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EXCLUSIVE BONUS CONTENT
THE POST-GAME PLAYBOOK
Six months after the NHL Draft…
JAX
The locker room was empty except for the lingering steam from the showers and the sound of Jax’s phone buzzing on the bench.
He grabbed it, still dripping, a towel slung low on his hips.
Sadie: Impressive performance tonight. 10/10 on the data.
He grinned. His girlfriend—brilliant, beautiful Sadie Sinclair, junior analytics associate for the Pittsburgh organization—was here. In Boston. Supposedly for an inter-organizational meeting, but really because they’d gone two weeks without seeing each other and that was too damn long.
He typed back: Just impressive? I scored the game-winner in OT.
Sadie: I said 10/10. Don’t be greedy.
Jax: Where are you?
Sadie: Waiting in the tunnel. Security won’t let me past without an escort.
Jax: Stay there. I’m coming to get you.
Sadie: Or… you could text your captain and tell him to give me access. I have an all-access credential.
Jax: Where’s the fun in that?
He pulled on jeans—no shirt, no shoes, his hair still wet. The building was mostly empty now, just stragglers from the media room and a few staff cleaning up.
Perfect.
Jax found Sadie exactly where she said she’d be, looking professional and gorgeous in a grey pencil skirt, white blouse, and her signature clear-rimmed glasses. Her blonde hair was up in a neat bun. Very analytics professional. Very not like what he had planned.
“Mr. Donovan,” she said primly when she saw him. “Congratulations on the win.”
“Ms. Sinclair.” He crowded her against the wall, not caring that they were technically in public. “You flew five hours to congratulate me?”
“I flew five hours for the inter-organizational data exchange meeting.”
“Right. The meeting.” He leaned in, his mouth at her ear. “That just happened to be scheduled on a game night.”
“Pure coincidence.”
“You’re a terrible liar.” He nipped at her earlobe. “I’ve missed you.”
“It’s been two weeks.”
“Two weeks too long.” He pulled back to look at her. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Locker room.”
Her eyes widened. “Jax, that’s—”
“Empty. I checked. Last one out.” He held up her all-access pass that he’d snagged from around her neck. “You’re official staff. You’re allowed.”
“That’s not what this credential is for—”
“Sadie.” His voice dropped to that low rumble he knew she couldn’t resist. “I just scored the game-winning goal. I’m riding the biggest high of my rookie season. And the only person I want to celebrate with is you.” He kissed her, slow and deep. “Come celebrate with me.”
She bit her lip—that tell that meant she was considering something she knew she shouldn’t do.
“Ten minutes,” she said finally. “Then I have to get back to my hotel for actual work.”
“I can do a lot in ten minutes.”
“I’m aware.”
He led her through the empty corridors, past the media room, past the equipment area, to the home locker room. The door had his nameplate on it: DONOVAN – 21.
“This is really happening,” Sadie said as he pushed open the door.
“This is really happening.” He pulled her inside and locked the door behind them.
The locker room was exactly as he’d left it—his gear hanging up, the bench in the center still damp from his shower, the smell of ice and sweat and victory in the air.
“This is your space,” Sadie said, looking around with fascination.
“This is where I spend half my life.” He backed her against his locker, his hands on either side of her head. “And now I’m going to spend ten minutes showing you exactly what you do to me when I’m out there playing.”
“What I do to you?”
“You think I don’t see you in the stands sometimes? When Pittsburgh plays Boston?” His mouth found her neck. “You think I don’t know you’re watching my every move, analyzing my performance?”
“That’s literally my job—”
“You’re wearing my number under that professional blazer.” His hands found the lapels of her jacket. “I saw it last time. The Boston jersey with ‘Donovan’ on the back.”
She flushed. “That’s circumstantial evidence.”
“Take off the blazer, Sadie.”
“Jax—”
“Take. It. Off.”
She did, slowly, revealing the white blouse underneath. And there, just visible through the fabric, was the edge of something black and silver.
Jax groaned. “You’re wearing it right now, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.”
He didn’t wait for confirmation. His hands went to her blouse, and he didn’t bother with buttons—just pulled, sending them scattering across the floor.
There it was: his Boston jersey, cut and modified into something that hugged her body like a second skin.
“Fuck, Sadie.” His voice was reverent. “You’re perfect.”
“You just ripped my blouse.”
“I’ll buy you ten more.” He kissed her hard, possessive. “But right now, I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“Out there?” He gestured toward the arena. “I’m Boston’s rookie. The coach’s project. The guy trying to prove himself.”
“You’re doing more than proving yourself. You’re dominating—”
“In here?” He cut her off. “I’m yours. Completely. Only yours.” His hands slid down her sides. “And you’re mine.”
“Possessive much?”
“When it comes to you? Absolutely.” He lifted her effortlessly, settling her on the edge of his locker so they were at eye level. “Now let me show you what you do to me.”
What followed was six months of pent-up long-distance frustration and victory-fueled confidence combining into something primal.
Jax dropped to his knees, pushing her skirt up to her hips, and made good on every promise his text messages had implied over the past two weeks.
Sadie’s professional composure shattered within seconds. Her hands fisted in his still-damp hair, her head falling back against the locker with a metallic thunk.
“Jax—oh God—we shouldn’t—”
“We absolutely should.” He looked up at her, his grey eyes dark with want. “You flew five hours to see me. You’re wearing my jersey under your work clothes. You’re not getting out of this locker room until I’ve reminded you exactly who you belong to.”
“That’s very—ah—caveman of you—”
“You love it.”
“I really—oh fuck—I really do.”
He worked her with single-minded focus, knowing exactly what she needed, exactly how to make her fall apart. When she came, she had to bite down on her own hand to keep from screaming.
But Jax wasn’t done.
He stood, lifting her off the locker and carrying her to the padded training bench in the center of the room.
“Jax, what are you—”
“Ten minutes, you said.” He laid her down on the bench, following her down. “I’m making them count.”
The towel he’d been wearing hit the floor.
And then there was nothing between them except want and need and six months of their relationship evolving from nervous college students to adults who knew exactly what they wanted from each other.
“Wait—” Sadie’s hand on his chest. “Do you have—”
He produced a condom from his jeans pocket. “Always prepared.”
“Boy Scout.”
“For you? Always.”
What happened next was raw and intense and absolutely not appropriate for a professional sports facility. Jax lost himself in the feeling of her, in the sounds she made, in the way she said his name like a prayer.
“You’re so—God, Sadie—you’re so perfect—”
“Shut up and—yes—right there—”
They moved together with the kind of synchronization that came from knowing each other completely. No hesitation, no awkwardness, just heat and need and the kind of connection that made everything else fade away.
When they finished—both breathless and shaking—they lay there for a moment, just holding each other.
Then they heard it: footsteps in the hallway.
They froze.
A door opened and closed somewhere nearby. Someone whistling. Then silence.
Jax and Sadie looked at each other and started laughing—quiet, breathless, slightly hysterical laughter.
“We almost got caught,” she whispered.
“Would have been worth it.”
“Your coach would kill you.”
“My genius girlfriend would have been worth dying for.”
She hit his shoulder playfully. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“I’m not being dramatic. I’m being honest.” He kissed her softly, the roughness from moments ago completely gone. “I love you. I love that you flew here. I love that you wore my jersey. I love everything about you.”
“I love you too.” She touched his face. “Even when you’re a possessive caveman who ruins my work clothes.”
“I’ll buy you new ones.”
“You’d better.”
They cleaned up quickly—Sadie borrowing his hoodie to cover her ruined blouse, Jax pulling on his jeans and t-shirt. They looked like exactly what they were: two people who’d just had very thorough sex in a locker room.
“How am I supposed to go back to my hotel looking like this?” Sadie asked, examining herself in the mirror.
“You could always stay at my place.”
“I have meetings tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll wake you up early. With coffee. And breakfast.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind. “And maybe another round if you’re interested.”
“That’s very presumptuous.”
“That’s very accurate.” He kissed her neck. “Say yes, Sadie.”
She met his eyes in the mirror. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
They snuck out the back entrance like teenagers, hand in hand, both wearing matching grins.
Jax had scored the game-winning goal that night.
But his real win was walking out of the arena with Sadie Sinclair, knowing that no matter how many miles separated them during the week, they’d always find their way back together.
And if that involved creative use of locker rooms and all-access passes?
Well. That was just good strategy.