Page 12 of Wake Me Up
“You made it,” he says, strutting over. His tattooed arms are on full display, and his dirty-blond hair is wet from his shower. “Be prepared to be attacked like a carcass by a bunch of vultures. These boys are hungry, and they rarely eat sweets. They’re about to turn into cavemen.”
I chuckle nervously, clenching the box with my fingers. Smith is an attractive man, but a bit too young for me. Still, he’s fun to look at.
Logan Sterns, Tripp Talmage, and Walker James all walk out close behind, and Smith nudges Tripp before jerking his chin toward us.
“I told you that your day would get better soon because you had a surprise coming.” He points toward me … or maybe my boxes.
Yeah. Definitely the boxes.
Tripp’s eyes narrow as he checks over what’s in my hands before his lip turns up the slightest. My heart races, but I know it’s because I’msurrounded by attractive, professional hockey players and not just because of Tripp and his grumpy grin.
I attempt to look relaxed, smiling and trying my best to play it cool. “We were so grateful that you and Logan changed my tire so we wanted to bring you some goodies from the bakery.” I pause, nodding toward all of the boxes. “There’s enough for the whole team.”
“Sweet!” Ryder Cambridge says, being the first to strut over. “I love me some pastries.” He winks, but more in a joking way than anything else. “Though I’ll have to run an extra few miles—or five—tomorrow. But that’s okay.” He looks thoughtfully from my kids to me before pointing toward a bench that sits against the building. “Set the boxes there, if you want. That way, you don’t have to hold them while the scavengers come through.”
Before I answer, Logan is lifting the boxes from our arms. Looking at Aviana, he winks. “Trust me, this will be safer. Those men aren’t supposed to be eating sweets. They’re about to act like they’ve never seen a doughnut before. Things could get dangerous.”
He’s right because within seconds of him setting them down on the bench, the team is over there, forming a line.
Logan reaches in, grabbing a doughnut and holding it up. “Geesh, I change the tire, and y’all act like trash pandas in a garbage can out back of a restaurant.” He watches his teammates, shaking his head. “Goddamn.”
“You didn’t have to do this,” Tripp says, still standing beside us. “But thank you. You made the team’s day.”
Suddenly, I’m a thirty-three-year-old woman who is shy, feeling like I’m a freshman in high school and a senior is giving me a flirtatious grin. Maybe it’s because I’ve ignored the stare of every man for so long, or perhaps it’s just because of the circumstances—that I’m surrounded by professional athletes. Whichever it is, my cheeks are on fire. And when I feel Tripp’s eyes still on me, I think I may actually melt into a puddle.
“It was the least we could do,” I say, pushing through my bashfulness and turning to my kids because … security blankets. “Right, guys?”
“Yep!” Aviana says before the boys can answer. “Even though … you’re not really getting anything out of it. I don’t think there will be much left after your whole team is finished.” She frowns. “Want me to go grab you something before it’s all taken? They seem really hungry.”
I can’t even tell you the expression Tripp is wearing when she asks himthat because I don’t know his different expressions. But what I do know is, the broody exterior he seems to wear so well cracks the slightest bit, and he smiles at her.
“Sure. How about a glazed doughnut? You got any of those?”
Her head bobs eagerly, eyes widening. “My mom makes thebestdoughnuts, and the glazed ones are her specialty.”
“I don’t know about that,” I murmur, tucking my hair behind my ear.
My daughter means well, but my cheeks only heat more because I hate being the center of attention. Actually, that is an understatement. I hate it so much that it gives me hives. I’ve always been this way, but now it’s even worse because for so long, I’ve buried myself in my kids’ activities and taking care of them, and in doing so, it means I never have to be the center of attention—ever. Now, here I am, standing in front of whatSports Illustratedhas called the most eligible bachelor, with his eyes on me while my daughter brags about my doughnut-making skills.
Geesh.
Tripp’s grin only seems to grow when he takes in my discomfort. I’ve seen him in plenty of pictures on the internet and on TV, but he usually wears a scowl or an emotionless look. This smile though … it’s something else.
Logan returns and starts chatting to Cane off to the side when Ave runs off. I look away from Tripp, uncomfortable with how his stare makes my skin prickle or how I feel it literally everywhere. Luckily, he turns his attention to Cash.
“How’s hockey been going?”
Cash’s eyes light up, and I’m not even sure if it’s because Tripp is talking to him or if it’s from the mention of hockey. “It’s going well. We haven’t had any games yet though.”
“First one is in a few days though,” I remind him, knowing how excited and nervous he is about it. “And you guys are going to do great.”
I can’t tell if I’ve just embarrassed him or if he’s happy for the support. Either way, Cash is too polite to tell me.
“Thanks, Mom,” he answers softly before turning his attention back to Tripp. “Yeah, I think it’s going to go okay. I hope.”
“What position are you playing?” Tripp asks just as Aviana returns with his glazed doughnut, passing it to him, along with a napkin.
“Thank you,” Tripp says sweetly. “Looks real good.”
