Page 38 of Lace 'em Up

Why do I feel like there’s much more to the story than that?

But even as I open my mouth to ask, she’s finishing with the binder, popping to her feet, and slipping it back onto the shelf.

I’m finding my feet too. “Princess?—”

“I really am sorry about your binder,” she whispers, gaze sliding away. “I was just?—”

I touch her cheek, turn her back to face me. “I’m telling you the truth, baby. I’m not upset.”

Her eyes close—just for a second—and then she’s nodding.

“Thank you for the cookies,” I murmur, knowing I should drop my hand, should back up and let her head off to do whatever she wants to for the rest of the evening.

“It was nothing,” she whispers. “Not after everything you?—”

Her throat bobs.

And my heart aches.

I cup her jaw. “You didn’t deserve for him to do that to you.”

Her inhale is sharp. “King?—”

“And I’m sorry about your parents.”

Glimmering green orbs of light.

Plump, pink, kissable lips.

“And I want you to stay here for as long as you need.” I stroke my thumb over her cheek. “It’s nice to have someone else in the house.” My mouth quirks. “After growing up with the Bang crazy, it gets a little quiet with just me and Zeus.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. “Though I’m not entirely sure you mean that.”

My brows lift.

“Did you forget the rant you gave us all about your mom the last time we were at Rome and Chrissy’s?”

My mom, who as we’ve established, I love to the fucking moon and back.

But who also drives me fucking insane.

Mostly because she seems to have made it her mission to marry me and my siblings all off as quickly as possible.

“I haven’t forgotten,” I grumble. “She’s coming to town next week, so I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to revel in the tornado that is Mama Bang.”

Her lips twitch. “Mama Bang?”

I lift a shoulder, drop it. “Nicknames are rampant in hockey,” I tell her sagely. “And it’s all too easy for those around us to lack creativity when it comes to having a last name like Bang.”

She giggles. “In fairness, it’s quite a name.”

“Technically, it’s Bäng,” I say, pronouncing it with its proper Nordic phonetics. “But no one seems to remember that detail.”

“No”—her mouth is curving—“I can’t say they do.”

“And, anyway, I love my mom—as I’ve made clear—I just wish that she would stop with the matchmaking.” I shake my head, exhale as all of those bad dates flash to the forefront of my mind. “It’s already cost me a watch and a laptop…and that’s not including my time dealing with the drama the women she picked unleashed on my life.”

She winces. “That sounds like a lot.”

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