“Several.”
Turner hooks a thumb under the hem of his T-shirt and lifts—just a little—revealing clean black lettering low on his side. I lean closer before my brain can vote.
My eyes go saucer-wide. “Score early, score often?” I screech. “Stop it right now.”
He nods, deadly serious.
“That’s your tattoo?” I jab a finger at his side. “You—willingly—branded yourself with that?”
“Sure did,” he says, proud as sin. “Got it my senior year. Some people get meaningful quotes or a tribute to their family. I got a motivational hockey phrase and absolutely zero fucks given.”
I collapse against the pillows, laughing so hard my stomach hurts. He lounges back against the headboard like a centerfold of bad decisions and grins at me.
“Hey, it worked,” he adds. “Scored a full ride, didn’t I?”
“That is so cheesy.” I snort and give his shoulder a shove. “You should definitely add it to your dating bio.”
“You think?”
I lift a brow. “Maybe. Although…do you really want to advertise you’re a professional hockey player?”
“I don’t think a slogan on my app screams ‘plays professionally.’ It just makes me sound like a douchebag.”
“True,” I admit, trying not to smile.
He tilts his head, all innocent. “So we’re in agreement that my bio is good? I can keep it and start swiping?”
turner
. . .
“You know what I’ve been wondering?” Poppy asks, shifting on the mattress beside me.
I catch a whiff of whatever scent she’s wearing and inhale it, imprinting it in my brain.
“Hmm? What have you been wondering?”
“If your last name is Hutton—why do they call you Skaggs? That makes no sense whatsoever.”
I grin, letting my knee bump against hers.
“The reason is not all that exciting.” I laugh. “My rookie year on the Baddies, I showed up to my very first practice wearing an old jersey I’d had since high school. Got it at some garage sale for like, five bucks.” I chuckle at the memory. “It wasn’t my name on the back—it said Skaggs. No idea who that dude was, but I liked the colors and it fit. And anytime I wore it to practice, we would win the next game.”
It's my good luck charm and I still have it.
Wore it under my pads the whole season in high school, too.
“That’s adorable.”
“My teammates started calling me Skaggs from day one. Said it fit me better than Hutton—and once you get a nickname ona hockey team?” I shrug. “Might as well get it tattooed on your ass.”
Poppy tips her head, grinning. “You have it tattooed on your ass?”
I smirk. “Maybe. You want to find out?”
She shivers, letting out a nervous little giggle, ducking her head.
“No thanks,” she says. “I’ll take your word for it.”
