Page 50 of Drop the Mitts

André closed the truck bed and looked up just as she reached the passenger door. His grin was still in place, maddening and smug.

“How are you always available?” she asked.

André frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I get how Country can take time off. He has Polk and his parents at the ranch, but it doesn’t feel like you ever have to work.” She’d been chewing on this since brunch. Jenna said hewas a welder, but she’d never seen him turn anything down for his job.

“I’m like you. I run my own business.”

Grace climbed in, careful not to let her coat snag on the frame. The seat was warm from the heated cushion, and she adjusted the belt as André slid into the driver’s seat. “But I can work from anywhere. Don’t you have to be on location? Or in a garage or something?”

“Sometimes. But mostly in my home studio.”

Studio. That sounded more artsy than she expected. Grace set her purse to her left just as André put the truck in reverse. Their fingers brushed as he lowered his arm, and she jolted, quickly folding her hands in her lap.

“I keep telling him he should open an Only Fans and he wouldn’t have to work at all.” Country piped up from the back.

“Right.” Andre shot her a look. “Because of my huge dick.”

Grace snorted.

“Wow. Is that how this drive is going to be?” Jenna rolled her eyes in the rearview.

“I actually enjoy what I do,” André added, a slow blush on his cheeks.

“Yeah, so do I, but c’mon. You already have an audience.” Country picked up a rattle from the diaper bag and waved it in front of Hope’s carseat.

The truck rumbled to life, easing down the block as the sun rose higher behind them. In the back seat, Jenna and Country started talking playoff predictions.

“An audience?” Grace asked.

André waved her off and launched into hockey talk. It felt purposeful, and Grace pulled out her phone. What was he trying to hide?

"I’m telling you," Country said, "if the Leafs can keep their top line healthy, they’re taking the East."

Grace played it off like she was answering emails as she typed “André Leclerc hockey” into her search bar. She angled her phone low enough to stay out of Jenna’s line of sight in case she peeked over the seat.

Google spat out exactly what she expected. Elite League. Calgary Snowballs. There were rosters, stats, a few old interviews, and photos.

She clickedImages.

One tap and it was all action shots. Him shouting after a goal, his face lit up like a firecracker, grin wild, helmet half off, sweat on his brow. There were team images, some from an article GCBN did for Hockey Evening in Canada.

He looked good. Grace discreetly crossed her legs.

André scoffed. "That’s cute. But have you seen what Boston’s been doing? They’ve got depth in all four lines. No chance the Leafs push through."

Jenna leaned forward slightly. "You’re all dreaming. If the Oilers lock in a wild-card slot, they’re dangerous. You give McDavid a sniff of the Cup, and he’ll run the table."

"Only if their goaltending holds up," André shot back, tapping the steering wheel. "That crease is a mess."

Jenna groaned. “Please don’t use the word crease.”

Grace tuned them out and continued to scroll until an image made her freeze. Her mouth went dry.What the hell?It was André. In black and white. All abs and thighs, shirtless and pressed up against—was that Melanie Tress? He wore Calvin Klein’s, half-covered in sheets, one arm slung around her shoulder.

Her pulse kicked like it was trying to punch through her throat. She clicked on the link and started reading, digesting each sentence like she’d been starved for a week. He played in France? Lyon? The stats meant nothing to her, but the commentary did.All-star. Most sought after bachelor.

No shit, he had an audience.

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