Page 13 of Wake Me Up
She skips away. One look at Cash’s face, and I know he’s nervous to answer. He glances over at where his brother is now talking to Logan and a few other Bay Sharks, including the infamous Kolt Kolburne, and keeps his voice low. Until this moment, I guess I didn’t know why he didn’t want to try this goalie thing. But seeing him make sure his brother isn’t close by before answering, I know it’s because he doesn’t want to hurt Cane’s feelings. Because, in the short time Cane played, goalie was his jam.
“My new coach is having me try goalie for now,” he utters. “Normally, I’m a center. Or a wing.”
Right away, I’m sure that Tripp picked up on Cash’s hesitance because it was clear as day, and he tilts his head to the side subtly.
“I mean … I may be a little partial, but goalie is a pretty good position if you ask me.” He stops. “You don’t seem that thrilled about it though?”
His shoulders sag a little, and he shrugs. “It’s just not where I usually play, but I don’t want to tell Coach that.”
I watch a teensy smile tug on Tripp’s lips.
“That makes you a great player. You’re going where your coach puts you without throwing a fit. Sometimes, that’s what it takes to have a good team.”
Cash is quiet for a few seconds, but nods his head once. “Yeah, I guess,” he says, his eyes looking at his brother. “It was Cane’s favorite position, but it’s not mine.”
At the same time I figure it all out, realization flashes in Tripp’s eyes, and he tenses. “Yeah, that’s gotta be tough.”
That’s all he says, but I’m sure it’s because it’s what he can muster up. I might not know Tripp that well, but it’s pretty obvious he’s not a man who is going to have long-drawn-out conversations. He’s quiet, and he keeps to himself.
As some of the players start to exit, all calling out a thank-you to us, some even doing it while they take a bite of whatever pastry they chose, Cane makes his way back over toward us.
“Well, we’d better get going,” I say, keeping my eyes focused on my kids because, frankly, I’m afraid to look directly at Tripp, worried my stomach will do more flips that it has no business doing.
He brings the doughnut to his mouth and takes a bite. Once hechews and swallows, he holds it up and looks at me. This time, I can’t avoid his stare. Though I wish I could because my skin tingles and I hate it.
“Thanks again for bringing all the baked goods.” He takes another bite. “Best doughnut I’ve ever tasted,” he drawls smoothly.
Something about the way the wordtastedrolls from his lips makes my heart skip a beat and between my legs prickle. And the way his eyes smolder while he looks at me has me swallowing—hard.
He’s a famous hockey player, so obviously, he has charisma. Hell, whether he’s grumpy or not, I have no doubt that women throw themselves at him. This crazy pull I feel toward him, I know he isn’t feeling it back. I’m a widowed mother of three. I don’t take the time to do my hair, and I hardly ever apply makeup because I’m always running my kids around. And my leg hair? Well, it’s fall in Maine. Let’s just say, it’s keeping me warm right now.
He isn’t looking at me likethaton purpose. It’s probably a game to him—to toy with women with his sexy eyes and slight grin.
Yet even though I know all this, his presence still makes my palms sweaty.
Cane holds his hand out, wanting a handshake, and quickly, Tripp holds his out too.
“Nice to see you again, man. Good luck in basketball and baseball this year.”
“Thanks,” Cane gushes, releasing his hand, and Tripp moves to Cash.
“If you love the game the way I can see you do … you’ll find a home anywhere on the ice.” He says the words like a secret message because that’s exactly what they are. “Good luck, man.”
“Thanks,” Cash says hesitantly.
“And thank you for that amazing doughnut,” Tripp says, smiling at Aviana. “You were right. They are your mom’s specialty.” He takes a step back, sweeping his gaze to all of us. “Y’all have a good day. Careful not to run any nails over.”
“No promises there,” I utter, breathing out a small laugh. “Come on, guys. Let’s go.”
As I head toward the bench to clean up the boxes we got—which are all, in fact, empty—Tripp walks beside me. “I got this.”
It’s three drawled-out words. Yet … my heart beats faster as his deep voice utters them.
“Are you sure?” I look at all of the empty, almost-torn-apart boxes. “This made a bit of a mess.”
“You were nice enough to bring them, darlin’. I’ll pick them up.” The worddarlingcomes out slow and low.
I know my kids didn’t hear him, but my face heats, and my scalp prickles.
