Page 72 of Trouble in Love
“Sorry. Can’t do that because I am. You do not fit the stereotype I had in my mind about sportsmen’s wives. I mean, look at you. Your hair is natural, and your nails too. And from what I can see, there is not one drop of filler in those pretty lips of yours.” Tilly puckered up and blew me a kiss.
“Not a drop,” she confirmed.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” I stated, “I have no judgments about what other women do to their bodies, it’s just … natural is not what I expected from a famous hockey wife.”
“Rory says that my natural look was what caught his attention. I wasn’t like other girls he’s been around. He liked the fact that I knew nothing about hockey or him. All I knew was he was massive, was sweet and accepting to the people I worked with and had the best arse this side of the Atlantic.”
Laughing, I took the final sip and accepted an immediate top up by the hovering waiter. “Speaking of hot ass’s,” she nodded as he walked away, “Have you watched a training session yet? Seeing your man on the ice, in the pads and helmet is quite something, and oh my lord,” she clutched at her chest and leaned into my shoulder, “I know we just met, and this is way too much info at this stage of our friendship, but the first time I sawRory in a fight I swear to god, I was so wet I almost slipped from my seat.”
“Tilly!” I snorted, “I am shocked and impressed. And just so you know, too much information is my favourite kind.”
“Excellent. I knew we’d be friends the minute I saw you sneaking out of Luca’s room.”
“Hey, I wasn’t sneaking.” One hundred percent was. “I was just … trying not to be seen.” A warranted eyebrow was raised in my direction. “I know, I know it’s the same bloody thing, but apart from Luca’s manager, I don’t think anyone on the team knows I’m here … and that … we …” My voice trailed off.
“That you’re what? Both super-hot but play D&D in your basement? Are fucking like rabbits? Are you CIA? Are you secretly—”
“That we got married.”
The glass slipped from Tilly’s hand, shattering, spraying us both in sticky orange champagne and drawing every set of eyes in the room.
“HOLY BULLOCKS YOU MARRIED LUCA D’CRUZ?” The index finger on every hand in the room was suddenly pointed at me, and once the collective gasp subsided, phones were whipped out and aimed my way, too. “Shit, sorry,” she winced as the waiter with the ass, who was most definitely a hockey fan, appeared and began cleaning the mess my bombshell made. He had a cute blush on his cheeks.
“Mrs. Kattchikov and Mrs. D’Cruz,” Mrs. D’Cruz … A tiny squeak escaped me. It was the first time I’d heard someone refer to me as such, and the magic that hit my veins was a better high than any drug could produce. Pity it didn’t last. “Sorry to intrude, but that man sitting directly behind us. He runs one of the biggest hockey blogs in Nevada, which means your location and your face is already all over his Instagram feed. You might want to–”
“Get the hell out of here?”
“Yeah.” His blush intensified as I stood, revealing the tiny denim shorts I really wished I hadn’t chosen.
“Polly,” Tilly whispered, linking her arm into mine and dragging me towards the exit, “I think it’s time for your first training session.”
Before taking me to the stadium, Tilly drove me back to the hotel so I could change. If I was going to tell Luca our secret was out, I was going to soften the blow by feeding his ego. Tilly agreed. Confirming that when it came to hockey players, their woman in their jersey made everything okay.
Still, I was worried. Our marriage was designed to take the heat off Luca’s return to hockey, but the little time we’d had together since saying our vows had been consumed by fucking, talking, and laughing. The rest of the world had seemed … insignificant.
My stomach twisted with the fear of rejection the entire drive to Kings arena. Stepping into Luca’s real world for the first time did little to quell my unease. The frigid air struck first, brushing against my cheeks and intensifying my trembling before a skate was insight. I’d skated once or twice as a kid, I sucked but could still remember the sound of metal cutting though the ice, the cheers and jeers, the laughter of the kids. Those sounds were replicated, only deeper and gruntier as the players came into view. “You can do this, Polly!” Tilly cheered, hanging a VIP lanyard around my neck. Her enthusiasm was contagious right up to the point when she paused and shoved me in the back. “I just can’t watch”
As Tilly promised, padded up hockey players made a tasty snack, but mine alone caught and held my attention. Cheeks flushed, hair flowing from beneath his helmet in a self-made breeze, his smile wider than I’d ever seen, Luca was stunning. Breathtaking. Mine.
Lingering in the shadows, in silence, in awe, I watched a swarming sea of floating giants move like one. With seamless precision they passed the puck backwards and forwards between legs, over sticks, offboards. Their bodies slamming into each other with a reckless abandon that was both terrifying and hot as fuck. A few steps away from me stood a handsome, backwards cap wearing man, gripping and punching a clipboard and tooting a whistle so intensely I feared he may swallow it. “Coach Martin,” I said to myself, recognizing him from my many and shameless Google searches. He seemed as engrossed in whatever was taking place as me, though less inclined to flinch when one of his players tried to beat the shit out of another.
As if he could feel my eyes on him, he turned. His furrowed brown deepening, before smoothing out with an easy smile. “Nice of you to join us, Mrs. D’Cruz. I was beginning to wonder if you were just a figment of your husband’s imagination.”
A welcomed burst of heat colored my cheeks. “Luca told you about me?”
“He hasn’t shut up about you,” he scoffed. “To me, coach Brown and his Captain Rory, at least. He hasn’t told the whole team yet. He was waiting to introduce you at the family dinner. Said he wanted to make it a special night for his princess. It was so sweet I nearly gagged.”
I gripped the boards, my legs turning to jelly.Who the fuck was I to deserve this guy?Coach Martin caught sight of my feminine hysterics and began to move towards me but a scream of, “Holy shit, D’Cruz.” Stopped him in his tracks. The deafening whistle brought with it a halt to play and the heated, curious gaze of thirty-odd giants on ice to me.And I thought being studied by every set of eyes in the restaurant was daunting.
Luca
“Again. And harder.” Coach Brown’s inhumanity volleyed off the gym wall directly into my skull. “That ankle is healed, Luca. I don’t give a shit if you’re tired. I don’t care if you’re sore. Show me how much you want to be on this team. Prove to me that you deserve it.”
What I wanted was to punch him in the face in he said again, again.
“Again. Move your ass.”
“Yep. I’m going to punch him.” I gasped, blinking the stinging sweat from my eyes. I’d genuinely believed the daily workouts in Nate’s home gym, the 10k runs, and let’s not forget, all those bike rides to secret hookups and the Polly-cardio that followed had me back in shape. I was wrong,andin pain. Some consolation was taken in the fact that I was not alone in my suffering. Our fearless captain, Rory Kattchikov, had been the first to vomit. Weird-as-fuck goalie Bas Lyon was the second. I was determined not to be the third.
