Amaya's pov 

 

The diner they take me to is packed with hockey players and their friends, all riding the high of the win. We squeeze into a large corner booth—Alvaro immediately claiming the spot next to me, Luciano on my other side, and Javier across from us. I'm wedged between two walls of muscle, and my wolf is purring contentedly about it.

 

I try not to think about what that means.

 

"Best game of the season," says Marcus, their team captain, from the neighboring booth. He raises his soda. "To Luciano's monster of a goal."

 

The table erupts in cheers and stick-tapping against the vinyl seats. Luciano just shakes his...