s up?”

“What day is it?”

“It’s October third.”

A collective groan fills the dressing room, while Carter whoops his fist through the air, his phone pointed at me. “Nailed it!”

I look to Jaxon. “Did I just do the Mean Girls thing?”

“You just became Cady Heron, dude.”

“Fuck.”

Truthfully, I wish I was as relaxed as Carter right now. I’m worked up, and I have been most of the day. With our morning skate and a team meeting earlier, I haven’t had the chance to talk to Rosie since I dropped her and Connor off after breakfast. I swallowed the question on my tongue right along with my coffee, and fifteen damn times I typed it out, asking her if she wanted to come to the game tonight, letting her know I’d bought two tickets for them. Instead, I chickened out every damn time, scared she’d say no, that it was too much, too fast. I wouldn’t blame her, but I gotta tell you: I’m done with slow.

I’m so damn starved for her, the hollow ache inside me begs me to have my fill.

It took everything in me not to sink my fingers inside her soaked pussy last night, not to yank her to the edge of my kitchen counter and remind us both how well she takes my cock. I want to feel her mouth move against mine, feel the way her hips lift and roll, chasing my every movement. I want her fingers in my hair and my name on her lips, and I want it forever.

But more than that, I want her to know how I feel about her.

How utterly devoted I am to her.

How mind-blowingly in love with her I am.

My body has had hers, and fuck, it wants her again and again. But I can do slow. I can stave off the desire, so long as I get her heart.

My phone dings in my cubby, and I pull it out, grinning at the name peeking up at me.

TROUBLE

Have the best time tonight, Adam. You’ll be incredible! So big and flexible.

Her message gives me the courage I need to face the two empty seats behind the bench, and as we make our way to the players tunnel, I’m focusing on getting in the zone.

Fog fills the tunnel from the machine up ahead, and the lights in the arena go out, ear-splitting cheers filling the rink as I shake out my nerves, my goalie mask propped on the top of my head. Green and blue spotlights shine on the rink, and Carter goes from goofball to captain in a split second.

“Here we go, boys! Who owns this fucking rink?”

“Vipers!”

“Who works harder than us?”

“No one!”

“And who’s taking the win home tonight?”

“We are!”

“Damn right we are, boys! Get your asses out there and show ’em who we are!”

The music starts, and the announcer comes over the speakers, introducing each player as they step onto the ice, until only me and Carter are left.

Carter grabs my head, bringing my forehead to his. “You fucking got this, bud.” He claps a hand to my ass as his name is called and skates onto the ice as the arena explodes.

“And finally, ladies and gentlemen, on your feet for our pride and joy, number forty, Vancouver Vipers’ Adaaammm Lockwoooood !”

I step onto the ice, raising my stick in the air as my chanted name drowns out the music. It’s a surreal feeling, looking into this sea of blue and green, people here just to cheer you on. It’s what I love about hockey, the way everyone shows up for each other, stands by your side, believes in you. It’s addictive, the support, all the love, but still, as the lights come back on for our warm-up, I keep my eyes off the bench.

Far too many games, I looked right there, the spot just behind it, and I saw my teammates’ wives, girlfriends, families. And in the middle of all that love was an empty seat Courtney didn’t bother to fill, an excuse she didn’t bother to give me. Like a fool, I kept buying that same damn ticket every game.

It’s my fault, I know. I didn’t even give Rosie the chance to come tonight. And yet I can’t look, because I can’t bear the thought of associating the painful memories of that empty seat with someone as kindhearted as Rosie. She deserves more than that.

I cradle my mask in the top of my net, then move to a safe corner of the ice where no one is firing shots at me. Before I can stretch like I planned, the music changes, and I sigh when the “Cha-Cha Slide” comes on.

“Oh shit!” Carter shouts, coming to a stop beside me. “Know what time it is, Woody?”

I sigh again, because I know exactly what time it is. “It’s cha-cha time.” I point at Jaxon, who’s snickering at us as Garrett and Emmett join. “I’m not doing it unless Riley gets in on it this year!”

“Absolutely not. This is your tradition. I wasn’t here when it was formed.”

“You’re part of this family,” Carter tells him lowly, catching his jersey and dragging him over. “And this family participates in cha-cha time.” He gestures at the crowd, all their phones aimed at us, because since Carter forced this tradition on us during my very first game in an attempt to settle my nerves and stop me from vomiting, they’ve come to expect it whenever the song comes on. “The people want to see us cha-cha real smooth, Riley, and what the people want, the people get.”

“I don’t want him standing next to me,” Garrett grumbles. “If he messes up, he’ll take me down with him. And Jennie likes watching me shake my ass.”

Carter yanks Jaxon between us, and he rolls his eyes, standing still as a statue as the rest of us follow the song’s instructions, sliding to the left.

“Slide to the goddamn left,” I growl at him, shoving him left with my shoulder. “Now right.”

“Criss-cros s!”

I jump in my skates, crossing my feet, and narrow my eyes at Jaxon.

“Fine ,” he snarls, crossing his feet once, then twice. He claps along with the song and at least three-quarters of this crowd, and when it’s time to cha-cha real smooth, he does it perfectly, rolling his hips as he spins in a circle, almost like he’s been…practicing.

He points one threatening finger in my face the second I open my mouth. “I know what you’re about to say, and don’t. Just. Fucking. Don’t .”

I grin, focusing on the dance steps as Jaxon nails every single one of them beside me, and when it’s finally done, I clap him on the back. “Feels like you’re a lot more like Carter than you’d like to believe.”

“If you want me to defend your net tonight, fuck off.”

Chuckling, I spread my legs wide and sink to the splits on top of the ice, reveling in the pull in my groin and my hamstrings as I get as low as I can.

Garrett sinks down beside me on his knees, spreading his legs. “I’ll never understand how you can do the splits.”

“Goalie things.”

“Jennie says it looks like I’m humping the ice when I do this,” he says, bouncing into his stretch. He looks up, wagging his brows, and I know without a doubt he’s wagging them at Jennie.

I lean forward, getting my chest as close to the ice as I can. “You think Rosie’s gonna watch the game on TV?”

“Nah.”

I narrow my eyes. “Thanks, you fucking turtle dick. You could’ve appeased me and said yes, you know.”

Garrett laughs, climbing to his feet with me. “She’s not gonna watch on TV.” He scoops a puck up with the blade of his stick, flipping it in the air before catching it. Then he points behind the bench. “She’s gonna watch from right there.”

My gaze snaps to the seats I swore would be empty, and my heart swells when I see it, my two favorite people nestled between people I call family.

I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face if I tried, and as I skate toward Rosie and Connor, it only grows. Connor’s wearing a tiny version of my jersey, big headphones covering his ears, and when Rosie points to me, a smile ignites his face.

He slaps at the glass as I stop there. “Dada! Hi, Dada!”

I chuckle, placing my gloved hand against the glass, on the other side of his. “Hi, buddy. I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Hockey!” He points at my stick. “Dada…pay…hockey?”

Rosie’s so fucking breathtaking, sitting there in my jersey, I can barely hear Cara losing her shit over the fact that Connor’s calling me Dada .

“Spin for me.” The words are a quiet plea, and my heart slams against my chest when Rosie grins, lifting Connor in her arms and spinning in a slow circle, showing me my last name on her back.

Fucking perfection .

And then she smiles at me, and it’s brilliant and detonating and everything I love. “I’m more of a pink girl, but I think I’m rocking the blue and green.”

I take my blocker off, pressing my hand against the glass. “Thank you for coming.”

Rosie’s eyes soften, and she touches her hand to the other side of the glass. “Where else would we be if we weren’t here supporting our favorite person?”

The words fill me with pride, and twenty-five minutes later, when the anthems are done and I’m taking my place in net, I’m determined to make them proud too.

I’m not truthfully sure how much of the first period Rosie actually watches. Every time I look at her, she’s looking at me. I grin, she flushes, and I grin bigger. By the second period, her eyes are following the play, and when the puck goes from Emmett to Garrett, then up to Carter, and he stuffs it in the net just over Philly’s goalie’s shoulder, she even jumps out of her seat with the rest of the girls. I’m sure Connor has no idea what’s happening, but everyone else is screaming, so he does too.

Carter spins to a stop at center ice, pointing his stick at his wife and daughter. “For my princesses!”

Olivia’s stopped burying her face in her hands when he does this, but she sure does still get red as fuck in the face. It all melts away, though, when Carter skates over, touching his hands and forehead to the glass, right against Ireland’s on the other side.

I’m playing phenomenally, stopping every shot, but my defensemen are doing their best to keep the puck from making it this far. When there’s only a minute and a half left in the game, we’ve got the only goal, and I’m on track for a shutout, Philly pulls their goalie and throws an extra player on the ice, determined to tie this game.

The play turns over at the blue line during a bad line change, and Jaxon hops off the bench, racing like hell to catch up to the centreman who’s barreling down the ice at me. I crouch down, following the puck as I inch out of my net, and when he winds up to shoot, Jaxon pokes the puck free. I nab it with my stick and shoot it off the boards, and just as Garrett grabs it, he’s sandwiched against the boards.

The puck springs free, and Philly’s right-winger speeds toward me. He pulls his stick back before sending it forward, and I dive to the right, deflecting it with my blocker. Another player snatches up the puck, firing it off before I can climb back to my feet, and I leap to the other side and catch it in my glove at the exact moment Jaxon hammers him into the boards.

The whistle blows, I pull off my mask, grab my water bottle from my net, and squirt a generous helping into my mouth before I drench my sweat-soaked face with it. Rosie’s watching me with her mouth open wide, so I wink, watching her face flush scarlet as I pull my mask back down.

With ten seconds left in the game, the puck drops in the circle to my left. When it breaks free right in front of me, clear shot to Philly’s empty net, I decide I wanna hammer home my shutout tonight. And maybe, I wanna show off a little.

I cradle the puck back and forth on the blade of my stick as I skate out of my crease, and Carter shoves the only defensemen in my way out of it. Then I pull my stick back and let the puck fly toward the empty net.

The buzzer blares a split second before the clock runs dry, and I find Rosie and Connor, on their feet and cheering.

Right before my teammates tackle me to the ice, I tap my heart twice, then point at the two people who own it.

I’ve never in my life ripped my equipment off as fast as I have tonight, jumped in the shower and scrubbed every inch of me clean before throwing on my suit, not bothering with the wet curls that cling to my skin, leaving water droplets cascading down my face.

My tie makes it back on, but the knot hangs loose and too far to the left, and I’m too buzzed to give a shit.

“Adam, are you—”

“Leaving. Bye.”

Laughter explodes behind me as I stride across the dressing room, followed by catcalls and hollers, something about me going to Pound Town and a promise to call me tomorrow so I don’t get lost there and forget to get on the plane for Washington in thirty-six hours.

As if I’m gonna spend the next thirty-six hours buried inside Rosie.

Who am I kidding? I’m spending the next thirty-six hours buried inside Rosie.

Cameras and recorders are shoved in my face, when I step out of the dressing room. I push by them, waving over my shoulder, ’cause I’m sure as fuck not hanging around to chat.

Rosie looks up from down the hall, Connor’s hand in hers, surrounded by my friends. A beautiful red flush paints her delicate features as I stride toward her, cameras on my heels, waiting to see what I’m going to do.

“Dada!” Connor shouts when he sees me. He dashes over to me on unsteady legs, and I catch him in one arm, hoisting him up to me.

“Hey, little trouble.”

He points at Rosie. “Big tubble.” Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Adam,” she whispers when I stop in front of her. “I—”

I swallow her words, all of them. Whatever the fuck they were, I swallow them with my mouth on hers. Fuck, she’s sweet. Like hot chocolate and cinnamon, my first taste of autumn. My mouth remembers all of her, and I devour her savagely, like I’ve been dreaming of nothing but this all my life.

And I’m gonna take her home and worship her.

I pull back, just an inch, Rosie’s trembling fingers on my face, mine buried in her hair.

“Hey, trouble,” I murmur, and she grins.

“Hey, you.”