Page 43 of Hot for the Hockey Player
I was engrossed in Bennett’s revision suggestions, and ignoring my rumbling stomach, when there was a sharp knock at my front door.
I wasn’t expecting any packages.
Who the hell was it?
I got up from my seat, my tea cold in my mug, but I sipped it anyway as I headed down the hallway to the front door.Dread hit me like a baseball bat to the face when I realized it was probably Maverick.
My slippers almost made a screeching sound on the vinyl kitchen floor I stopped so abruptly.
“Gabrielle?”he called out.
Shit.It was him.
“You home?That’s your SUV, right?”
I clapped my hand over my mouth.
More knocking.“Gabrielle?”
Heat raced up my chest into my face and my arms tingled like I slept on them funny.I shook my head and set my mug down on the stove before I accidentally dropped it, alerting Maverick to my presence.
I held my breath until his footsteps down the porch stairs echoed, followed a moment later by his truck engine revving.
I couldn’t avoid him forever.He was friends with my kid and seemed to actually be bringing Damon out of his sulky teenage funk.He was a good role model, and the kids all really liked him.I had no serious reason to say he couldn’t come over.Except for the serious way my heart hammered against my ribs, and the serious way my body caught fire when he was around.
Maybe I just needed to retreat to my room or go visit one of my cousins at their place when he was around.Get out of Dodge and let him hang out with Damon without me hovering like a helicopter.
I nodded for no real reason.That’s what I’d do.Next time Maverick came over to see Damon, I’d go visit Danica, or Naomi, or something.
Exhaling the air that I’d trapped in my lungs until they burned, I went to the kettle and flicked it on.I needed more tea.
More tea would help.
The thought of tea just plunged me into the memory of the tea spilling on my thighs and my blistered burns itched as if they had ears.I was still only able to wear loose-fitting pants and kept rubbing aloe on them multiple times a day.The blisters weren’t as bad as I thought, but when I rolled over onto my stomach at night, the pain and pressure on them woke me up.
The clock on the microwave said it was just after two o’clock.Laurel would be home soon.She had watercolor class tonight, and Maverick said he’d pick up Honor and her.
I’d have to see him then.
Shit.
The kettle clicked off and I carefully poured myself more tea, leaning against the counter and cradling my hot hand-thrown mug—a Hugh Tapper original—I reflected on my time as Maverick’s host.I couldn’t bring myself to call myself his hostmom.That just gave me theick,as the kids said.
He was the ideal guest.Polite, respectful, kind, and even clean.I was warned by other host families that some of the players could be absolute slobs, and that they needed to hire a hazmat team to come in over the summer to clean the room when the player went home to see their family.But Maverick was tidy and gave us zero problems.
I met his parents a couple of times, and while they were a bit intense and put a lot of pressure on Maverick to “be the best” I could tell they genuinely loved him.
I could only imagine the pressure he was under though.Not only was his father a former NHL player—and a Hall of Famer to boot—but his two older brothers also played in the NHL.He was part of a legacy family, and the skates he was supposed to fill seemed impossibly large.
After meeting his parents, I did my best to let him know that nobody was perfect.We all made mistakes, and you’re only a kid once.So even though his parents and coach made him have a ten o’clock curfew, once in a while, I didn’t enforce it.He never came home drunk or high, never snuck a girl into his room, and I was more than happy to let him borrow my car—particularly since he said he preferred to be the designated driver for his teammates at parties.
The kids and I were sad to see him leave when he graduated high school, and I knew I’d never find a better live-in player than Maverick.So I didn’t sign up to be a host family again when he left.
I blew on my tea before taking a sip now.Maverick Roy … he might only be twenty-six, but he was an old soul.He was a good soul.
Lost in thought—about Maverick—I didn’t realize how much time had passed with me just standing in the kitchen holding my tea, and I startled a little when the door opened and Laurel walked in.She gave me a look like she’d never seen me standing there before.
“You okay?”she asked, hanging up her jacket and putting her shoes away.
