Page 63 of Anatomy of a Player

“Same here. Usually I just say, oh, my parents are divorced, like that’s all there is to it. At least I had my daddy, though. He was really, really sad for a while, so I couldn’t show him how sad I was.” Old hurt rose up as I thought about those dark days, how hard it was to hold not only myself, but also my daddy, together.

“I skipped out on school activities to go home, make dinner, and watch documentary after documentary,” I said. “But I don’t regret it, because it made us close, and then it didn’t seem so bad that my mama wasn’t around to tell me my outfit wasn’t flattering, or that I was gaining weight and needed to cut back on the snacks. Even when I worked hard to lose a few pounds, or did my hair the way she wanted, she just found another thing to pick at in her never-ending pursuit to make me her perfect daughter. I still hear her in my head sometimes—like whenever my bun’s too tight, or I don’t have makeup done, or when I put on my boring pantsuits.”

Hudson squeezed my hand. “Baby, you want to wear those boring pantsuits, you wear them.”

There he went, saying something that might be insulting if he hadn’t said it in the sweetest way. “You wouldn’t be embarrassed to hold my hand in public?”

“Not even a little.”

I leaned in and kissed his cheek. Lyla had been right about my feelings coming along for the ride—I think they’d claimed the driver’s seat. I wanted to take care of Hudson and be his person, even though I knew that wasn’t part of the no-strings-attached plan I was trying to cling to.

Hudson reached up and twisted one of the strands that had spilled out of my bun around his finger. Then he slowly leaned in and covered my lips with his. He kissed me long and hard, but he didn’t pull me on top of him like he had the other night. I got the feeling he was waiting for me—trying to honor my wish to go slow—but I didn’t want to go slow right now.

I wanted him, more than I’d wanted anything in a long time. I curled my fingers around the hem of his shirt and tugged it up, over his head. With my palm on the center of his chest, I pushed him back until he hit the armrest. I ran my hand over his pecs, down his abs. I loved the way his skin twitched under my touch, the flexing muscles rippling his skin.

His dark gaze fixed on my fingertips, watching every inch I traversed with laser-sharp focus. I loved the contrast between the tattoo sleeves and the un-inked skin of his torso. Then there was the smattering of dark hair that disappeared into his jeans.

I dragged my finger across the skin just above his waistband and he groaned, his muscles bunching tighter. I was power drunk again, but on a completely different kind of power. Need pulsed deep inside me, quickly turning into a consuming, aching desire. I leaned over him and kissed his lips, his jaw, his neck.

He wrapped his arms around me, tugging me firmly against him. I moaned as my center slid over the hard length straining against the zipper of his jeans. Now I was the one feeling the rippling sensation, as the wave of pleasure made every muscle clench. Before I could even dream of catching my breath, Hudson captured my lips and thrust his tongue in to meet mine.

Cool air hit my skin as he hooked his thumbs on the back of my sweater and dragged it up, up, up.

We broke apart long enough for him to pull it over my head. Enough of my hair came out of my bun as the fabric dragged across it that the elastic band holding it in place slid free.

Hudson pushed up onto his elbows and took me in, his eyes moving from my navel, to my lacy black bra, to my face. He cupped my cheek and dragged his thumb across my bottom lip. “You’re so fucking beautiful. All that talk about your mom and how she kept pushing you to be perfect… Youareperfect.”

With him looking at me like I was, I believed it. Up until my make-under, I’d always been fairly confident about my looks, but I’d also obsessed about the little things I wanted to change, or the ten pounds I really should lose, or how I only felt pretty when I was all done up.

With him looking at me like that, though, Ifeltbeautiful.

Hudson ran his hands up my sides, and his fingers looked so big spread across my skin, like he was trying to touch every inch he could. He gave me the same treatment I’d given him, tracing the curves and lines of my body. I held my breath as he cupped my breasts over my bra. He kissed my shoulder and then brushed his thumbs across the thin lace, right over my hard nipples, and the sensation of textured lace and his warm skin made it impossible to hold back a whimper.

His arousal twitched under me, and I rolled my hips, eliciting a groan from both of us. My scalp tingled as Hudson pushed his fingers through my hair. Then he curved a hand around the back of my head and tugged my mouth to his.

I leaned over him again, relishing the feel of skin against skin, and bit lightly on his bottom lip. Every nerve ending fired, and pressure built deep within in me, radiating outward.

The vibration I felt against my hip threw me off for a second—that was new. Then I caught the muffled ringing and realized it was Hudson’s phone. He reached for it and muttered something about getting it out of the way.

Then he swore. He looked from the phone to me, then back to the phone and swore some more.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I didn’t realize how long I’ve been here.” He ran a hand through his hair. “We spent all our extra time on my stupid sob story and now…Shit.That’s my alarm that goes off so that I make it to practice on time.”

I sucked in a few lungfuls of oxygen, working to catch my breath. “But isn’t your ankle still hurt? You can’t even practice right now.” Did my voice sound desperate? Of course it did. I was half-naked and on top of an also half-naked hockey player. I was keyed up and turned on and horny as hell.

“Yes, but hockey above all. Injured, dying—doesn’t matter. If you miss practice, you might as well not bother showing up ever again.” He grimaced and then ran his hand through his hair again and blew out a long breath. “Better write that in your notes, Reporter Girl.”

“You’re seriously going to leave?”

He sat partway up, stared right into my breasts, and groaned—but not in the sexy groaning way. In the I’m-miserable-but-I’m-leaving-anyway way. He pushed himself up fully, put his hand on the side of my face, and kissed me, a way too quick press of lips. “What I’ve got in mind is going to take a lot longer than the five minutes I have. There’s hell to pay if I’m late, and I’m supposed to meet with the physical therapist—I’m hoping he’ll clear me so I can get back on the ice.”

I stuck out my lips to make it clear that I was not onboard with any of that.

“Let me make it up to you? Tomorrow night after practice, I’ll take you out. Then we’ll go back to my place”—he skimmed his fingertips across my collarbone, which wasn’t helping with my current turned on and frustrated state—“and I’ll devote hours to you and this hot body, I swear.”

Here I was, ready to forget my rules—and I could tell he was more than ready to help me break them—and yet he was leaving anyway.

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