Meeting his eyes settles my racing heart. “You won’t let him get between my crease?” I whisper, smiling. It’s a phrase I heard one of the commentators say while I watched one of Jamie’s away games. It means to score a goal, and it sounds dirty as hell. I’m trying to make him smile. His lip curls like he’s disgusted, and I laugh. “In your crease,” he mutters. “And no, I fucking won’t.”
