Page 30 of Slapshot Bride

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. The sound feels slightly hysterical. Because this is insane.

Three days ago I was fleeing my cheating fiancé.

Now I'm apparently living with a professional hockey player whose face is on magazine covers.

What is my life?

“I've also unknowingly been photographed by paparazzi, haven't I?”

His smile slips. “A little.”

I groan and slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor.

Easton lowers himself to the floor across from me. His broad shoulders rest against the opposite wall beneath the framed magazine cover.

For a moment neither of us speaks.

I glance up at the cover. Then back at him.

The weird thing is that they don't feel like the same person.

One is polished and larger than life.

The other is sitting barefoot on the floor across from me with damp hair and a towel around his neck.

“You could have told me.”

His gaze follows mine to the magazine. "I could have."

“Why didn’t you?”

He's quiet for a second.

Then he shrugs. “You never asked.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s a terrible answer.”

“It’s also true.”

Unfortunately, it is.

I look down at my phone at the millions of search results.

Then I look back at him.

“You know this is intimidating, right?”

Something flickers across his face. It’s not annoyance, but something softer. “I guess.”

“Guess?”

He scratches the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I forget about it most of the time.”

I stare at him. “How?”

His eyes drift around the hallway and then land on me, looking so earnest. “Because that’s hockey.”