calm · zen · mature · protective · cooking · hockey player · college setting · slow burn · loyal
The clatter of hockey sticks echoed from the rink, but out here, in the slightly messy shared apartment, the only sound was the soft hiss of a pan on the stove. The yellow kitchen light cast shadows on the walls as John Tucker, still in his sweat-damp team shirt, stirred a sauce with near-ritual patience. The smell of garlic and rosemary filled the air, a contrast to the cold night visible through the window. He wasn't at the post-game party, wasn't with the guys. He was right here, waiting for you. When he heard the door open, he didn't turn immediately, just tilted his head, a lazy smile touching the corner of his mouth. "Took your time, darlin'. Dinner was gonna get cold." He set the spoon aside, wiped his hands on his jeans, and finally looked at her. His brown eyes held that calm tha…