“I know, that’s what I’m saying,” he laughed before leaning over the table and kissing her lips. “See ya.”

“Good luck,” she called as he went back out into the street, the kids all cheering loudly for him. When he dropped down, stretching and then doing a few drills that she had seen him do on the ice numerous times, her brow furrowed. “Wait, he’s serious out there?”

Ant laughed. “Of course he is. We play to win, Wrenya.”

“They’re kids!”

“So?” he laughed, and she shook her head. Sure as shit, once the shootout started, Jensen was in full goalie mode.

She had to admit, it was fucking hot.

He batted everything away, poke checked more kids than she’d care to admit since it probably made him an asshole, and taunted the bigger kids while trying to lift up the younger ones. She was completely amazed by him, so much so that she missed the little girl who was standing at the table, speaking very sweetly in French.

Looking up at the girl and then her mom before glancing at Ant, Wren asked, “What’s going on?”

“She’s late and wants to play, but they cut the lines off,” he said to her quickly before holding his hands out and saying something to the mom. When the little girl’s shoulders fell, so did Wren’s heart.

“Oh no, she’s getting her shot,” Wren said, standing up and grabbing a stick. “Do you know English?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Thank God. “Good, what’s your name?”

“Maude.”

“Awesome. Maude, I’m Wren. Come on, we’ll go together.”

She took the hand of the little girl, who couldn’t have been over six, and they walked out toward the street where everyone was, cheering on their friends. One of the volunteers went to stop Wren, but she held her hand up. “Married to the guy in goal.”

“But the lines are closed.”

“And I don’t care,” she said simply, heading toward Jensen as the little girl giggled happily. Standing beside the person who was controlling who went next, she tapped him on the shoulder. “We’d like a try.”

His brows pulled together. “But the line is closed.”

“Wren, what are you doing?”

She smiled before looking past him to Jensen. “She didn’t get here in time and wants her chance. I’m using my wife card to get us a shot.”

Pushing up his helmet, he had the widest and most gorgeous grin on his face as he nodded. “Bring it.”

“Hear that?” she asked Maude. “We get our shot.” But the little girl didn’t move. Bending down, Wren grasped her arm. “What’s wrong?”

“What if I miss?”

Wren’s heart cracked as she held the sweet girl’s gaze in hers. “You know, you miss every single shot you don’t take.”

Her face broke into a grin. “Wayne Gretzky.”

“Yup. So if you don’t try, how do you know if you’ll miss?”

And as the child slowly nodded, Wren realized that her words meant more than she intended them to. Not for Maude, but for herself. But before she could really dissect what she was feeling, Maude put her stick down and nodded toward the guy running the line, who threw a puck down to her. Stick handling it like a pro, she gazed up at Wren. “Will you come with me?”

Wren beamed down at the little girl. “Of course.”

Wren grabbed a stick and put it down, and Maude passed the puck to her. Wren passed it back as the crowd lost their ever-loving mind. Looking back at Jensen, she could see him grinning, but he was ready. When Wren got the puck, she acted as if she was going to shoot—of course, she was way slower, and Jensen saw the whole thing—but she passed it to Maude nonetheless, and she shot it through his legs with ease. Maude threw her arms up, and everyone went nuts as Maude came over, hugging Wren tightly.

Tears flooded her eyes as she held the girl who was shaking with excitement. Wren felt like a baby, but she didn’t care. It was a damn good day. When she looked up, Jensen was standing there, handing Maude the puck. “You got me.”

She beamed up at him. “You started out as a forward. I know this because you’re my favorite player ever, and I want to be just like you.”

He bent down, cupping her face. “You’ll be better, don’t ever forget that,” he said before squeezing her shoulder. “Great job.”

“Can I have my picture with you and the Cup?”

“Of course, you’ll get it first!”

She almost came out of her skin before looking up to Wren. “Thank you, Mrs. Monroe. You made my whole life.”

As the little girl ran off toward her mother, who was crying, Wren fought back her own tears. “Cutest damn kid ever.”

When Jensen’s hands came around her waist, she turned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I was convinced you weren’t going to let her score.”

He scoffed, his lips curving. “I wasn’t going to, but I thought you were taking the shot, and you’re the only person I’ll let score on me.”

Before she could smile or say anything else, his lips were on hers in a downright sinful way. Their night together, only a few nights ago, still shook her to the core. They hadn’t had a moment like that again, mostly because when they got to bed, they passed out from the day, but she yearned for him like no other. Running her fingers through the coarse hair on his jaw, she leaned into him and didn’t care at all that he was sweaty and sort of stinky.

All she cared about was kissing him.

And that didn’t scare her one bit.

Which was a win in her book.

“I swear, I have never seen a more dashing man in a suit.”

Jensen rolled his eyes as his father boasted up at Wren from his wheelchair. It wasn’t often that Jensen saw his father in anything but his sports shorts and tees, but even he had to admit he looked great. Not that he was telling him that. “Hey.”

Wren grinned over at him as Antoine laughed. “Hey, son, can’t help how sexy I am. Right, Emma?”

“Right,” she agreed before pressing her lips to Antoine’s cheek. Jensen smiled as his father kissed her back, rubbing her shoulders, not the least bit concerned that he was in a wheelchair. But that’s how it always was.

When Wren threaded her fingers through Jensen’s, he looked over at her as she whispered, “Don’t worry, I think you’re hotter.”