Page 30 of Breaking the Pucking Rules
Pride for my girl swells within me.
“I know Henderson’s trade was controversial, but I think Coach knows what he’s doing.”
A laugh bursts out of me.
“I told him so as well. I think he was pleased with the feedback.”
“Oh, I’m sure he was.”
Her expression is hard and focused. “I also mentioned that he should consider Rodrigo from the Jets. I think he would bring something to the team.”
Reaching out, I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m sure he’s given it some serious thought, Peanut. Are you hungry?”
A smile brightens her previously serious face and she hops off my lap. “Starving,” she cries, running for the kitchen.
I shake my head, a grin playing on my lips.
“Still want pancakes?”
She rolls her eyes. “Obviously. With Nutella, and strawberries, and cream.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say as I grab a mug from the cupboard and place it under the machine, grabbing another for my mom knowing she won’t be far away.
“Did I smell coffee?” the woman in question asks the second she walks into the kitchen.
“Yep, Daddy’s having coffee.”
I don’t turn around to see Mom’s expression, but her stare burns down my back.
“Is that right? Did Daddy have a good time last night?”
“He slept on the couch.”
“I am in the room, you know,” I bark.
“Oh, we know. We just also know that we don’t get any details out of you.”
“Oh, was there any chocolate?” Sutton suddenly remembers.
“Uh…” I think back to the night before, but I can barely even picture the table or the decorations, let alone if there were any chocolates. All I can see isher.
“Daddy,” Sutton complains at my lack of attention.
“It seems like Daddy might have been too distracted to search for chocolate, sweetie,” Mom says with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes before they drop to my neck.
Panic shoots through my veins.
Tell me she didn’t leave a mark.
“Would you also like pancakes, Mom?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
She studies me closely as she takes the stool at the island beside Sutton.
“That would be lovely, thank you.”
Sutton and Mom spend the next forty-five minutes grilling me about the night before. Mom’s eyes light up when Sutton asks if there were any pretty girls with beautiful dresses.
I mumble some kind of non-committal response that nowhere near satisfies Mom’s need for information.
