Page 16 of Pucks and Coffee

“Yeah,” I say slowly. “It doesn’t matter how good I play, if I’m an embarrassment to the team and out there trying to wet my dick with anything with tits, they won’t want me.”

“Understandable. But I doubt you’re that bad.”

Now I’m the one grimacing, feeling like the slush of ice that ends up in the barrel during TV time-outs. I don’t want to tell her that I was. I want to lie. I want to make myself sound like marriage material, but the truth is, I’m not.

“I was, but I’ve been good for the last six months. I’ve cleaned up my act, but it hasn’t been enough.”

“It hasn’t?” I look away at her question.

The weight of my transgressions is suffocating as I stare down at the cake. “No. Fans, coaches, and staff still don’t like me. Don’t see me as a respectable, worthy player. I lived my life in the shadows because no one believed in me. And now that I have a coach who believes in me, I want to meet this goal.”

Her hand covers mine, bringing my gaze to hers. McDavid’s eyes are full of kindness and compassion. They leave me fighting for my next breath. “I am sorry that people have made you feel that way. I know you’ll make it. You can do it.”

“If you help me,” I say, and her brows draw in once more.

“Me? What can I do?”

She starts to bring her fork to her mouth, and I stop her. She narrows her eyes at me, and I quickly say, “Wait to take that bite.”

“Why?”

“I’d rather you don’t choke on another piece of cake when I ask you to be my wife.”

Her jaw drops, her eyes widen, and her face flushes as she gawks at me.

I really do need to work on my delivery.

CHAPTER 10

Eliza

Did he say wife?

I blink a few times, but each time Coleson comes back into focus, his eyes are serious, with no hint of teasing. My mouth snaps closed as I eye him. I don’t want to ask if he said wife because I don’t think that’s what he said. Maybe he said “When I ask you to end my life.” That sounds way more believable than him asking me to be his wife on our first date. I’m crazy. I made that up, surely. I force a laugh as I set down my fork and shake my head. When I meet his gaze again, he’s not laughing or even smirking at me.

Coleson only stares.

“I must have heard you wrong?—”

“You didn’t,” he says, cutting off my failed attempt at trying to cover up my stupidity. “I’ll give you the coffee shop if you marry me.”

I smile. Then I drop the smile. Then I giggle. Then I press my hand to my throat because I must have died when I was choking earlier. “What?” I screech, and he looks down, exhaling hard.

“I need a wife,” he says softly. “When I say I fucked up my image, I’m not kidding. My reputation is a flaming bag of shit.”

My heart is pounding so hard, I can hardly hear him. “And getting married will help?”

He doesn’t look up, and I miss his intent gaze. He shrugs, tearing apart the cake with his fork. I’m unsure if he’s being shy or if he’s embarrassed, but either way, I feel for him. “According to my publicist, I need to appear settled and approachable. A wife will do that. People won’t assume I’m out fucking all the time if I’m tied down.”

I scoff. “Athletes cheat on their spouses all the time. I know a guy who has families all over the USA.” Yes, he’s a jackass, but he was a good lay. I met him at a wedding, and we ended up in the back of his limo. I found out later he was married and had eight kids with five different women. Easy to say, I hightailed it away from him.

“I don’t cheat.” He looks up, his eyes so dark. “I may have fucked around a lot, but I’ve never cheated on anyone. Though, I’ve never been in a relationship either.”

“And you want your first relationship to be a marriage?” I ask incredulously.

“I don’t have a choice,” he says softly, his eyes urging mine. “I’m not asking for forever, McDavid. Just a year. Give me time to get into the NHL, to show that I’m not the piece of shit I’ve appeared to be, and that I’m truly reformed. No longer a manwhore, but a family man. During this time, I’ll train you to run everything, and at the end of the year, I’ll sign over the coffeehouse to you.”

I’m speechless. My jaw is hanging open as I try to process what he is saying. He wants to marry me to fix his image, and in return, I’ll get the coffeehouse. It doesn’t make sense to me. “Why me?”

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