Page 116 of Hot for the Hockey Player
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out.“You’re right.I shouldn’t care what people think.I hate that I do.But I shouldn’t care.I will go with you to the cheese making thing tomorrow, and … will you join me at the pub now?And come for dinner tonight, and …” I swallowed.“Spend the night?”Blinking through the drops falling from my hair and lashes, I bunched my fists together at my sides as my chest heaved.I hadn’t run or anything, but saying all of this, laying out my feelings and bearing my heart—to anyone—had me close to fainting.
He stood there for a moment, absorbing what I had said before finally reaching for my hand, hauling me inside and shutting the door.
I thought for sure he was going to push me up against the closed door and have his way with me, but he didn’t.He released my hand, and a small, faint smile graced his mouth for just a flash.Then it was gone.“Say it,” he whispered.
I narrowed my brows in confusion.
“Say, ‘I’m a badass and I don’t give a shit what people say or think about me.’Say it, and I’ll come to the pub with you, and for dinner, and stay the night.Say it, and I want to see that you actually believe it.”
Sucking in a deep breath through my mouth, my lungs rattled.I released the air slowly and swallowed, then squared my shoulders.
All he did was lift his brows, waiting.
“I …” I started.“I am a badass and I don’t give a shit,” I swallowed again.“I don’t give a shit what people say or think about me.”My molars ground together.
“Again,” he said softly.I must have given him a pleading look, because he tilted his head and lifted his brows again.“Until you believe it.”
Exhaling in frustration and digging my nails into the heels of my palms, I nodded.“I am a badass and I don’t give a shit what people say or think about me.”Okay, it was easier that time.
“Again.”
I growled.“I am a badass and I don’t give a shit what people say or think about me.”Lightness filled my chest, and I actually smiled a little this time.He didn’t even have to order me to do it again, and I repeated it—twice more.
The smile and twinkle in his eyes had my heart all a flutter.
“Okay,” he finally said.“Now, I believe you.And I can see that you’re starting to as well.”He reached for his jacket from the coat hook and shrugged into it.“Let’s go get a beer.”Then he took my hand and together we ran, laughing, through the rain to the pub, and I’d honestly never felt lighter or more like an actual badass in all my life.
It wasn’t as weird as I thought it would be, having Maverick sleep over.The kids didn’t find it weird.In fact, they seemed happy about it.He and Damon stayed up until nearly midnight playing video games.Then he crawled into my bed, woke me up, and kept me up in all kinds of dirty, wonderful ways until at least two o’clock—maybe later.One of the perks to dating a younger man was: even after a marathon session of Fortnite with Damon, Maverick still had stamina for a marathon session in bed with me.
I stretched like a satisfied cat in a ray of sun as the smell of sizzling bacon and pancakes wafted under the bedroom door.The clock on my phone said it was almost nine.I needed to start the day.We had cheese to make, after all.
Not only was it not that weird having Maverick sleep over, but it wasn’t weird at all sitting next to him and hanging out with my cousins and the McEvoys at the pub.Yes, I could feel the eyes of some locals on us, particularly when Maverick casually draped his arm over the back of my seat, but I refused to let those gazes bother me.I was a badass, after all.Or at least, I was trying to believe that I was.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither would my indifference to gossip be, but I was trying.
Sliding my legs over the side of the bed and shoving my feet into my slippers, I gave a little moan from the pleasant, dull ache between my thighs as memories of last night resurfaced.Not only did Maverick have the stamina of a triathlete, but he was so damn generous in bed.I was practically sobbing from the intensity of a few of my orgasms.
I wrapped my robe about my body and opened up the bedroom door to find not only Maverick and Laurel, but Damon too, in the kitchen preparing breakfast.Laurel was on pancake duty, flipping them on the griddle, while Damon was slicing fruit for a salad, and Maverick was draining the grease from the sheet pan of bacon.
“Hey, Mom,” Laurel said, placing a pancake onto the stack, before ladling more batter onto the griddle.
Still a little bewildered at the sight before me, I walked up behind her, ran my hand over her hair, and kissed the side of her head.“Good morning.”
I did the same to Damon, though I had to lift up onto my tiptoes to kiss his cheek.“Morning.”
“Morning,” he mumbled, sliding diced strawberries into the bowl of fruit salad.
“Just in time,” Maverick said, handing me a mug of coffee.“Breakfast is pretty much ready.”The gold in his eyes glimmered with amusement before he made sure the kids weren’t looking, then tossed a wink at me.
I smothered my smile by bringing the mug to my lips.
“Go sit down,” he ordered.“We’ll bring it to you.”
“Yeah, Mom,” Laurel added.“You cook for us all the time.It’s our turn to cook for you.”
“It’s not Mother’s Day for another two months,” I said, taking my seat at the dining room table.“Whose idea was this?”
“Mine,” she replied.“And Mav’s.He said he wanted to make us all breakfast.I said why don’t we make a big breakfast for you?”
