Page 46 of Hot for the Hockey Player
“It is really good,” I confirmed, doing my damnedest to keep my eyes on his and not roaming over his body and the way that henley fit him like it was painted on.But even looking in his eyes did all kinds of disturbing things to my belly and temperature.
“Well, let’s plan for me treating y’all to pizza next week, hmm?”He flashed a big, Maverick smile that had a spot between my legs throbbing.
“Yeah.Sure.Sounds good.”Then I was gone.Into my office, closing—and locking—the door behind me.
I plastered my back against the door, my breath coming out in ragged pants.I pressed my hand to my chest to feel it rise and fall rapidly.
Knock, knock.
“Gabrielle, are you okay?”Maverick asked on the other side of the door.
All my pulse did was pick up tempo even more.“I’m fine,” I croaked, pinching my eyes shut tight at the way my voice cracked.“Just haveloadsof work to do.You kids—” Oh gross, I couldn’t call him a kid.“Youguysjust play your video games, and I’ll let you know when supper is ready.”I glanced at my smart watch, which seemed to think I was running a marathon at the moment.It was four-fifteen.“Let’s plan for a five-thirty dinner.Watercolor is seven to eight-thirty.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yep.Never better.”Glancing to the ceiling, I shook my head, ashamed of myself and my behavior.Something wasclearlywrong with me.
“Okay …”
I waited several heartbeats until I knew he was gone, before I allowed myself to fully exhale and sink down to a crouch.I hugged my knees to my chest and ignoring the sting of my burns as the skin stretched in this position.
Get it together!
I smacked my cheeks a few times in both self-flagellation and to get myself to snap out of whatever twitterpated nonsense had taken over my body.It seemed to do the trick enough that I was able to sit down at my desk and take care of a few things on my to-do list.
At five o’clock, I quietly snuck out of my office and into the kitchen.
I didn’t dare glance into the direction of the living room, but the way my son and Maverick joked and teased each other as they played another round of NHL Hockey on the PlayStation, warmed my heart to no end.I got to work cooking the chicken and throwing in the diced veggies, before finally adding the kung pao sauce and peanuts.Everything smelled delicious and my belly rumbled, reminding me that I had skipped lunch.
“That smells amazing,” Damon called from the living room.
My head popped up from where I’d been busy dicing scallions for garnish, to find him craning himself around on the couch, facing me and smiling.
I met his toothy grin with a half-hearted one of my own.“Thanks.”
The fates meddled again, and their game ended just that moment, which gave Maverick the perfect opportunity to get up from his spot on the couch and join me in the kitchen.
Fuck.My.Life.Again.
“Do you need a hand with anything?”he asked, cocking his hip into the corner of my kitchen island.“I swear I’m not coming to ask you this at the very end on purpose.”He glanced at the dining room table.“Let me set the table.”
Before I could answer, he was already opening cupboards and pulling down the big, deep bowls I liked to use for these kinds of dishes.
“You really don’t—”
“Not a problem at all.”He unnecessarily walked close beside me, and our arms brushed.I sucked in a sharp breath and stepped to the side.“I remember these bowls from when I lived with you guys in Spokane.Ate many a delicious stew and soup in these puppies.”He tossed another confusing, heartrate-spiking smile at me as he opened up a bunch of different drawers until he found the cutlery.He didn’t even have to ask what I wanted, and grabbed the chopsticks and spoons.“Are these like a family heirloom or something?”He went to the table and started to make up the place settings.
I cleared my throat and shook my head.“Uh … no.I, uh … I bought them at a farmers market in Spokane.Came with a salad bowl too, but that broke in the move here to the island.”
He frowned.“That sucks.”
He kept trying to meet my eyes, but I refused.I focused anywhere but on his face—scratch that, anywhere buthim—because the rest of him was like a freaking work of art that I’d gladly spend hours staring at and never grow bored.
He was back in the kitchen, back beside me, and I had to move to the right this time so our elbows didn’t brush again.“Is the rice done?”He checked the rice cooker.“Looks like it.Can I put it on the table?”Like he’d been in my kitchen a hundred times and not just twice before, he located the hot pads and oven mitts in the drawer with ease, and carried the rice over to the table.
This man was driving me bonkers.His presence, his smell—some irresistible cologne that made me want to roll around on him like a dog on freshly mowed grass—and even though I was overheating, I would gladly catch fire just to feel more of his heat against my skin.
I finished dicing the scallions, grateful I didn’t chop off a finger, and went to take the bowl over to the table just as he made his way back into the kitchen.Of course, we bumped chests and I not only dropped the bowl of scallions, but it broke and little green onion rounds went flying everywhere.
