January woke slowly, burrowing deeper in the hypnotic warmth of the butter-soft bedsheets. Her mind drifted over the last twelve hours, lazily reminding her of dinner…the impulsive trip to the fountains in front of the hotel…Finn’s rough, gruff voice as he’d told her to come…the intensity on his gorgeous face when she’d said it right back to him…the night they’d spent together after that, wrapped up in blankets and laughter and each other as they’d watched movies until drifting off…

Oh God, she’d had insanely hot, other-worldly, mind-blowing sex with Finn. Finn. And rather than rationally thinking about the fact that he was going back to New Orleans in a few days, probably forever, all January wanted was to do it again.

“Mmmm. Morning,” Finn murmured, and okay, that sexy, scruffy, bed-head thing he had going on so wasn’t helping to keep her libido in check.

“It is morning.” Rolling over, she squinted at the clock on the bedside table, exhaling in surprise as the numbers registered. “Oh, it’s early.”

“I’m not much of a late sleeper,” Finn admitted. “Occupational hazard.”

January’s brows rose. “What time does the team usually practice?”

“It depends on where we are in the season, but no matter when we hit the ice, I go in a couple hours early, just to do my own workout and review film.”

The muscles in his shoulders flexed enticingly as he stretched, and January forced herself to focus. “Jeez. You really are a workaholic.”

Finn turned to his side, facing her in the soft, early morning sunlight drifting in past the sheers. “Maybe. But playing hockey is all I’ve ever wanted to do. It doesn’t feel like work to me.”

“You haven’t spent much time with the Cup,” she said, her stomach giving up a tiny squeeze as his expression tightened in response.

“I only wanted to do one thing with it, and that was bring it to Asher’s grave.”

An idea sparked in January’s mind, pushing past her lips before she could cage it. “You have it for another hour or so, right? Why don’t we have breakfast with it?”

The edges of Finn’s mouth lifted in a half-smirk. “You do realize Edwin comes with the deal?”

“Yes, I realize Edwin comes with the deal, but come on. It’s the Cup, Finn. I know you wanted to bring it to Asher’s grave rather than get all flashy with the thing, but you worked your ass off to earn the win. Don’t you think you deserve a little celebration too?”

The surprise whisking through his light brown stare told her all too clearly that the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “I guess I do have some time before Edwin takes the Cup to my buddy, Bear. But we’ll need to hurry. Bear racked up more penalty minutes than anyone else on the Rage this year. He and I might be teammates, but I’m not about to piss the guy off by keeping him from his day with the Cup.”

January pictured the big, burly defenseman in her head, and oookay. Valid point. “Alright. I’ll jump in the shower while you order room service and talk to Edwin. Sound good?”

“You in the shower?” Just like that, Finn’s stare grew hot. “That sounds very good.”

Warmth pooled between her thighs, reminding her that they were very, very naked beneath the sheets. “Focus, Finnegan,” she managed to say, sending an identical message to the part of her brain that wanted to chuck breakfast and have Finn instead. “You. Me. The Cup. Fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, getting out of bed and reaching for the pair of jeans sitting on top of his duffel bag, bedside. “Fifteen minutes.”

January slid from the covers and padded to the bathroom—which was the size of her entire condo and way fancier—letting the hot water run for a minute before stepping into the spray. There were plenty of hotel toiletries for her to go through her lather, rinse, repeat routine, which she did with efficiency even though a tiny part of her was tempted to linger beneath the multiple showerheads. She was halfway through drying off when she realized that her only clothing options were the towel currently wrapped around her and the dress she’d unceremoniously left in a puddle on the floor last night, and crap. Guess she’d have to wear one to go get the other. But as soon as she poked her head into the bedroom, she broke into a grin and scooped up option number three from where Finn had left it at the foot of the bed.

“Are you trying to sway my team loyalty?” she asked a minute later, giving a little twirl over the carpet of the suite’s main room to show off the Rage jersey bearing Finn’s number and the pair of sweatpants she’d had to roll a few times at the waist in order to keep from tripping or losing them outright.

Finn laughed, and God it sounded good. “Absolutely.”

“Hmm.” January crossed the room, pressing up to kiss him. “It might be working.”

“Ahem.”

The sound of a masculine throat that clearly wasn’t Finn’s being cleared made her pulse jump. “Oh!”

“You remember Edwin,” Finn said with an I-told-you-so grin, and she had to laugh.

“Of course.” She peeked over Finn’s T-shirted shoulder at the Cup’s keeper, who was seated in a leather chair on the far side of the suite. “Good morning, Edwin.”

“Good morning, Ms. Sinclair.”

“Would you like some coffee?” January asked, pulling back from Finn and pointing to the full pot sitting on the counter in the kitchenette (which was also way fancier than hers, thank you very much.)

Both Finn and Edwin fixed her with twin looks of shock, but Edwin found his voice first. “It isn’t necessary for me to join you while you eat. My duties as the keeper only require me to be able to see the Cup.” He sent a pointed glance to the item in question, which stood proudly on the desk situated halfway across the sweeping space of the suite. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding if you’re invited,” she said. As spacious as their surroundings were, they still had to all be in the same room in order to follow the rules. Even if she and Finn whispered, chances were high that Edwin would overhear whatever they decided to talk about. Including the poor guy just seemed less awkward, not to mention more polite.

A fact that Finn seemed to agree with. “Sure, man. It’s just breakfast.”

“Oh.” Edwin blinked from behind the thick frames of his glasses. “Well, I suppose I could join you then. As long as you’re certain.”

A couple of minutes had them situated around the dining table beside the kitchenette, with Finn pulling the domed covers off the half-dozen serving plates their room service waiter had delivered. January’s gaze slid to the nearby desk, her belly doing a tiny flip at being this close to one of the most iconic sports trophies in the world.

“The Cup is beautiful,” she said, taking in the details with a longer stare. “And also kind of gigantic.”

“The Cup’s dimensions do often surprise people when they see it in person,” Edwin agreed. His eyes lit with excitement from behind his glasses, and he straightened his bowtie as he continued. “But it has to be sturdy enough to withstand not just going from winning team to winning team every year, but to be passed from player to player within any victorious season.”

He launched into a rather fascinating history of the Cup that lasted for most of their breakfast. Although Finn stayed mostly quiet, alternating between drinking coffee and eating more bacon and eggs and home fries than was in any way fair for a man with abs like his, January caught him looking at the Cup enough times during the meal to know her suggestion had been a good one. She got a particular thrill when both Finn and Edwin encouraged her to hold the Cup, and was equally happy to clear the dishes so Finn could have some space with the trophy before Edwin packed it into its trunk and said his goodbyes.

“That was pretty amazing,” January admitted, walking over to the spot where Finn was standing by the windows.

“It was cool of you to include Edwin, although after all those hockey stats you two just traded, I think he’s a little bit in love with you.” Finn reached out to pull her in close before adding, “Hopefully he’s not impressed by your love for the Rogues.”

“Do not mock my team.” January tried for a stern frown, but her sigh at the feel of Finn’s muscular arms around her pretty much canceled it out.

He arched a shadowy brow, melting her further with a slow, soft kiss. “Say whatever you want, Calendar Girl. I know whose jersey you’re wearing.”

She laughed, clearly busted. “I probably should go home and get dressed in clothes that actually belong to me.”

“I don’t know,” Finn said, pulling back just enough to fix her with a sexy up-and-down appraisal. “You look pretty cute in my jersey.”

“Maybe, but I’m not sure I look entirely appropriate for the recon I have to do today on the venue for this fundraiser.”

His brows lifted, eyes going wider in the morning sunlight spilling in past the giant windows at his back. “The previous volunteer booked a venue before she took off. That’s good, right?”

Oh, if only. “It would be if she hadn’t chosen Chase Manor.”

“Isn’t that place like a hundred years old, and not in the good way?”

January’s heart corkscrewed behind her sternum as she rolled her eyes and grumbled, “Don’t remind me.”

God, this fundraiser had disaster written all over it in bright red spray paint. Which her expression must have betrayed, because Finn said, “Tell you what. I’ve got an appointment with a realtor to go through my dad’s place at two. If you want, we can be each other’s moral support. I’ll go with you to check out Chase Manor if you’ll come with me to get the house on the market. How does that sound?”

“You want to go with me to help organize this fundraiser?” She stepped back on the carpet, surprise and something else she couldn’t quite identify rippling through her.

“Do you really want to go alone?” he asked back, and her answer popped out, automatic.

“No.”

“Okay, then. Let’s get you back to your place so you can change.” He jutted his chin at the door, a smirk kicking up amidst the hint of dark stubble on his jaw. “But go ahead and hang on to the jersey. I’m determined to make a Rage fan out of you yet.”

* * *

Finn stood on the rickety front porch, looking up at the even more rickety house where he’d spent his adolescence. Dread put a bitter taste in his mouth despite the bright June sunshine and the gentle hint of a breeze taking just enough edge off the afternoon heat to keep the weather pleasant.

This trip to North Point? Not so fucking much.

“Hey.” January reached out, brushing the side of her hand against his with a gentle bump that offered just enough support over pity. “You want to wait for the realtor before we go inside?”

“Yeah. She should be here any minute.” Plus, it wasn’t as if Finn would be getting all nostalgic once they crossed the (ramshackle) threshold. The quicker they could get this walk-through over with, the happier he’d be.

January’s voice stayed light as she asked, “Are you okay?”

Finn lifted a shoulder, but only halfway. “The house is just in worse shape than I remember, I guess.” He let his eyes flicker over the rotting porch boards, the badly peeling paint on the clapboard siding, and—shit—the section of chain link fence by the side yard that had all but caved in. “I’m a little scared about what the inside looks like.”

“Hmm,” she said, her pretty blue gaze following his. “Well, I guess we can look at the bright side.”

“Which is?”

January waggled her brows, and funny, the movement put a huge dent in the tension in Finn’s chest. “No matter what we find in there, it can’t be as bad as Chase Manor.”

As much as he hated to admit it… “You might be right there. That place was pretty bad.”

“Look at you with the niceties.” She laughed. “Chase Manor might’ve been upscale in its heyday, but that was forty years ago. The place is trapped in a bad seventies time warp, not to mention almost certainly violating both the fire code and the health code about a dozen different ways. I’m ninety percent sure the only reason Michelle booked it was because nothing else was available. Which sadly means I’m stuck with it, health code violations and all.”

“You’re pretty upbeat considering the circumstances.”

January paced over the porch boards, her sandals thumping softly on the uneven, splintery planks. “Getting upset will only waste valuable energy. I’m not going to find a perfect, affordable, available new venue with a month to go. I’ve got to do the best I can with what I’ve got.”

The slam of a car door sounded off from the street in front of them, cutting off Finn’s response and tightening the air in his lungs. A woman in a navy blue suit approached the house, her assessing stare and the slight but definite frown that accompanied it doing exactly zip for his confidence.

“Mr. Donnelly? I’m Dana Levine, with Levine Realty. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Finn, please.” He shook her hand, introducing January before giving up a mental screw it and diving past the pleasantries. “The house isn’t in the best condition, I know. Not that it was ever Shangri-La or anything.”

Dana didn’t argue, but at least she was nice enough not to agree outright, either. “That’s okay. Previously owned homes are almost never pristine. Why don’t you show me around and we’ll go from there?”

A tour of the house’s two musty, dusty levels and highly dilapidated backyard didn’t help either Finn’s cause or Dana’s frown.

“I had the place cleared out after my old man died. Obviously,” he said, gesturing to the bare but dinged-up walls and matching carpets on the main level as the three of them came to a stop in the living room. “And I pay someone to come cut the grass in the summer. I guess I didn’t realize an empty house would need more upkeep than that.”

“Often, it doesn’t,” Dana said kindly. “But the house has been vacant for two years, and when the amenities haven’t been updated for some time prior to a house sitting empty, it tends to make even the best maintenance difficult.”

Finn looked around the room, taking in the awful light green walls and stained, faded carpet that his father had never made an effort to keep clean, let alone update. “I can still put it on the market though, right?”

“You can,” Dana said slowly, shocking the crap out of him, and—if her brows-up, lips-parted expression was anything to go by—January too. “But as your potential realtor, I feel the need to be upfront with you. In this case, putting the house on the market and actually selling it are likely to be entirely different matters.”

“So Finn would have to have some things replaced or repaired before the house would sell?” January asked, and Dana confirmed with a crisp nod.

“There are a lot of houses in this neighborhood that are already on the market in way better shape. Despite my best efforts, I don’t think I could sell this one as-is.”

Frustration welled in Finn’s chest, and he damn near gave in to it. But then January brushed her hand against his, just like she had on the porch, and he managed to ask, “How much work are we talking about?”

“At bare minimum, I think you’re looking at a good three weeks’ worth of work to have the house painted inside and out, replace these carpets, and have repairs done to the roof, the porch, and the back deck. I know that’s likely not what you wanted to hear.” Dana gestured to the dingy space around them, and dammit, she wasn’t wrong on any counts. “The good news is, once those things are done, I do think you’ll be able to sell the house, and rather quickly at that.”

For a tiny fraction of a second, Finn was tempted to say forget it and blow the whole thing off. This house, with its shitty memories, had been sitting here by its lonesome for two years. What did he care if it kept sitting here until it fucking fell down?

But that was the problem. Finn did care. He was tired of shitty memories. He’d already put one part of his past behind him in coming to make amends with Asher.

Now he was going to put another part behind him once and for all by selling this house.

“Okay,” he said, letting go of the exhale that had been stuck in his throat. “Let’s plan on putting this place on the market in three weeks then. I’ll get started on the repairs first thing in the morning.”

January’s eyes flew wide. “You’re going to do the work yourself?”

Dana excused herself quietly, the front door giving up a haunted house-style creak and rattle as she stepped onto the porch, leaving Finn to nod.

“Well, I’m not a contractor, so I’m sure I’ll have to hire someone to do a lot of the more complicated stuff. But the off-season just started, and all I’m doing is sitting around, waiting for my agent to broker this new deal with the Rage. I’ve got the time.”

Yeah, Finn could go back to New Orleans and spend that time hanging out with his teammates, but most of them were scattered all over the place now that they’d won the Cup. The work here needed to be done. Sticking around for a few weeks wouldn’t kill him.

“It’s an awful lot to take on,” January said, spinning a doubtful gaze over the dust-smudged windows and dinged-up doorframes.

“I know. But what was it you said?” He broke off in a silent rewind, reaching out to slide his hand over hers. “Getting upset is a waste of energy. I’ve got to do the best I can with what I’ve got.”

Grinning, she laced her fingers through his. “I guess I did say that. Lucky for you, the best you’ve got includes me. A couple of the guys at Seventeen do licensed contract work on the side. I bet they’ll be able to help you out with the bigger jobs pretty fast. And of course, I can help too.”

“Really?” Finn asked, surprise tagging him right in the sternum. “It’s going to be a ton of work.”

“Mmm hmm.” January turned, pressing up to her toes to kiss him. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to thank me later.”