Page 30 of Loaded Laces

“What about eating dinner?” I tease.

He pauses, slants his mouth over mine, kissing me until my lungs protest and teasing is the last thing on my mind. Then he lifts his head. “I’m eating you first.”

Heat twining through my insides. “Oh,” I whisper. “Okay, then.”

He grins and then we’re moving up the stairs again.

We’re hitting his bedroom, landing on the bed…

And coming together in the most beautiful way possible.

Which is why it’s much,muchlater, over bowls of soup, that I remember to ask, “If you weren’t leaving after finding the papers, why were you outside?”

He tugs a lock of my hair, smiles.

“You left the garage door open.”

I freeze then start laughing.

A new life. A bright future.

And one that’s a hell of a lot closer…

All because I left a door open.

Thirteen

West, Six Months Later

Quinn’sout on the ice, and it’s no surprise to me that he’s a natural, flying around, stealing pucks, making shots.

It’s a fucking blast to watch him learn, to watch him fall in love with the game.

“He’s good,” Belle murmurs, eyes trained on the rink.

“Damned good,” I agree as he sprints for the bench, completing the change exactly as he should—working hard, getting off to let the next line have their go. I draw her a little closer, tease, “When are we going to get you out there?”

She stills then rolls her eyes as she glances up at me. “I like all of my bones unbroken, thank you very much.” Then she leans a little closer, presses her lips to my jaw. “How do you like these early mornings at the rink?”

It’s barely eight, and we’ve been here an hour already.

Youth hockey is brutal.

Still, I’m living a dream, a fantasy. So, I just grin. “Reminds me of my childhood.”

“I know,” she says, burrowing into my side. “Especially the freezing my butt off while watching part.”

My grin widens and I pull off my coat, wrapping it around her and then drawing her close before she can argue about accepting it. “Quinn’s back out there,” I say, nodding at the ice, taking full advantage of her Mom Distraction to keep her warm.

“I wasn’t angling for your jacket,” she says a minute later, proving that my woman is not to be distracted—or not for long, anyway.

“I know.” I kiss the top of her head. “But this has the side benefit of keeping you close.”

She sighs, but doesn’t protest further, and we watch the rest of Quinn’s game all but glued together.

When he comes out of the locker room long minutes later, half carrying, half dragging the bag that weighs almost as much as him, it’s to ask, “Can I go to Jake’s for a sleepover?”

I love sleepovers.

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