Page 12 of The Perfect Snipe

It’s dusk when I get home from practice, the sky a muted palette of oranges and purples. The frigid winter air nips at my face as I step out of the car, my muscles aching from the grueling day as I make my way to the front door.

I got dragged into three different meetings, and I’m completely exhausted. But when I step inside, the commotion in the kitchen catches my attention. Walking into the room, I spot Cat in rose-colored leggings that emphasize that perky little ass of hers, and my entire body comes to life.

Her hair is up in a messy bun, a few stray tendrils framing her face as she concentrates on cutting chicken breasts in half, thinning out the slices.

“Need help?”

She looks up, her brown eyes meeting mine. “Nah, I got it. Kids are in their rooms doing homework.”

“You sure? You worked all day too.” One of the deals we made when she agreed to help is that I understand she has a full-time job and that I’d help out when I’m around.

Like now.

“Leo, I’ve got it. Trust me. I’ll let you know when I don’t.”

I snort, unable to hide my skepticism.

In the short time I’ve been around Cat, I’ve learned anything can be further from the truth, especially if she gets mad. When the hellcat is pissed, she’s independent as fuck. Two days ago, I accidentally insulted her, my attempt at cracking a joke that she and Stella could share clothes, poking at her height.

Next thing I know, the fucking washing machine—which weighs a shit ton—is moved to the other side of the laundry room because she wanted to clean behind it.

Hellcat was the first word that came to mind when I met Catharina. All fiery and ready to scratch Jake’s biological father’s eyes out. Wouldn’t have put it past her either. Wyatt might’ve knocked some of the bastard’s teeth out, but Cat wanted to slit his throat.

Can’t say I blame her. I want to murder the fucker myself.

She snaps her fingers at me, the sharp sound pulling my attention back to her. “Earth to Leo. You good?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Just thinking about everything that happened with Jake.”

She tenses, facial features hardening. It’s still tough for all of us. “Motherfucker’s lucky he’s behind bars.”

I chuckle, though there’s no humor behind it. “Think it would be a group kill.”

She mumbles something in Spanish I don’t understand, then turns and opens the fridge. My eyes drift back down to her ass and my cock starts to stir, like it has since she moved in.

Whether it’s her short shorts, the leggings, or even the suits she wears to work, there’s something about Catharina that lights my body up. And it fucking sucks. Who authorized this bullshit?

It’s the only reason I was glad to be traveling last week for games. Hate when I’m gone from the kids, but I swear my dick has been hard constantly. Can hardly wear sweatpants or joggers anymore. Mostly stick to fucking jeans. Not that it helps much.

I even tried to pick up someone to fuck when we were in Montreal for a game. Well, that was my plan until I got to the bar. Women flirted, but I didn’t want any part of them even though I was horny as fuck.

Nope, I wanted the tiny little hellcat currently standing in my kitchen.

The one who’s off-limits. A fact Wyatt keeps reminding me of, as if I’m some dumbass teenager. Though, his warnings are more about me being nice, almost like he sees me as some sort of monster.

Nothing can be further from the truth. I know I can ruffle feathers, that my directness or silence can make me appear like an asshole, but it doesn’t mean that’s what’s in my heart.

Cat’s staring at me, hand on hips, her eyes slightly narrowed.

Fuck.

“Leo, get out of the kitchen.”

I clear my throat, trying to shake off the fog of desire. “Going to shower.”

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