Page 38 of Cherry Picking
“Hey yourself, handsome.”
He chuckles, and I give him a little space to open his eyes and blink the room into focus.
“Just you?”
He doesn’t sound disappointed, so I smile and pull the plastic chair by his bedside closer. “Just me. Figured you wouldn’t want a bunch of loud-ass puckheads taking away your beauty sleep.”
“Thank you.” He links his fingers with mine, and I bring our joined hands to my lips. “I might not be good company for a while.”
“Get some rest, Easton.”
I run my fingers over the scratch of his beard, and he leans into my hand.
“You’re my favorite person. You know that?”
“I’ll make sure you remember that when you wake up.”
He smiles, closes his eyes again, and I know by the slow exhale followed by the steady rise and fall of his chest that he’s fallen back asleep.
One thing becomes abundantly clear as I sit in that room listening to the snores of a man who somehow snuck his way into becoming a huge chunk of my world:
I will do anything to keep him, and right now that means working my ass off to secure my spot on this team.
CHAPTER 10
RILEY
After three daysin the hospital with a never ending rotation of hockey players at my bedside, going home is akin to having an orgasm after hours of edging. It doesn’t hurt that Griffin has taken over my role of Mama Hen and refuses to let me stand and cook my own meals.
Or bathe on my own. Which has resulted in some rather glorious blowjobs.
But today starts the regular season, and Griffin is off playing against the Pumas: a fearsome starting match.
He didn’t leave me unattended, though. Locke is standing at our kitchen counter holding a plate of sandwiches—two peanut butter and jellies—and chips.
“I don’t know why he sent me. I don’t cook.”
I laugh, swinging onto the couch as gently as possible and reaching back to lean my crutches against the wall. “Because Grif thinks I need a babysitter.”
Locke squishes his lips into a line and puts the plate on the coffee table, blowing some stray hair from his eyes that’s fallen out of its elastic.
“Uh oh. I know we aren’t besties or anything, but I do know that look. That’s your ‘I don’t approve’ look.”
He frowns and swats my hand when I go to reach for the food. “That is not a face I have.”
“Mhm.” This time I do get the sandwich off the plate and stuff a bite in my mouth. “You have it every time you see me and Griff together.”
Locke’s jaw drops, but he quickly closes it and crosses his arms. “That’s not it. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“I’m not,” I say and offer him a smile. “I don’t judge you for it, either. I know that basically being our beard has to suck for you.”
The frown on his face softens, and he walks around to sit beside me on the couch. “It’s not a hardship. Griff has done a lot for me over the years—I can give him this. I just…”
He leans forward, pinching the skin of his thumb between his teeth. “I don’t want you to lead him on. Make him think there’s more to offer than what you’re willing to give him.”
I set the rest of the food down on the plate and nod in confirmation, even if my smile is tight and makes my chest hurt. “He knows where our boundaries are.”
His words from the hospital echo in my head. Wanting me to come out to the team. Wanting to let others into the fraction of the world we’ve made for ourselves.
