Page 37 of Wilder Puck
“Or,” I say, patting the space next to me, “You could stay a little longer.”
Her lips curve. “You trying to get me into bed, Wilder?”
“In your dreams,” I joke. “I want to hear about the new job.”
Her expression softens as she crawls up the bed to settle beside me, our shoulders brushing. “It's going really good,” she says, her eyes bright with excitement. “I'm learning a ton, and the team is great. It's weird being the new girl after being the owner of Baddie’s, but I kind of like the change of pace.”
I nod, ignoring the twinge of guilt in my chest. I was a grade-A crybaby asshole when she first told me about the bartending gig, too wrapped up in my own fears of losing nights with her to see how much the opportunity meant to her. But tonight shows me how happy she is, how much she's enjoying this new job. It suits her, and I'm realizing maybe change isn't such a bad thing.
“I'm really happy for you,” I say, and I mean it. “I know I was a dick about it before, but I can see now how it’s not as bad as I thought. But you still need to take off for my games.”
Her smile is blinding, and she leans into me. “Yeah, right. Everybody knows Ryan Wilder of the Seven Devils, so I need to regulate the gossip at the bar. I can’t let your reputation slip. Not with what’s going on with your brother.”
I smile because she’s not wrong.
Earlier, I avoided talking to my dad because I didn't want to hear about whatever media drama my older brother is wrapped up in now. He and I have always been very different people. I was born from a different branch.
Addie nudges me with her elbow. “How was practice today? Are the guys giving you shit about us still?”
I roll my eyes at the thought of the team, thinking back to the talk we had after practice. Addie would be pissed off if she found out I told the guys what’s going on. I clear my throat, hoping that it doesn’t blow up in my face.
The conversation from the guys earlier echoes in my head:You've got it bad, Wilder. This little arrangement is going to blow up in your face. You've never been able to hide how stupidly in love with her you are.
I push the words away. The guys don't know what they're talking about. Addie and I are fine. So, what if I've been half in love with her since college? I'm a grown-ass man. I can separate sex from emotions.
Probably.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
“Practice was intense,” I say, focusing on Addie's question. “Coach–my dad–is still pissed about that loss against the Saints, so he's pushing us hard.”
She pats my leg in sympathy. “Sounds rough. Are you heading to bed soon then? I can go, let you get some sleep.”
My hand wraps around her elbow before I can stop myself. “Or you could stay in here,” I suggest, trying to play it cool. “I mean, if you want. It's not like we haven't shared a bed before.”
Addie searches my face for a long moment. “Is that what you want?”
No.
Yes.
God, more than anything.
I swallow hard and nod. “Yeah. It is.”
She softens and shifts until she's curled into my side. “Okay then.”
“Prepare to be cuddled, Baddie.”
A laugh rumbles out of her chest as I wrap my arms around her. Something settles in me, a bone-deep rightness now that she’s in my arms.
She adds, “Be prepared for a good time–a wild time.” She shrugs. “A Wilder time. A wild puck–a Wilder puck.”
I’m laughing under her as she finds the right slogan.
She says, “Because I have some ideas for next time.”
