“Thanks for making that super awkward, Jake.”

He arches a brow. “Now you know how I felt last night.”

“Touché.” Not much else I can say to that.By the end of the first period, Seattle is up 2–0. Kingston skates over to the bench and pulls his helmet off. He’s a big guy at the best of times, but add all the gear and he’s mammoth. He’s also sweaty, which should be disgusting, but for some reason I find the fact that his hair is soaked and messy kind of hot. Maybe because I’m aware it’s related to his incredible stamina.

“Nice work out there in net,” my dad praises.

“Thanks. Defense is working hard to make my job easy.” He lifts the bottom of his jersey, using it to wipe away the sweat dripping down his face.

On any other day this would be totally fine. But it exposes a strip of bare stomach and with it the residual rash, leading the eye down to where it disappears into his uniform. My dad glances at his stomach, his lips turning down in a frown. I want to tell Kingston to drop his shirt, but I can’t. Bishop, however, smacks him in the arm. King gives him a What the heck? look. There’s a lot of eye widening and silent conversation happening.

My dad’s expression says everything words can’t. It’s obvious where that trail leads and what was going on in my room last night. He mutters something about going to prison for murder, turns around, and walks away.

Later, when we’re leaving the arena with the team for a postgame dinner—Seattle won 5–1—my dad falls into step beside me and mutters, “We’re setting some ground rules, FYI.”

I side-eye him. “I’m twenty-four.”

“I’m aware. I’m also aware that as nice as Kingston is, he’s male with hormones, and you’re female with hormones. He needs to be rested for games, and you need to keep in mind that when we’re away with the team, you’re a member of the staff and you need to conduct yourself in a professional manner.”

“We’re not going to make out in public.”

“I know that.” He rubs the space between his eyes. “I’m just saying, you can’t keep my goaltender up all hours of the night.”

I bite my tongue and look away, because I’m finally clued in to what he’s trying to say without saying it outright. “Right. Got it. So no sleepover parties when we’re traveling with the team.” I pat his arm. “Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t give you a reason to murder him.”

“Thanks. He’s kind of important to the team.”I expect there to be more of a reaction from his teammates to Kingston and me dating. The only real difference is that any of the guys who used to be flirty no longer are.

Another interesting thing I’ve learned about Kingston is that he’s not the kind of guy who, once given the green light, jumps right on the sexy times. In fact, ever since he had that conversation with my dad about dating me, he’s slowed things right the hell down.

So far we’ve been on four dates: he’s taken me out twice for dinner and once to the movies, and once we went on a double date with Stevie and Bishop. We went ax throwing again. Stevie is a lot of fun to hang out with, and she has killer aim.

Unfortunately, despite all the dates and the drives home, there haven’t been any sleepovers. Or anything beyond second base. No blow jobs, no invitations to sit on his face, not even a hand down my pants. Even the nipple contact has been sort of accidental and just a muted brush of thumb over several layers of fabric and padded bra.

It’s kind of sweet. It’s also really fucking annoying.

“Any plans tonight?” my dad asks as he puts the car in gear and heads home.

“Kingston wants to take me out for dinner.” I feel a little guilty that my dad’s been on his own for dinners a lot more lately. “I pulled a casserole out of the freezer for you, or you can have leftovers from last night.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I can handle making my own dinner.”

“Yeah, but you’ll order takeout, or make something unhealthy. This way I know you’re not clogging your arteries when I’m not here to monitor you.”

“I’m in my forties, not my eighties; you don’t need to worry about my arteries.” He pulls into the driveway and shifts the car into park. “Tomorrow morning I have a meeting, so you don’t need to be in until closer to eleven.”

“I don’t remember seeing anything on the schedule. Did I miss something? Do you need me to pull anything for it?”

He slips the keys out of the ignition and opens the door. “You don’t need to worry about anything. It’s contract negotiations, and I can’t really talk about it yet.”