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“Should I have left?”

“What? No. It’s cool. I don’t mind having you here.”

“Wow, make me feel welcome, why don’t you?”

“I thought I did earlier?”

“I was so boring you fell asleep,” he teases.

“I can assure you, it wasn’t due to boredom. Come on,” I say, before grabbing another water and walking around the island and out of the kitchen.

“Oh, do I get a tour of your lair?” Garrett asks, trailing behind me.

“I thought you’d already snooped,” I shoot over my shoulder.

“I wouldn’t invade your privacy like that,” he tells me honestly.

“But the coffee maker is fair game?”

“It’s coffee. And you’d just fucked me within an inch of my life. It’s the least I deserved.”

“Fair,” I chuckle as I lead him into my den.

I could have taken him to the living room, but it’s too formal. I want to be comfortable, and anyway, I think he might get a kick out of what he’ll find in there.

“Holy shit, Cooper,” he gasps as he steps into the room. I spin around and find his eyes wide as he gazes in awe at my trophy cabinet.

“What’s the matter? Just realized you got fucked by a legend?”

“Jeez, ego much?”

“Baby, I’m a hockey player. What else would you expect?”

The second that first word rolls off my tongue, his head whips around to stare at me.

My heart races.

I’ve never called anyone baby in my life. I have no fucking idea where that came from.

Without having anything to say, I just smile at him again.

Our eye contact holds for a few seconds before he turns back around.

I fall back on the couch and watch as he takes everything in.

That wall showcases my entire hockey career. I didn’t differentiate when I put it all out. It starts with my achievements as a kid and goes all the way up to when I won the Norris trophy a couple of years ago.

“You know, most people think you got this one,” he says, pointing at the evidence of the highlight of my career so far, “because of that game against Miami.”

I comb my fingers through my hair, casting my mind back.

I vividly remember the game he’s talking about, but instead of saying that, I point out, “No one wins that trophy based on one game.”

“No, of course not. But everyone said that something changed in your game from that night. That it lit a fire under your ass.” I raise a brow, beyond curious to know where he’s going with all this. “And while they’re not wrong, that was a fucking incredible game. But things turned around for you two games before that. A game against⁠—”

“Calgary,” I finish for him.

“Yeah,” he says, excitement sparking in his eyes.