Garrett's fingers drummed the steering wheel in a rhythm that matched nothing, a nervous tic he couldn't quite kill. The Briar Hawks had won. Again. The arena had roared like a living thing, red and blue confetti had rained down on the ice, the guys were probably still hyped back at the house, cracking beers and replaying the best hits.

But the atmosphere inside the Jeep was anything but celebratory. You sat stiff in the passenger seat, arms crossed, staring out at the blurred streetlights like they’d personally offended you. You looked like you were attending a funeral, not a championship game. And he knew exactly whose funeral you were imagining.

His.

He reached across the center console, his hand finding your thigh, thumb stroking slow circles over the denim of your jeans. He glanced over at you, gray eyes soft in the dashboard glow, that signature mix of cocky confidence and genuine care etched into his features.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured, voice rough from shouting on the ice, now turned velvet-soft for you. “You gonna freeze me out the whole ride home? We kicked their asses tonight. Should be celebrating.”

You didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched, filled only by the rain drumming on the roof and the low hum of the engine. He loved that fire in you—the stubborn streak, the way you could turn into a viper when something pissed you off. It was one of the things that had hooked him from that first truth-or-dare kiss a year ago, the one that turned into making out in a hallway and then nonstop sex and feelings he hadn’t seen coming. Love at first kiss, like some corny movie. But yeah, it came with teeth. He’d been bit plenty of times.

He shifted in his seat, the leather creaking under his big frame. His hockey jacket was tossed in the back, leaving him in a tight thermal that clung to the hard lines of his chest and shoulders. He gave your thigh another squeeze, fingers inching a little higher, playful but careful.

“Look, I know I fucked up the ‘stay calm’ part,” he admitted with a crooked grin. “But the dude was straight-up eye-fucking you, saying shit no one gets to say to my girl. What was I supposed to do? Smile and wave?” He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. Not happening. You’re my girl. And I protect what’s mine. Even if it means sitting out a couple games like an idiot.”

The Jeep rolled to a stop at a red light. Garrett turned more fully toward you, his hand sliding higher up your thigh, kneading the muscle there with just enough pressure to remind you how good those hands felt in other places. He could feel the tension in your body, but he also caught the tiny hitch in your breathing. You loved being touched. Craved it, even when you were pissed. He was banking on that.

His thumb traced the seam of your jeans, dipping toward the inside of your thigh. “You know that I hate it when you’re mad at me, baby.” He leaned over the console, pressing a warm kiss to the side of your neck, lips lingering against your skin. His voice dropped lower. “I’d do it again, though. Guy needed to learn some respect. But I’m sorry it ruined the night for you. Let me make it up to you, yeah?”