Page 45 of Speed

“I promise that I won’t harm your son’s feelings ever again,” Brody said. I found that vow to be a bit much at this point. I mean he might not want to hurt me again, but given where we were in terms of his acceptance of me, his sexuality, and whatever secrets he was hiding, any assurance from him was dicey, even if he meant it with all his heart. “I’m here with food and ice for his bruise to pamper him and try my best to win his trust. I do care for Noah.”

“Humph,” Pops said out loud. The word, not the sound, made me smile despite the tension in the room. “I am watching you close, Brody Vance.”

Brody smiled and offered Pops his hand. Pops stared at it long and hard. He stared at me, and I nodded. Then, he slapped his massive hand into Brody’s, making me wince. Brody grunted under his breath but shook heartily.

“Tell me of the bruise.” Pops turned his attention to me. “Did the team physician look at it? Are you icing it? Is that prosciutto on that charred cutie board?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.” I led Pops around the sofa and handed him the tray. He sat, knees holding the board, and ate while Brody and I put together a cat-condo-slash-fun palace. Three hours later, and after several rounds of cussing over the complex instructions, we had Mittens’ birthday present assembled.

“I am going home now to check on your father,” Pops announced as his eyes flickered from me to Brody. “You two talk. Ice that bruise. I will see you both for the birthday party, yes?”

“Oh, well, I’m not sure…” Brody began, then gotthe lookfrom Pops. “Yes. I’m just unsure what to buy for a cat with such a glorious playhouse.”

“Toys with the catnip, and tuna lick sticks.” Pops gave me a kiss on the top of my head, shot Brody one final two-finger motion, then carried the cat condo out of the door with one arm. I wasn’t sure it would fit in the elevator, but Pops wiggled it in. “I pivot,” he yelled out as the elevator door closed.

When I turned around, Brody was sitting on the floor, staring at a lone bolt lying in his palm. “I hope this isn’t important.”

I chuckled, limped over to where he was seated, and lowered myself to the thick carpeting.

“I think they throw in extra bits just to make people crazy.” I folded his fingers over the bolt and cupped his hands. “You did so well with Pops.”

“Did I? I mean, I don’t think I did well at all. Every time I looked at him, he had this icy-cold stare that made my balls shrivel.”

“That’s his goalie glare.” I brought his hands up to my lips and placed a kiss to his knuckles. “Rumor has it that players used to feel that intense stare on them from the other end of the rink.”

“I would not want to try to score on that man. Between the glare and his knowledge of people. What kind of people was he talking about?”

“No one knows. Probably best not to ask.” I lowered his hand to my thigh. “Now that Mittens’ condo is together, and the food is gone, I think it’s time for us to talk. You want to do it here on the floor, on the sofa, or in bed?”

His gaze sizzled and sparked. “Only a fool would turn down bed.” My dick grew all sorts of happy. “So, I guess I’m a huge fool because I’m choosing the sofa. You need to rest that leg with some ice while we talk.”

My dick was not happy at all with that decision, even if it was the sensible one.

FIFTEEN

Brody

Three days.I’d spent three days here, making myself at home in a place that wasn’t mine, surrounded by things that felt more like Noah than I could describe. I paced, restless but content, running my hands over the smooth countertops in his kitchen and the framed pictures of his family dotting the walls. His scent lingered everywhere—a mix of clean soap and something woodsy—and I couldn’t escape it, not that I wanted to.

I slept in his bed, buried under the weight of a thick quilt that smelled faintly like him. I stole a pair of pajamas I’d found in his dresser, the ones with little hockey sticks printed all over them, and they were too soft, too comfortable to take off. I pulled a plain gray hockey jersey from his dryer and wore it, even though it hung loose on me.

I ordered food in, kept to myself, and avoided seeing anyone. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt…. safe. This place felt safe. And happy.

I was sitting on his couch, legs tucked beneath me, while Noah sat facing me in the armchair, his leg stretched out with an ice pack resting on his calf. His blond curls were disheveled, pushed back from his face with a band, and his expressive green eyes locked onto mine with a mix of curiosity and expectation. He tilted his head, his lips curling into the beginning of a smile, and I couldn’t help the words that slipped out.

“How are you so perfect?”

Noah blinked, then flushed, the faintest pink creeping into his cheeks. “My sisters wouldn’t say I’m perfect,” he muttered, shifting a little in his seat.

“Yeah? Why not?”

He grinned, wide and wicked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I wasn’t perfect when I drew a handlebar mustache on my sister’s Tennant Rowe poster because she wouldn’t let me play her stereo. She’d been obsessed with him forever—said she would marry him one day—and I thought it would be hilarious. Spoiler—it wasn’t hilarious. At least, not to her. I think she cried for an hour.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Okay, maybe not perfect for them.”

He shrugged, still grinning. “They mothered me even though I was a little shit.”

I shook my head, unable to stop staring at him. “I still think you’re perfect. For me.”

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