The Romance Line (Love and Hockey Book 2)

Everly

The Beast storms into the kitchen, losing his mind as Lumiere and Cogsworth make dinner for Belle.

I point to the TV screen my computer is casting to as the fuming beast blows his top. “See? That’s you. It’s totally you,” I say, as we lounge on the couch an hour later.

Max scoffs, then grabs a kernel of popcorn from the bag, tosses it in the air, and catches it on his tongue. “Can the Beast do that?”

“I bet he can. That seems like a Beast trick.”

Max rolls his eyes.

I poke his side. “C’mon. You even said you were going to bellow. I’m not wrong here, Lambert.”

As the Beast fumes in the film, Max grabs another handful from the bag. “What does it say about you that you like a beast?”

I arch a brow. “Did I say I like the Beast? ”

“I’m pretty sure your three orgasms said you liked what the Beast did to you. Do you want me to give you another one just to be sure?”

I stare him down. “Are you threatening me with orgasms again? Because I could get into this brand-new game.”

Setting the bag on the table, he tugs me closer on the couch, then pulls my pink fleece blanket up to our waists. He’s in his boxer briefs and I’m wearing my hoodie and a pair of sleep shorts. The night is coasting close to midnight. I’m not sure what happens when the clock strikes twelve.

But I don’t see any signs that Max is leaving since we’re already in the middle of the flick, and he’s only getting comfier. When the Beast returns to his lair and demands the mirror show him the girl, Max takes another handful of popcorn, his gaze transfixed on the screen.

“You’re a popcorn junkie,” I say, more delighted than I should be about this detail. I don’t know why it excites me to know this about him. But it does.

“Because it’s fucking delicious.” He actually ordered a couple bags from Ding and Dine when he saw that I didn’t have any. “I can’t watch movies without popcorn.” Then he tilts his head, seeming thoughtful for a second. “I’m going to have to tell Asher that he was wrong when he said I hate everything.”

I’m too intrigued to leave that alone. “I’ll bite. What does that mean?”

As the movie plays on, he meets my gaze. “A few weeks ago when I was telling him about the circus you were dragging me to, he was giving me a hard time because he said I hate everything, and I maybe let on that I didn’t hate movie nights with popcorn. ”

I take a beat, savoring this fact—this little true detail about Max Lambert. “So you’re doing a real favorite thing with me? Again? ”

He tugs me closer on the couch, grazes those full lips along the side of my neck, traveling up to my ear. “Sunshine, I’m doing all sorts of real favorite things with you.”

He presses another kiss to my forehead and my whole body crackles and sparks. Electricity surges in me, chased by something warm and comforting.

The feeling is only intensified when he whispers, “Ask me to stay the night.”

My stomach swoops. “Is that one of your real favorite things?” Maybe I’m fishing for compliments, but I don’t care.

“I’m confident it will be.”

“Will you stay the night?”

“Yes,” he says, then he cuddles with me until we finish the tale as old as time. When it’s over, he says, “The Beast definitely had it bad for Belle.”

That’s what my friends said about Max and me. Maybe that’s true. But it’s too early for me to linger on that especially when I still have so many questions about him.

As the credits finish rolling, I return to the reason he came over earlier. “So tell me your story, Max. The one you wanted to share when you came over.”

He runs a hand through his messy hair, blowing out a breath, then sits up. “You know that fight at the end of the other season?”

It was front-page sports news. “Of course. Goalies don’t usually fight.”

“I came home one night to them in bed,” he says, wasting no time with the details. “Looking back, there were signs—but I didn’t see them at the time. Instead, I’d been looking at rings.”

My chest tightens with hurt and rage. For him . There’s no jealousy, which surprises me—just fury that she hurt a man who cared so deeply. “That’s awful. I didn’t realize it was at that point.”

“I didn’t buy one,” he says, and his tone is surprisingly free of emotion, unlike mine. He doesn’t even sound that bitter even when he says, “Fun fact: that made it super easy to get over her.”

I can’t help it. I smile at his deadpan tone.

“You like hearing that. That I got over her,” he says, an observation.

“Well, yeah.”

He moves closer to me, whisking his beard across my cheek, making me shiver. “I am so your type.”

I fight off the spark of lust to roll my eyes since he deserves a big old eye roll. “Only you would taunt me about liking you.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Yep.”

But then his mirth burns to ashes. He’s dead serious again. “Obviously we broke up. Even though she didn’t want to. She tried to convince me it was a mistake and it wouldn’t happen again, and that it was a one-time-only thing. But it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t,” he says, then he blows out a heavy breath. “But I was still pissed then. Hurt then. And hurt people hurt people. Since I had better stats than Bane and had beaten LA in the Cup a few years before, I said something to the both of them like ‘You fucking deserve a guy who comes in second.’ It wasn’t my finest moment but in my defense he was fucking my girlfriend at the time,” Max says it without remorse and I’m glad .

“They both deserved that.”

“I think so too.” He pauses, then continues. “A few weeks after I caught them, I’m playing LA. He’s chirping at me the whole time. He’s taunting me. He’s trying to score on me constantly—like he needs to prove something. But he’s not getting the puck in. I block every shot. Only every time I do, he gets more and more agitated and then he gets right in my face in front of the net and says, ‘Your ex tastes like mine.’”

My jaw comes unhinged. That’s villainously awful. “He said that?”

Max just nods heavily, breathing out hard. “And I put down the stick and pulled off my gloves, and I was ready to throw the first punch even though I know I’m not supposed to. But I was fucking ready, and then he laid one on me. Right in the jaw.”

It was a brutal fight. I saw it. And I know the rest. It’s one of the sport’s most famous fights. “The benches cleared because you don’t hit goalies. That’s another unwritten rule,” I say. “Bane looked pretty bad after the game. But that’s probably not any consolation.”

Max looks at me, an apology in his eyes. “It wasn’t my finest moment.” My heart squeezes for him. I reach for his hand, holding it. He grips me tighter, like I’m his lifeline. “And I had no idea it was going to get so much worse.”