Page 66 of Caught from Behind

“Until a gorgeous woman called, admired your penis, and reminded you how sexy you are.” She waggles her brows.

“I think the first two happened,” I say on a laugh. That she’s on the phone with me, checking in on me, trying to make things better, that she gave me a little more of herself…

More fucking gifts.

I tuck them away, hold them close.

And make the deliberate choice to turn away from the heavy.

“Though, I’m not sure how sexy you’d find me if you knew that I had to huff the smelling salts tonight so I didn’t pass out.” I shake my head. “Hockey is fucking exhausting.”

Her laugh is loud and bright.

“Now,” I order. “Tell me about Donna’s date with George.”

Ella fist-pumps as she leans back against her pillows, gets cozy under the blankets. “I am the greatest matchmaker of them all. Even better than Knox,” she adds before describing the moonlit trip on the gondola up the mountainside, the romantic dinner complete with candles and soft music that George had arranged. She sighs, clamps a hand to her chest. “If I wasn’t afraid of heights, it would be pretty much perfect.”

“My brave Ella wouldn’t be felled by a gondola.”

“You’re right,” she agrees on a yawn. “I would just shove that fear down and pretend to love it, just fake it until I make it, like I do every time I go skiing, and then reward myself with a drink at the top of the mountain to dull the adrenaline letdown.”

The words are so light that they seem unimportant.

But I grasp them tight, commit them to memory.

Because they’re a trifecta of puzzle pieces snapping into place—like I’ve found the final parts that form the edges of the picture and now the outline has shaped up and the rest of the inside will fill right in.

I turn them over in my head as she relates more about George and Donna’s romantic date, as she relays her worries about Kit and his boyfriend, as we talk about everything and nothing and all the things in between.

But after her tenth or so yawn, I know I need to let her go. “Time for bed, chérie,” I murmur.

Her heavy-lidded eyes fix on mine. “You’ll call me if you can’t sleep?”

I should be thinking fuck no, I won’t disturb your sleep, but she’ll see that, and she’ll call me on it, and she won’t let me off this call until I agree.

So, instead of lying…I give in.

A common occurrence with this woman.

But not something that bothers me.

Because…mine.

“I’ll call if I need to,” I say, “so long as you promise to do the same.”

Her mouth quirks before her smile is broken up by yet another yawn. “Deal, honey.”

And then I watch as she burrows beneath the covers and blows me a kiss before she disconnects.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Ella

Coffee is no match for waking up in a hot hockey player’s arms.

Unfortunately, this morning I had to rely on my eight alarms, pure dint of character, and a gallon of caffeinated black brew in order to coax myself out of bed.

The game. The fight. His dad.

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