“Don’t worry.” I squeeze her hand this time. “They’re going to love you, Queenie, just like I do.”

She comes to an abrupt halt about ten feet from the locker room. “What did you say?”

“They’re going to love you.” At first I don’t understand why her eyes are so wide, until it dawns on me what I’ve inadvertently said. I take her free hand in mine and give her a chagrined smile. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t how I meant to tell you that.”

“Or maybe you’re trying to distract me by throwing me a curveball.” She smiles uncertainly.

“No curveballs or distractions. I love you, Queenie. I want you to meet my family so they can fall in love with you too.”

She blinks a few times, and her eyes go glassy. “King, I—” She shakes her head and has to clear her throat.

I duck down, getting in close, because security is only a few feet away and I don’t want them listening in on our private conversation. I also don’t want to put her on the spot, even though I’d like to hear those words from her too. “It’s okay if you’re not ready to say it back.”

“It’s not . . . that’s not it.” She strokes my cheek with her knuckles. “I just haven’t heard those words in a long time . . . from anyone other than my dad, I mean.” She shakes her head. “I love you too.”

“King! Man, you’re gonna see Queenie in like four hours. Get your fucking ass in the locker room and get your gear on unless you wanna watch the game from the bench and give Van Horten a shot to hone his skills in net. He’s been dying to show your ass up all season,” Bishop yells from all of five feet away.

I shoot him a glare. “Are you serious right now?”

“Well, it’s true. You’ll see Queenie after the game, and Van wants to hump your net more than you want to hump your girl. No disrespect meant, Queenie.” Bishop gives me a knowing smile.

Queenie ducks her head and chuckles. “Go do your job. We can talk about . . . everything else later.” She pushes up on her toes and tips her head back.

I bend to kiss her and whisper “I love you” against her lips.

“I love you, too. Now go.”

She pats me on the butt as I pass her, and I nearly flip Bishop off with the way he’s smirking. I manage to control my fingers, unlike my mouth and the things that come out of it with Queenie. I glance over my shoulder before I disappear into the locker room. Queenie’s already rushing down the hall, fingers at her lips.

I don’t let the ribbing from the guys get to me as I suit up for the game.

“You’re a little late, eh, King? We thought we were gonna have to bring in the reserve,” Slater says as he adjusts his laces.

“Just lost track of time.” There’s no way I’ll let him dampen my good mood.

He hasn’t been a positive addition to the team. His linemates are always on edge, never knowing what kind of garbage he’s going to pull when he’s on the ice. He’s guaranteed to get at least one penalty a game.

“I hope you didn’t waste all your game energy on some used pussy.”

I’m halfway dressed in my gear, but no shin guards or chest pads, so I still have the benefit of mobility. Before I can even consider how bad an idea it is, I’m off the bench. I grab the front of his jersey and haul him up so we’re eye to eye. “I already warned you once, Slater: do not disrespect Queenie, or we’ll be having more than words,” I hiss.

He throws his head back and laughs. “Do you even know how to throw a punch?”

“You looking to find out?”

“Jesus, King, back the fuck down, unless you want to sit this game out. This jock-rot fuckstick isn’t worth the bench time.” Bishop grabs me by the back of the neck and tries to loosen my grip on Corey’s jersey with the other hand.

“He’s disrespecting Queenie.”

“He disrespects his own mother every goddamn day just by existing. Still not worth damaging your hands over.”

He has a point. I can’t do my job if I break my hands. And if I get a suspension, I could end up on the bench, or, worse, I could be told I can’t even travel with the team. I’ve seen it happen before. Then I wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on Queenie. I don’t like that thought—not at all. It’s the only reason I let go.

“Such a fucking Boy Scout, huh, King? Never like to get your hands dirty, do you? Except now you are, and you don’t even fucking know it.”

“What are you talking about?”