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He smirked. “Muscle mommy, then.”

I burst out laughing, the final ties of the knot loosening. “Fine, I’ll let you buy me shit if you promise never to call me either of those again.”

“Deal.” His hand slipped away from my face, leaving a trace of warmth I was already missing. As he shifted back, I caught him muttering under his breath, “I have a different nickname for you anyway.”

But he kept talking before I got a chance to question him on it.

Dalton’s voice turned serious. “Okay, now the most important rule. I need permission to touch you in public the way I would if you were really my girlfriend.”

His intense gaze burned into me, making me want to look away. It was the same look of determination I’d seen on him in the gym—this was important to him. All the moisture in my mouth dried up and went south.

Great. Now, I was turned on and nervous.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice sounding breathier than intended.

The car seemed to shrink as he leaned in, resting his elbow on the center console. Our faces were only inches apart, and the heady scent of his cologne messed with my ability to think clearly. I wanted to shove him back in this seat because there was no way I could make good decisions with him so close.

“Ari, I was with Emma for years.”

The mention of his ex left a sour taste on my tongue, which made no sense. Of course a star hockey player had a past with someone who wasn’t me. And, realistically, this was just an arrangement. I didn’t have any real claim to him.

But my head—or maybe my sex drive—didn’t get the memo.

He continued, oblivious to my internal turmoil. “And I’m the captain of my team. I told you, pretty much all those guys were around when we were dating.”

“And we’re bringing that up because…” I asked, my voice sharper than intended.

The distance between us shrank even more. “Because,” his eyes dipped to my mouth, “they are going to know this is fake right away if I don’t have permission to touch you in public.”

¡Híjole!

I cleared my throat, attempting to clear the lusty fog. “Okay, I’ll agree to light PDA in public, but not during training. I don’t want it looking like I got this job because we’re together.”

He nodded his head so hard I thought he’d give himself a concussion. “Light touching when we’re not working, got it. What else?”

This giant of a man was adorably sweet, looking at me with eager eyes. I was so over my head with this one. An unexpected insecurity reared its ugly head. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, readying myself to rip off the Band-Aid.

“No seeing anyone else while we’re together.”

I might’ve overstepped with that request, but just hearing about his ex made the little green monster come alive. There was no way I could handle him being with someone else in private while we were pretending to be together in public. It didn’t even make sense why this was important to me…but every time I pictured him with someone else, I wanted to hit his car door with a hockey stick.

His hand slipped down to my thigh, and I swallowed hard as he squeezed it gently. “I would never. I told you, you’re mine until the season is over.”

“Even if we aren’t having sex?” I blurted out, horrified that I’d voiced that insecurity too.

His dimples made an appearance, voice thick with amusement. “I’ve got a hand, Ari.”

My body forgot how to function. Thankfully, Dalton saved me the trouble of remembering how to speak and continued, oblivious that he’d broken my brain.

Or maybe he did it because he knew he’d broken it.

“So light touching, monogamy, anything else you wanna add?”

I cleared my throat, still trying to recover from his earlier comment. “When we are in the gym, I’m in charge,” I said, holding out my hand.

He slipped his much larger hand around mine, swallowing it.

“Yes, Coach.”