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"They’d probably enjoy watching you get sent to the penalty box."

"And you?"

"I assume that’s where I’ll find you."

"It’s part of the job," he says.

"Lucky you. Did you get Employee of the Year for it?"

"Plaque’s on its way. I’m clearing a spot on the wall."

"I bet you couldn’t stay out of the penalty box to save your life."

He stops beside the island. "You think I can’t?"

"I’ve seen you play, Wolf. You spend enough time there that I wouldn’t be surprised if they started charging you rent and utilities."

"Is that a bet?"

"It’s an observation."

"Then you shouldn’t mind putting something on it."

I look at him. He’s already getting me into his seats and apparently his jersey. I should probably stop giving him opportunities, but I’ve watched this man collect penalties for years. One clean game would be an accomplishment worth witnessing.

And if he thinks he can manage it just to prove me wrong, I’m happy to let him try.

"Okay," I say. "If you get even one penalty Wednesday night, you lose, and I get your apartment to myself. Bubble bath, bonbons, a full Couple’s Cove marathon in your bed. Nobody stealing my snacks or asking how these people manage to dress themselves."

"That was a reasonable question. He put his shorts on backwards."

"And I would have noticed eventually if you’d stopped talking."

"Fine." He leans against the counter. "And if I win?"

"You won’t."

"Then you have nothing to worry about. Same plans, same bed, but I get to be there too. You stay all night."

I rest my hands on my notebook. Yesterday, I told him we shouldn’t kiss again. Today, I’m apparently negotiating a sleepover. Ellie would be thrilled with how quickly I’ve stopped taking my own advice.

"I’m not sleeping with you."

"I’m asking you to watch television."

"All night."

"You’re welcome to fall asleep. I won’t quiz you on the episode."

"No sex?" I ask.

"No sex. We don’t have to touch. I just want you to stay."

I look down at my notebook, pretending to check something I haven’t even written yet. That answer is doing more to me than the joke about how I’ll look in his jersey. He wants me here when I’m not working. No trays to finish or boxes to pack. Just the two of us spending a night together because we want to.

Assuming he wins, which he won’t.

"And you won’t spend the whole night making fun of my show?"