Page 60 of Zero Pucks

“If you’ve changed your mind?—”

I leapt. Not literally, of course. My hips were too defunct after the accident to do any kind of jumping, but I did move faster than I realized I was capable of. I was on him, thin, knobby prosthetic knees bent against the edge of the mattress.

I felt unstable until his hand came to curl around my ribs, and he held me there, just staring at me.

I watched him swallow thickly, the bob of his Adam’s apple catching in his throat. His plush lips were parted with his breath, which was a bit faster than it normally was. He was nervous too. Maybe afraid. I had no idea what his trauma was—what his ex was like. How others had treated him.

But I did know I was good at this.

I made men fall in love with me all the time for the short hookups we had. It had been a while—close to six months since my last—but I hadn’t forgotten how to do this. I brought a hand up to his jaw and tilted his head back.

“You’re gorgeous.”

“You don’t have to say that, you know.”

I blinked, frowning. “What does that even mean?”

His flush crawled from his chest to his neck. “I mean, I know I’m not all…fit. Like an athlete. You’re literally surrounded by hot men with lickable abs all day long.”

My eyes widened. “How do you know my teammates have lickable abs? Were you spying?” I dipped my head low and nipped at his neck. “Do I need to be jealous?”

The truth in his words was startling. This man honestly didn’t think he measured up. If this was his ex’s fault, I hoped I could meet him one day just to knock a couple of teeth out with a well-timed shot of my favorite puck.

Dragging a hand from his throat to his lower stomach, I looked down to watch his muscles jump. He sucked in a breath and let it out on a soft moan. “You don’t need to be jealous. I wasn’t spying. But watching them on the ice…I just wonder why you chose me.”

“Well, first of all, they’re like my brothers, so that’s gross.” I kissed his neck when he laughed. “Secondly, I’m sorry you don’t know how beautiful you are.”

When I pulled back, he licked his lips, then shrugged. “I know I’m not unattractive. It’s not like I’m some self-deprecating loser who refuses to see his own worth. But I also know I’m not like the people you know. I’m a nerd…”

“Love nerds,” I murmured.

He laughed again and pushed the fingers of one hand into my hair, tenderly scraping along my scalp. “I can’t run to save my life. I was wheezing halfway through my walk to the café.”

“I can’t run either.”

He yanked my hair a bit, making my cock jump. “Different reasons. I’m just trying to say?—”

“I know what you’re trying to say,” I interrupted. I kissed his mouth again, a brief, hard kiss. “I’ve tried hockey players over and over. They’re great to scratch an itch, but they’re not my type. I…” God, there was so much about me he didn’t know, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment. “Let’s just say I’ve learned to appreciate someone good. And I feel lucky that it was you I met at the bar that night.”

“Even after we got shitfaced, lost our memories, and got married?”

“Especially after that,” I said with a grin.

He laughed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Then I won’t say another word except to remind you that you’re still wearing too much.”

The moment of truth. I did my best to hide my shaking hands as I slid off him. Fucking guys who were on other sled teams was a lot easier. There were very few surprises between us. Even if we didn’t share the same disability, we were around it.

It was life. It was normal.

I didn’t mind when able-bodied guys needed time to adjust to what I looked like, but sometimes, it was too much. I’d watch as the blood drained from their faces and the way they’d swallow hard and paste on a smile that looked like a grimace. They’d shift around and try to play it cool, like they were totally into it.

But their dicks always told the truth in the way they flagged.

And there was always an emergency thirty seconds after my legs came off.

I wasn’t sure what I’d do if that was Amedeo. Yeah, he’d seen me without my legs in my chair tonight, but not like this. And he didn’t remember whatever he’d seen in Vegas.

My spine felt a little like jelly as I pulled my shirt off, and I appreciated the way Amedeo sucked in a breath and drank me in. His eyes paused on the scars from the accident, but they didn’t linger. They drifted lower, to the button on my jeans.

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