Page 130 of The Goalie in Room 1

“Ow.”

“Say something stupid again, and I’ll bite harder.”

I caught his jaw and tipped his face up. “You love me.”

“Questioning my judgment already.”

“You’re moving into my room.”

“Our room,” he corrected.

The words settled somewhere deep inside me.

I kissed him slowly. No desperation. No reason to rush before one of us stopped it.

When Cash pulled back, he looked toward the clothes on the bed. “You know that’s not half my closet.”

“I assumed.”

“There are four more bags downstairs.”

“Of course there are.”

“And my goalie jerseys.”

“They can stay in the guest room.”

Cash shoved me away.

I laughed and followed him into the hall.

Cash came home from physical therapy three days later, carrying a black binder.

He dropped it on the kitchen island, then stood on the other side of it without removing his coat.

I looked from him to the binder. “What happened?”

“Why do you assume something happened?”

“Because you’ve been standing there for thirty seconds waiting for me to notice that,” I said, waving a hand at the binder.

His gaze dropped to it. “Matteo and Davina talked to me today.”

Every possible medical problem raced through my mind. “About your knee?”

“No.”

The answer should’ve stopped the panic. It didn’t.

Cash pulled out a stool and sat. “They want to train me.”

“For what?”

He pushed the binder across the island.

I opened the front cover.

Athlete Peer Support Specialist