Page 72 of Anatomy of a Player

Hudson ran his finger across the puckered white line. “He caught me with it, but I landed a hit in the gut as he did, and followed with a hook to his jaw. Some other people from the neighborhood showed up about then and the two assholes ran away.”

“Did you get stitches?”

“Nah. Mom wasn’t home, so I just bandaged it up and called it good. It healed fine. Then I inked my area code over it. Kind of a reminder of where I came from. My childhood was rough, but it made me who I am.”

I traced my fingers over the scar and tattoo again, marveling the guy had even survived his childhood. He offered up the story of another tattoo and then I moved to the scar over his hipbone.

“Broken hockey stick,” he said. “High school game. The guy swung it back, my momentum was already pushing me forward.”

“Ah, that’s why playing with one gets you a penalty.”

His eyes met mine, the hint of a challenge swimming in the brown depths. “Minor or major?”

“Minor, which means two minutes in the penalty box.”

He beamed at me. “I’m so proud.”

“I can’t believe you’ve had so many injuries. I once rolled my ankle and couldn’t wear heels for a week. Oh, and there was this one time I made dinner, and while I was cutting carrots, I nicked my finger…” I raised it, even though the cut had healed so well that I couldn’t see where it’d been. In fact, I couldn’t remember exactly which finger it was anymore. “Which of your injuries hurt the most?”

Hudson glanced away, his gaze drifting to a darker place, one I wanted to hurry and rescue him from. I placed my hand on the spot over his heart. “Sorry. I don’t know when to stop with the questions, obviously.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He covered my hand with his. “Raymond, the guy my mom’s marrying”—he ground out the word, disdain dripping from it—“beat me so badly once that he broke a few of my ribs and bruised my right lung. If I hadn’t started coughing up blood, I doubt my mom would’ve taken me to the hospital. I’d taken hard hits, broken bones, and had a skate cut up my shin, but I’d never felt pain like that before—breathing hurt. Moving hurt. Everything hurt.

“I still remember sitting there waiting for X-rays and my mom saying, ‘Tell them you fell, or that it was from playing hockey. Raymond didn’t mean it. He was drunk and you antagonized him.’ I’d been trying to defend her, because he’d been yelling at her, like he always did when he was wasted…”

Hudson let out a harsh exhale. “Anyway, I thought that if I told, he’d get in trouble and Mom would get sober and start thinking straight again. Instead, she chose him, and I was sent to live with the Welches. I’m not sure she’s ever fully forgiven me for that, either.”

I stared at him, unsure what to say, and tears pressed on my eyes, my refusal to cry useless against the information.

He cupped my chin and used his thumb to wipe away the tear that had escaped. “It’s okay, baby,” he said, his voice grittier than usual. “It was a long time ago, and the next time he tried to hit me, he was the one who got hurt.”

Since I didn’t think I could get out any words, I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him as tightly as I could. We laid there for several minutes, wrapped in each other’s arms. Hudson ran his fingers through my hair repeatedly, the gesture so soothing I nearly fell asleep.

“It’s three a.m.,” he whispered. “I better get back to my place, or I’ll be totally dead for the game tomorrow.”

“You can sleep here,” I offered.

He looked me up and down and I felt him hardening against my hip. “If I stay here, I won’t be sleeping. So while I’m really tempted…”

“I get it,” I said. “Hockey above all.”

With a groan, he got out of the bed and pulled on his clothes. He leaned over me and kissed me good-bye. “See you at the game,” he said. “And I’ll act professional when you come into the locker room, but just know my mind will be in the gutter the entire time.”

He flashed me a smile, and I knew that I was no longer falling for Hudson Decker.

No, I’d surpassed falling and landed myself head over heels in love.

Chapter Forty

Whitney

The logical side of my brain knew that I should abandon my Anatomy of a Player article. But even after six hours of sleep, my body was still pleasantly fuzzy from amazing sex and thinking of naked Hudson made me happy, so I typed in a few more fun facts.

• Scars: Stories you can trace with your fingers. If approached at the right time, players may even tell you the stories behind them. It’s true chicks dig scars, and this chick is no exception.

• As for the rest of his anatomy… A lady never tells. But let’s just say he knows how to use it.

Of course I wouldn’tactuallyput that in a professional article I was submitting, but it was fun tinkering with it. While I’d always enjoyed sex, no one had ever taken care of me quite so thoroughly. My past guys always seemed to be in a rush to get to the sex part, and there’d been times I’d had to help out, but with Hudson there’d been no rushing, and I certainly didn’t have to help him.

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