Page 59 of The Sweetest Chirp

“What the hell, Dad!”

He ignores me and cups Arwen’s face. With a loving look that I thought he reserved only for me, he signs,We got you something.

Don nods, signing,For our favorite girl. Her daddy’s number.

Don pulls out a black-and-red IceCats home jersey that’s outlined in a shimmery silver thread. My heart catches at the way Arwen’s eyes light up when Don turns it around to show Thatcher’s last name and his number 37. It was his dad’s number, and you can tell how proud Don is to see it on the IceCats jersey.

To be giving it to his granddaughter.

Arwen squeals as she makes gimmie hands, and Don chuckles before he helps her stand. Dad puts a hand at her hip to hold her steady while Don slips it over her head. It’s a little big, but she looks too cute for words.

Mommy! I have Daddy’s jersey, she signs at me, bouncing on her toes as the biggest grin imaginable comes over her face. The kind of smile that completes me.

She’s stunning.

I’m breathless, or maybe that’s just a lump the size of South Carolina in my throat. Thatcher won’t ever have the cute photos of Arwen in his jersey as an infant. The Instagram-worthy ones that make anyone, even men, swoon at the sight of a hockey player with his child. I stole that from him. From Arwen. All at once, the guilt eats me alive as I watch everyone fuss over Arwen in her little jersey. She looks so happy, and I didn’t allow her to have this sooner.

I thought I was enough.

Tears burn in my eyes, and my nose itches as I lean into the counter. I almost make a run for it, to go hide in my room, but before I can do that, the door from the garage opens, and Thatcher comes through it. He’s freshly showered, his hair still wet and curling at the back of his neck. I can see the wet spots on his hat, letting me know he just threw his hat on without drying his hair. He’s wearing an oversized IceCats sweatshirt and a pair of gray sweatpants that are borderline indecent. Or maybe they’re only indecent because my eyes zoom in on his cock that is settled against his thigh.

Jesus Lord above, thank you for making gray sweatpants for men.

I watch as his eyes scan the room, and I assume he’ll go right for Arwen in her Orlov jersey, but he doesn’t. Instead, he continues to look until he finds me. I’m unable to draw a breath, given how intensely he looks at me. Like I’m a four-course meal, he licks his lips, and then they slowly curve up into a wicked grin. Before I can even register the heat between us, he is heading right for me. I freeze as he closes the distance between us, the toe of his sneakers hitting the toe of my boots. He reaches out, capturing a piece of my hair in his fingers before he holds it between us, his grin going feral.

Holy moly, God above.

His eyes move to mine, and then he lets go of my hair, trailing his hand down to cup my jaw. With his eyes consuming mine, not letting me look away even if I wanted to, he turns his hat backward and then leans in toward me.

I almost think he’ll kiss me—shit, do I want him to kiss me?

Aw fuck, I do.

But instead, he presses his lips to my cheek, and my eyes fall shut at the mere closeness of him. His fresh soap smell, mixed with a spicy cologne and then everything Thatcher, hits me like abucket of pucks. God, he smells good. A heartbeat later, his lips move against my heated flesh as he whispers, “There you are.”

And with that, I’m surprised I don’t faint like my mother.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Ilove any look Audrina goes for. She’s always been the kind of girl that looks good with any hair color. When we were younger, she put bright purple streaks through her hair. She even went pure blond once, and then a soft pink our junior year. No matter what she does to her hair, Iwant her, but nothing can touch the carnal need I feel when her hair is that eye-catching blond with a slight blush to it. The color goes so well with the flush of her face and also makes her freckles seem darker along her nose and cheeks. Her eyes glow as her hair frames her round face. She has such a deer-in-headlights look to her with those big doe eyes of hazel perfection, and I’m a goner for her.

I want to kiss her.

Devour her.

Never let her go again.

Instead, with the restraint of a monk, I only press my lips to her cheek.

The way she draws in a sharp intake of breath, how her breasts move against my chest with each inhale, has me going wild. She smells of rosemary and mint, my absolute favorite, and I feel the need to nuzzle my nose in her hair just to intoxicate myself with her scent.

I can’t, though, because I know we’re in a room full of gossip-hungry family.

My eyes slowly shut, and I have no intention of putting space between us. As much as it feels like it’s only us two, I know it’s not. She knows it’s not. And soon, her body gets tense. To my surprise, she moves a hand up, pressing it into my chest. She doesn’t push, though, just holds it there. When her eyes widen, I know she feels my heart beating out of control.

For her.

Only for her.

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