Page 21 of Pucking Obsessed

The thought hits me like a punch to the stomach, my chest tightening as I accept it. I hate that it’s true, that the last few days without him made me feel restless, vulnerable, like something was missing. I even woke up this morning feeling like he’d been in my room last night when I know that’s not possible. He’s here though, and everything inside me settles.

I want him to pull me against his chest, to wrap me up in those strong arms and make everything disappear for just a moment. I want to let myself sink into him because when he’s close, I don’t worry. I don’t think about the past or the future or all the ways things could go wrong.

Trying to change the mood, I turn and press my hand playfully against his chest, my fingers sinking into the soft fabric of his hoodie. The warmth of him radiates through the material, and I pretend not to notice how solid he feels beneath my touch. “Did you not get the thirty texts my mom sent to the wedding group chat about how tonight's dinner is formal attire only?” I ask, letting out a light laugh.

But Hayden doesn’t laugh.

Instead, he moves closer, and my breath catches when he lifts his hand and cups my face in his palm. His skin is rough against mine, his hand so big it makes me feel small, delicate, breakable.

“Look at me, princess,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly, a sound I feel more than hear. I hesitate, because I know we’ll beback to square one if I obey his request. The word leaves him softer this time, a quiet rasp that makes my resolve weaken. “Please.”

Something about the way he says it, raw, unguarded, makes my eyes lift to lock on his.

“You look stunning.” The words hit me square in the chest, something deeper lingering beneath them, and I can’t stop the heat that rises to my cheeks. I cover it with a smirk, turning to grab my shoes.

I hold them up, dangling the strappy silver stilettos like a peace offering. “I almost died three times trying to get these on,” I joke, but my voice quivers.

His gaze drops to my dress, trailing slowly over me, and the way he looks at me makes my breath hitch. I try to shake it off, balancing on one foot as I lift the other to slip on the first shoe, but the second I teeter, my arms flail slightly.

Hayden moves faster than I can react, closing the distance in a heartbeat. His hands grip my waist, steadying me with ease before he drops to his knees in front of me. My pulse stutters as I look down at him, kneeling before me like it’s exactly where he wants to be.

His palm slides up my calf, the rough skin of his hand a sharp contrast to the smoothness of my leg. Thank the Lord I shaved my legs today. The sensation leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake, and I open my mouth to protest, but the words catch in my throat as he leans in.

His lips press against my leg, just above my knee, warm and soft against my skin. My fingers curl involuntarily, clutching the fabric of his hoodie at his shoulders as I sway slightly under his touch.

“I can do it myself,” I say weakly, though I make no effort to stop him.

He ignores me, his focus steady as he gently guides my foot into the first shoe, buckling the strap with surprising care. He moves to the other, his fingertips brushing my ankle with such deliberate slowness that I have to fight to keep my knees from trembling.

When he looks up at me, it’s through those dark lashes of his, his brown eyes glittering with something that makes my stomach twist with need. His hand slides up the length of my leg again, stopping just below the hem of my dress, his thumb stroking the smooth skin of my thigh.

“I’m going to be an absolute menace if you’re wearing this out tonight,” he says, his voice rough, sending a shiver rippling through me.

My breath catches, but I find my voice, my sass bubbling back to the surface to keep me from spiraling. I reach out, brushing the strands of his hair out of his eyes. He leans into my touch, just slightly, like he’s been craving it.

I tilt my head, trying to hide the tremor in my voice as I tease him. “You’re the moody, broody, hockey captain. Can’t you fight?”

He grins at my words, like I’m finally giving him the green light to fight every man who has ever glanced in my direction. With his hand still resting high on my thigh, he says, “Baby, you have no idea what I’m capable of when it comes to you.”

Hayden’s fingers seem to trace their way down my leg before helping me with the other shoe. I’m not sure what to even say, but before I can respond, the door bursts open.

The sharp creak makes me flinch, and Hayden jerks back like he’s expecting a clown car full of assassins to be on the other side. Somehow the expression on his face tells me he’d rather deal with clown assassins than his own sister. Kirsten saunters in, sunglasses perched on her head and shopping bags dangling from her arms.

“Oh, ew,” she sneers, wrinkling her nose when she sees Hayden is still on his knees and his hands are now settled protectively on my hips.

I step back quickly, tugging my dress down while Hayden groans and pushes himself to his feet. He moves to stand next to me, his shoulders stiff as he rolls his eyes at her.

“What are you doing here?” Kirsten demands, tossing her bags onto Chapel’s bed and I cringe because that’s not going to go over well. “You’re supposed to be with Dad at the restaurant. You know that man has to be an hour early for everything.” She purses her lips and lifts her hands to fluff her short hair. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

Hayden huffs out a breath, glaring at her. “Do you ever shut up? I’m not wearing a fucking suit to go eat seventy dollar salads or whatever fuckery is in store for tonight.”

I elbow him hard, shooting him a look. “Can you please be nice to your sister?” I’d love to get through tonight without Kirsten screaming, crying or locking herself in a public restroom.

He grins at me, all lazy arrogance, his eyes softening in that way that always makes me feel unsteady. “I’d do anything for you, princess, but I draw the line at that.”

“I hope you take a puck to the balls someday,” Kirsten snaps. It’s such an older sister thing to say that I can’t help but laugh.

“This was on your door when I walked up,” Kirsten says, pulling something from one of her bags and handing it to me.

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