Page 111 of Caught from Behind

I want to give voice to the feelings in my heart—I’m almost desperate to do it. But…I can’t. Not yet. Not when I’ve made so many mistakes.

Not when I have so much to make up for.

He cups my jaw, and when I peel open my eyes, I see his face has softened. “I’m here,” he murmurs.

I swallow hard. “I know.”

He strokes a finger over my jaw. “So, a full day today?” he asks. “Or do you have time for lunch with your boyfriend and his grumpy dad?”

“Such a tempting offer,” I tease, tapping my finger against my lips and letting him shift our conversation to something lighter. “How ever could I turn that down?”

“I can think of a hundred reasons.” He grins.

“Hmm,” I say, slipping out of the circle of his arms and sliding the muffin pan into the preheated oven. “But you were very skilled with that beard of yours when it was between my legs this morning.” I tap my bottom lip again. “That might have bought you lunch?”

One half of his mouth hitches up and he starts to speak, to presumably give me some more of those dirty words I love so fucking much, but he’s cut off by stomping.

We turn as one to see Todd marching into the room, brows yanked together, steam all but coming out of his ears.

“All good, Todd-o-Rama?” I ask, turning for the coffeepot and filling three mugs.

His scowl deepens as he tosses his cell on the table. “Sure isn’t, Ells,” he grumbles, coming toward me.

I lift my brows and pass over a mug. “Want to talk about all those big feelings you’re having right now?”

His mouth kicks up, but he doesn’t bite, just takes a long sip and exhales before lifting the mug in my direction in a quiet salute. “You make good coffee, kid.”

“Actually,” I say. “Riggs made the coffee.” I lift my brows higher. “Because he’s good at a lot of things.” A beat. “Like hockey. And cooking.” And fucking me senseless with his tongue. “And making coffee.”

He snorts. “That’s not all he’s good at, if what I heard this morning is any indication.”

This man…he’s just freaking impossible.

“Dad,” Riggs warns.

“Sorry,” Todd mutters and I freeze with a rebuttal on the tip of my tongue. “I’m a surly old bastard,” he mutters. “And I don’t know when to quit.” He sinks down into a chair and takes another sip of coffee. “And I’m a particular asshole in the mornings.”

My eyes jerk to Riggs’s.

He looks just as shocked as I am.

And that’s before Todd sets his mug aside and says quietly, “You played good last night, son.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Riggs

I grin when I walk off the ice the next day and see Ella leaning back against the wall, her mouth tipped up and eyes staring me up and down.

“What’s it about guys in hockey helmets?” she says, rising on tiptoe and brushing her lips over mine. “Ups the hot factor by a hundred.”

“I thought you had to work.”

“I had a cancellation and thought I’d peep in on my boyfriend,” she says, dropping back onto her heels and glancing around. “Plus, I wanted to make sure you were good.”

Because my dad is here.

Ever since that moment in the kitchen, when my dad stepped outside the asshole and said something halfway decent, things have been…weird.

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