Page 312 of Branded
Ethan’s smile was huge and when he saw I looking, he spun and showed me the back of the jersey.
I’d had them put Castillo on Jules’s jersey because…well, I couldn’t lie. The devil in me had wanted to see my name on her back. But I hadn’t given instructions for Ethan’s. I’d thought to leave it blank and then get Ethan’s favorite player put on—that favorite player likely not being me.
But someone had put Castillo there.
And that made me feel…
Fuck, the kid had dug himself in deep.
“Shit,” I whispered, my heart pounding like I’d taken too long of a shift, was hauling ass to the bench to take a break.
And that was before my gaze went to Jules.
Because when it did, I swore to fuck that black crept in on the edges of my vision.
Because she was wearing the jersey and the smile she gave me wasn’t perturbed, wasn’t annoyed because clearly I’d been pushing when she’d ordered me to back off. It was soft and gentle and sweet…and then she spun to show me the back.
Slam.
Another crushing hit.
Fuck, I needed to keep them both.
She turned again and was still wearing that smile and I knew that she was going to give me hell for the spoiling, but I also knew that it meant something to her.
Something big.
Like the cinnamon and peanut butter and ibuprofen and apples had.
Like the pancakes and feeding her son had.
And I knew that I’d do anything to keep putting that look on her face.
Because I’d never met a woman who deserved it more.
Twenty-Two
Jules
Boom!
I jumped, clamped my hand to my chest, thinking that hockey was not for the faint of heart as I watched the Breakers’ player being smooshed against the glass—which rattled, swaying and bending to physics-defying angles when the player, whose name I didn’t know, took a bone-jarring hit.
“Ouch,” I muttered, but even before I’d finished the word, the player shoved off the boards, sending them rattling again and was…gone.
Just gone.
Okay, well, he hadn’t poofed away in a puff of smoke. He was still on the ice, just somehow suddenly ten feet away and hauling ass toward the other side of the rink.
The guys were big.
And fast.
And did I mention big?
And fast?
Yeah, I knew that Cas and Smitty and the others were tall and in shape, but adding their pads onto those already muscular bodies and the three or four inches from their skates onto their already taller than normal height made them seem like giants—especially when Ethan and I were so close to the ice.
