Offside Bride (Toronto Titans #2)

20. Maggie

20

MAGGIE

I wake up to an empty bed, stretching languidly as a soft, euphoric feeling washes over me. My body feels deliciously relaxed, like I’m a little tipsy. It’s the kind of contentment that comes from being beautifully taken care of…

My cheeks flush as unbidden thoughts flood my mind. Oh boy. I feel a mix of warmth and bashfulness in my chest, painting my skin with a rosy glow. Yeesh, when did I turn into such a sap? But I can’t stop the giddy smile that spreads across my face as I burrow deeper into the plush comforter, savoring the lingering scent of Sawyer on the pillow next to me.

Padding into the kitchen, I’m hit with the mouthwatering aroma of a full breakfast spread. Sawyer stands at the stove, his back to me, whistling a jaunty tune. His sandy blond hair is tousled, he’s shirtless, (because of course he is), and he’s wearing low-slung sweatpants. I nearly choke on air at the sight of his muscles flexing as he flips a pancake.

“Morning, beautiful,” he says without turning around, like he has some kind of Maggie-radar.

I blush furiously, my face probably resembling a strawberry. Heat creeps up my neck and floods my cheeks, and I’m pretty sure I could fry an egg on my face right now. My traitorous body seems determined to broadcast my attraction like a neon sign.

“Morning,” I mumble, suddenly very interested in my bare feet.

Sawyer turns, a megawatt smile lighting up his face like he’s the mayor of Flirt Town. “Sleep well?” He sets a mug of coffee in front of me, prepared just the way I like it.

I nod, suddenly feeling shy, avoiding Sawyer’s intense gaze. “Yeah, I slept great. Thanks for, um…everything.” Oh gawwwd!

Sawyer's grin widens as he takes in my flustered state. “I made breakfast. Thought you might be hungry.”

The way he says ‘hungry’ makes my insides do a little flip.

“Uh-huh,” I manage, reaching for my coffee mug to hide my flaming cheeks. Then I blurt, “Wow, you really went all out.”

“Well,” he says and winks, placing a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, and pancakes in front of me. “I figured you could…use the sustenance.”

My face burns hotter than the stovetop, a fact that’s not lost on Sawyer as his eyes dance with amusement. It’s ridiculous how easily he can reduce me to a blushing mess with just a few well-placed words and that infuriatingly sexy smirk of his.

“I…uh…the bacon smells good,” I stammer, grabbing a piece and shoving it in my mouth.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying my flustered state. “Just wait till you taste my pancakes. They’ll rock your world…again.”

I shove more food in my mouth before I spontaneously combust.

Sawyer leans across the counter, his face inches from mine.

“You know,” he says, his voice husky and intimate. “I could get used to waking up like this morning.”

I nearly choke on my coffee. “Like what? With your sister in the next room?”

He chuckles, low and deep. “With you, Magpie. Looking all adorable and flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” I protest weakly, even as my heart does a little jig in my chest.

Sawyer’s grin is positively wicked as he reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “No? So that blush is just…what? A sunburn?”

“Goooood morning!” Siobhan strolls into the kitchen like she’s in a Sunny D commercial.

I’m saved!

“Somebody’s chipper,” Sawyer says, returning to the stove.

Siobhan helps herself to a bottle of water from the fridge. “I feel like a million bucks. Something about the fresh Canadian air. I haven’t slept this good in months.”

“Sawyer made breakfast,” I say dumbly, like it’s not obvious.

“Hmmm. That’s interesting,” Siobhan says. “You must be in a good mood.”

“Oh, I am,” he says, moving around the kitchen, humming contentedly. He puts more pancakes on the griddle, occasionally throwing me these looks that make me want to melt into the tile floor.

Siobhan sighs dramatically. “Traveling always makes me so famished. I could eat a house.”

She takes a seat on a tall stool at the island, and Sawyer slides a generous portion in front of her. She digs right in, shoveling huge bites of pancake in her mouth. A few forkfuls later, she gestures to Sawyer, who’s just leaning with his elbows on the counter, staring at me with a wry grin.

“You’re not hungry, bro?”

“I ate a little something earlier,” he says with a wink, not taking his eyes off me. “But I could eat again.”

Am. Deceased.

“Oh my lanta, these are good,” Siobhan says, mouth stuffed full, pointing her fork at the stack of pancakes.

Sawyer decides to have mercy on me and turns back to the stovetop to nibble on his breakfast standing up. He glances over his shoulder at Siobhan and snorts as she devours a whole strip of bacon in one bite. “Slow down there, little sis. The pig’s not gonna walk off your plate.”

Siobhan polishes off her breakfast with impressive speed, and I keep my head down, trying to ignore the way Sawyer’s eyes keep flicking back to me. My cheeks feel permanently flushed at this point.

After what seems like an eternity, Sawyer glances at his watch and says, “Shoot, I’ve got morning skate soon. What are you ladies up to today?”

“I was thinking of hitting up the mall,” Siobhan replies, licking syrup off her fork. “I hear Toronto has some killer shopping.”

“I can take you,” I offer, surprising myself with my eagerness. “We could make a day of it.”

“That sounds great!” Siobhan beams.

An idea strikes me. “Hey, maybe I’ll see if Emily wants to join us. She knows all the best spots in the city.”

Sawyer nods approvingly. “That’s a great idea. Siobhan, you’ll love Emily. She’s a riot.”

He starts clearing the dishes, moving around the kitchen with easy grace. “Oh, by the way, I got you both tickets for tonight’s game. Box seats.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun,” Siobhan chirps. “Sparing no expense, big brother?”

Sawyer winks at me. “Only the best for my girls.”

My heart does a little flip at the possessive ‘my,’ but I squash the feeling down. This is all for show, remember?

“Leave the dishes,” I say. “I’ll take care of it.”

"Thanks, babe,” Sawyer says. “Well, I better head out.”

He pockets his phone and gathers me in his arms, planting a soft kiss on my lips—you know…to keep up appearances.

“Have fun shopping, love,” he murmurs. “I can’t wait to see you tonight.”

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me flustered and tingling all over.

A few hours later, we’re in the bustling heart of Toronto’s Eaton Centre, surrounded by a whirlwind of shopping bags and chatter.

Emily, Siobhan, and I are taking turns pushing Jessica’s stroller, cooing over little Brylee.

“Thanks again for inviting me, Maggie,” Jessica gushes. “It’s so nice to get out of the house and make new friends.”

I smile, genuinely happy to see her beaming. “Of course! We’re glad you could come.”

As we pass by a children’s clothing store, Emily lets out a dramatic sigh. “Oh my gosh, look at those tiny shoes! I think I’m getting baby fever.”

“Me too,” Siobhan agrees, her eyes sparkling. “Those little onesies are just too cute.”

I find myself nodding along, a strange longing tugging at my heart. What is happening to me?

Before I can dwell on it, Emily grabs my arm and drags me into a high-end boutique. “Come on, girlie. We’re going in here.”

“Wait, what?” I protest as she starts piling designer dresses and outfits into my arms.

“No, no. We’re here for Siobhan—” I start, but she shushes me.

Siobhan laughs. “Oh, this was all Sawyer’s idea. He knew you wouldn’t come otherwise.”

I look to Emily who seems to be in on it. “You too?”

Emily snickers. “Just go with it. Oooh, look at this halter jumpsuit. Add to cart.”

“He says to get anything you want,” says Siobhan. “And even more stuff you don’t want.”

All I can think of is how I’ll fit it all in my suitcase when I move out. I hate that my mind goes there immediately.

A sleek saleswoman materializes out of thin air, whisking the clothes from my arms. “Let me start a dressing room for you,” she chirps.

Suddenly, I’m whisked away to a plush fitting room. What follows is a craze of fabric, zippers, and Emily’s excited squeals. I feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman , emerging from the dressing room in outfit after outfit, each more glamorous than the last.

“Oh wow, Maggie!” Siobhan gasps as I step out in a slinky black dress. “You look simply stunning!”

Jessica nods enthusiastically. “Like a supermodel!”

I blush, unused to all the attention. “I don’t know…”

“We’ll take it,” Siobhan declares, whipping out Sawyer’s sleek black credit card.

“Siobhan, no!” I protest. “That’s way too expensive!”

She waves me off. “Sawyer made me promise to spoil you like he would if he were here. His words, not mine.”

“But—”

“No buts,” she insists, handing the card to the beaming sales lady. “Big brother’s orders.”

I watch, helpless, as Siobhan makes purchase decisions left and right. Meanwhile, Jessica and Emily are chatting away like old friends, cooing over the baby and swapping stories, all while pulling clothes off the rack with abandon. I’m shuffled back into the dressing room, Emily passing me a pleated silk midi dress. “Try this one on!”

Then I spot her sneaking in some lacy lingerie to the pile of purchases, winking at me suggestively.

Siobhan, armed with Sawyer’s credit card, is on a mission. “We’ll take that one, and that one, and definitely that cashmere sweater,” she instructs the saleswoman.

“I really don’t think Sawyer meant to get all of this,” I try.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Siobhan ticks her finger side to side. “Consider this payback for all those times he destroyed my Barbies as a kid.”

“He did that?”

“Yep.” She nods, like it was a travesty to shame all other travesties. “Now, let’s hit the shoe department!”

Hours later, Siobhan and I are settling into our plush box seats at the Blizzard Dome. My eyes widen as I take in the lavish spread before us—gourmet appetizers, a fully stocked bar, and a personal server hovering nearby.

“Wow,” I breathe. “This is…a lot.”

Siobhan grins. “Sawyer always goes all out.”

I can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as I look around the spacious box. “I invited Jessica and her husband, but they couldn’t get a sitter. It seems like such a waste for just the two of us.”

At least Emily will join us later on.

“We’ll have to plan something for next time,” Siobhan says, patting my arm reassuringly.

My gaze falls on two neatly folded jerseys sitting on the table in front of us, each with a little note card.

Siobhan notices them too and squeals with delight. “Aww, Sawyer left us presents!” She grabs one and unfolds it, revealing a crisp, black and red jersey with ‘O’MALLEY’ emblazoned across the back. “Here’s yours, Maggie!”

I take the other jersey, my heart doing a little flip when I see Sawyer’s number. It’s enormous, practically swallowing me whole when I put it on.

“I feel ridiculous,” I mutter, tugging at the hem that falls well past my knees.

Siobhan laughs. “Here, let me help. I’ve had years of practice styling these things.”

She expertly tucks and folds, transforming the tent-like garment into something almost fashionable.

“There! Now you look like a proper hockey wife.”

I still think I look like clown that escaped the circus, while Siobhan’s lithe frame would look good in a potato sack.

I brush her long, blonde hair over her shoulder to reveal Sawyer’s name and number on the back. “At least you get to wear your own name,” I say. “O’Malley.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I realize my mistake.

Siobhan’s brow furrows in confusion. “You’re an O’Malley now, dear,” she says slowly, tilting her head.

My mind races as I scramble to cover my slip-up. “Oh, right! I mean, I haven’t had time to go down to city hall to change my name yet. You know how it is, paperwork and all that.”

Siobhan nods, seemingly satisfied with my explanation. But inside, my stomach churns. The truth is, I never changed my name because it would be a pain to change it back to Jones after the divorce.

Divorce.

The word hits me like a sucker punch. Suddenly, the thought of divorcing Sawyer makes my stomach feel like it’s full of rocks. I swallow hard, trying to push away the unexpected wave of emotion.

The arena erupts in cheers as the players skate onto the ice. I can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement, my eyes scanning the rink for Sawyer. When I spot him, my breath catches. Even from this distance, he’s a commanding presence on the ice.

“There he is!” Siobhan squeals, pointing excitedly.

I nod, trying to appear nonchalant. “Yep, that’s him all right.”

The game starts with a face-off, and suddenly, the ice is a blur of motion. Players dart back and forth, sticks clacking, skates scraping against the ice. I find myself leaning forward, oddly invested in the action.

“Go, Sawyer!” Siobhan shouts, jumping to her feet.

I stand too, caught up in the moment. “Yeah, go…honeypot!”

Siobhan gives me an amused look. “Honeypot?”

I shrug, feeling my cheeks heat up. “What? That’s what wives say, right?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re adorable.”

The game progresses, and I’m surprised to find myself actually enjoying it.

Sawyer’s a force of nature on the ice, unstoppable, powerful, and utterly captivating. His muscular frame moves with fluid precision, effortlessly weaving between players. He’s so intense—the way he owns the ice, anticipating his opponents’ moves and outmaneuvering them at every turn. It’s pretty hot.

At one point, he scores a goal, and the crowd goes wild.

“That’s my brother!” Siobhan screams, hugging me tightly.

“That’s my…husband,” I say, the word feeling strange on my tongue.

Sawyer looks up at our box and blows a kiss, as if to say, “That one’s for you.”

My stupid little heart does a somersault, and I pretend to catch the air kiss, playing along for Siobhan’s benefit. But a part of me wonders if I’m still just pretending.

As the game continues, I find myself cheering louder, getting more invested with each play. Who am I?

At intermission, Emily joins us, just as she did that first day when I reluctantly came to see Sawyer play. How different things seem now.

Sometime in the second period, a strange feeling bubbles up inside me. It’s not just attraction (though there’s plenty of that). It’s…inspiration. Suddenly, ideas come at me in waves. My mind is already spinning with plot ideas. Characters begin to form. I can almost hear their banter, feel the sizzling tension between them. The brooding star player, the spunky team publicist who sees past his gruff exterior. Late nights at the rink, stolen glances across the locker room. My mind races with possibilities, scenes unfolding like a movie in my head.

I thought I was done with writing, but seeing Sawyer out there—so capable and passionate—is stirring something in me.

I grab my phone, furiously tapping notes before the inspiration slips away.

Emily notices my frantic typing and raises an eyebrow. “What’s got you so worked up?”

I blush, caught in the act. “Oh, um…just had an idea for a new book.”

She grins knowingly. “Inspired by a certain hockey player, perhaps?”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help smiling. “Maybe. But don’t you dare tell him that.”

My phone buzzes during the third intermission. It’s Sawyer, and I need to check the goofy grin on my face when I answer. “What’s up, superstar?” I’m trying to sound casual, but probably failing miserably.

“Hey there, gorgeous.” His sultry voice purrs through the speaker. “Enjoying the game?”

I bite my lip to keep from sounding too giddy. “Oh, it’s okay. I mean…if you’re into watching grown men fighting for the last Oreo.”

His laugh rumbles through the phone, warm and rich. “Is that what it looks like to you? And here I thought I was impressing you with my knife shoes.”

“You know I like those knife shoes.”

He clears his throat. “Yes, I remember. Do you miss me?”

“Keep dreaming, hotshot,” I tease, ignoring the flutter in my stomach.

“Meet me downstairs after the game,” he says, his voice taking on a flirty edge. “I want to show you off.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. And then I want to take you home and demonstrate my best moves.”

I try to ignore the flutter in my stomach at his suggestive tone. “Fine, but only if you promise to leave the hockey stick behind.”

“No promises,” he chuckles. “See you soon…wife.”

I hang up, my cheeks burning. Damn him and his stupid charm.

After the game ends, I make my way downstairs as instructed. I’m leaning against the wall, scrolling through my phone, when I hear a commotion. I look up to see Sawyer emerge from the locker room, still damp from his shower, his hair adorably tousled.

But before I can even take a step toward him, a swarm of women descends. Puck bunnies. They’re everywhere, pressing against him, giggling and putting their hands all over him.

“Oh Sawyer, you were amazing out there!” one coos, practically climbing him.

“Can I get a picture?” another simpers, batting her false eyelashes.

One particularly bold chick, with frizzy blonde hair, drapes herself over his arm like she owns him and purrs, “How about we celebrate your win back at my place?”

I feel my blood start to boil. I can’t see straight. Rationally, I know Sawyer’s got a lot of female fans. But this strange animal instinct kicks in, and I just want to go over there and mark my territory.

Then, as Sawyer is trying to fight off one of the other girls, the frizzy blonde sinks her claws into Sawyer’s hair and pulls him down for a fat kiss, leaving her lipstick smudged on his face.

Something snaps inside me. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m storming through the throng, fists clenched at my sides. “Hey,” I snarl, tapping the blonde on the shoulder. “Hands off, sister.”

The blonde looks me up and down, her lip curling. “Oh honey, run along. The big girls are talking now.”

That does it.

My fist connects with her face before I can even think. She stumbles back, shock written all over her features.

“Holy sh—” Sawyer starts, but I cut him off.

“You,” I point at him, my voice dangerously low. “We’re leaving. Now.”

As I drag him away, he mutters, “Yes, ma’am.”