Page 14 of Pucking Fate

“The ultrasounds of him, I mean.”

“I want to see those, too. And photos of you, like when your belly was all big, looking like it was about to pop. I hate I missed that.” God, why does the thought of seeing Maya swollen with my son make me so damn hard? Because everyone would be able to see for themselves that she’s mine. That it was me who had been spilling inside her. I’ve never been as desperate to bury myself deep inside of her as I am right now. Something Inever got to do. Something I shouldn’t be thinking about while wearing thin athletic shorts.

“I’ll give you everything I have tonight,” Maya replies just as we reach the back door. It takes me a moment to realize what she’s talking about. Oh, right. She’ll give me a flash drive of all the photos.

“Great, thank you.” My dirty mind was imagining her riding me naked, giving me her body, heart and soul to me tonight, all night, until we collapse together in an unconscious, well-sated, tangle of sweaty limbs.

Even better than the sex would be the next morning when we wake up together, then I make breakfast for her and Finley.

Speaking of my son, just outside, Finley’s racing around the yard with his stick, chasing the white plastic ball with a look of concentration on his face like his life depends on running faster, until he sees me.

“Hey, Christian! You came back today!”

“Hey, buddy,” I greet him, then quietly ask Maya as I head down the porch steps, “He didn’t know I was coming over again?”

“At his age…I don’t like to make promises that can be easily broken. Canceling plans breaks his heart, so please remember that when you make them.”

“I won’t break any plans or his heart,” I assure her.Or yoursgoes unsaid even though I promise that too, even though Maya was the one who shattered mine. I know I let her down and broke hers too, though.

Grabbing one of the full-size sticks propped up against the back of the house, I shout “Incoming!” and swipe the plastic ball.

Without missing a beat, Finley moves into position so that once the ball reaches him, all it takes is a swing of his smaller stick to send it hurling into the goal.

“Great shot!” I tell him going over with my palm raised for a high five that he jumps up to hit.

Maya stands on the porch, her arms still crossed while we play, but I can feel her watching us. Whenever I chance a glance at her, her face appears to soften as Finley throws his arms up to celebrate every time he scores.

I can feel the weight of her eyes on me too sometimes, and part of me wants to make a smartass remark about her liking what she sees, but I hold my tongue. But I love the attention too much to ruin it, just like in the minor league days when it felt like I was the center of her universe, even though I knew she was there watching her brother too. She didn’t constantly track him like she did me, though. I could feel the heat in her gaze, see her own dirty thoughts swirling in her mind whenever our eyes met across the ice. That undeniable chemistry is why, when I picked her up for our first date, I couldn’t make the short walk from her dorm to my truck before I kissed her. A near frantic, passionate kiss against a tree that nearly sent me to my knees and lasted a good ten minutes before we could stop. It was like we were both giving in and getting what we had wanted for the weeks before Preston gave his approval for me to ask Maya out.

I later found out it was Maya’s very first kiss on her first ever date. More of her firsts that belonged only to me.

But just because she may still be attracted to me doesn’t mean she feels the same about me or will admit it even if she does.

If anything, she’s probably just keeping an eye on me to make sure I don’t screw up and knock Finley down or something.

Still, I want to say something to break the tension.

“Hey, Finley,” I say, grinning down at him as we take a break. “Do you think you got your mad hockey skills from your mom or Uncle Preston?”

Finley laughs. “Mommy’s good at soccer, not hockey. She hates the ice.”

I glance up at Maya, raising an eyebrow. “Soccer, huh? I might have to see that. How come I never knew you played?”

Maya rolls her eyes, but there’s a tiny smile tugging at her lips. “I only played a little in high school.”

“There are trophies in a box in her closet,” Finley informs me.

“Trophies? Really?” Now both of my brows are raised.

“One was for MVP,” he goes on to say. “That stands for most, um, most valued person, I think.”

“A most valuable player award? That means your mom was the best player the team had, the one person they need the most to win games,” I tell him.

“Wow,” he says, gazing up at his mother. “So, does that mean she was like really good?”

“Yep. She was the best and she’s just being modest,” I loudly whisper to him.

Blinking up at me, Finley asks, “What’s modest mean?”

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