Page 37 of Hat Trick
My heart clenches and my eyes water. Lauren waves her hands between our faces. "Okay, none of that, let's get inside so we girls can chitchat while the kids play outside." Carter, Luca, and Gabe greet Novy and then follow Lauren and I inside. She briefly shows us the open concept kitchen, living and dining room before we follow her through the sliding doors to the back yard. They've got a great open back yard with a covered patio and a pool.
The boys congregate by the grill on the patio, talking shit and drinking beer, while Lauren and I set the kids up in an inflatable pool full of ball pit balls Lauren's set up on the grass.
"You want something to drink?" She offers, pulling a bottle of chilled white wine from a cooler.
"Yes, please." I reply gratefully. Things have been escalating with each of the boys and I have no idea what to do about it. Girl talk with white wine sounds exactly like what I need.
After she pours us a glass she leans back against a recliner.
"So, tell me what's going on with you and the boys?" She whispers conspiratorially.
I choke on my wine. I was expecting to make small talk before we got to the elephant in the room. "What do you mean?"
"I saw you guys at family day and at the river. You could cut the sexual tension with a knife."
I flush red. "We're just friends." I like Lauren, but we're not exactly on BFF terms, so I don't know how much I should reveal.
Lauren screws her mouth up. "My friends don't look at me the way those boys look at you. They look like they want to devour you."
I look up to see Gabe glancing our way with an eyebrow raised. "Things just...get tense...all living together..." I stutter lamely.
She gives me a disbelieving look before looking up at the boys. A soft smile plays on her lips. "You don't have to tell me anything, but I do have to say...if you have a chance at happiness, whatever that looks like for you, don't let it go."
I look at my boys now, too. There's a story behind her words, but I don't pry. If I'm not willing to share my story I have no right to ask her about hers. But we sit for a moment in comfortable silence. Luca's got his feet in the water while Novy flips some burgers on the grill. Gabe and Carter sit back comfortably in chairs, sipping on beer bottles, content smiles on their faces.
What does happiness look like for me? Does it mean one of these men? All of them? The nasty part of my mind speaks up first.There's no way they want anything to do with you. You're boring, plain, stupid.Then another part of my brain, the one the boys have been building, replies.Luca watches everything I do and asked me to wear his jersey. He kissed me. That certainly doesn't seem like someone not interested. Gabe's touches at Family Day at the arena. His hard cock pressing into my ass certainly seemed interested. And Carter's kiss at the river?I chuckle at the memory.His hard dick when we took a bath together.
No. They're interested, if only physically. But what do I want? Do I want them physically? Do I want more than the physical with them?
Lauren's given me a lot to think about, and I don't think I'll come up with an answer today.
Chapter twenty-one
Emily
Watching the fight on TV made my stomach churn. I haven't been that nervous or upset in a long time. Fights and hockey are synonymous and half of the appeal, but it's so different when you know the people involved intimately. These aren't just hockey players, those are my roommates, my friends, my boys. Even if this thing with Gabe is new, my protective instincts take over and the rage and fear I feel is unparalleled.
Goalies rarely get involved in fights. There are only two to a team so if one is out for penalty or nursing his injuries from a fight that leaves one man precariously managing the net. Luca and Carter had been on the bench when the fight started and although they jumped the boards to join in, the fight was mostly over by the time they could join. Gabe was tended to on the bench by the staff, but as the camera panned away from him and to the other players involved and then back to the game play my skin crawled. I tried to will the camera to find him again, to see his face, to see how badly he'd been injured.
He never did return to play, and they never did show his face again.
I'm in my room, anxiety prickling every inch of my skin when I hear him come home. I don't know when it happened but after weeks of living with these boys I knew their individual gaits. I listen as he kicks on the shower and debate with myself what to do. I need to know he's okay.
The shower turns off and the house is uncomfortably silent. I groan. Fuck it. He can get angry at me and tell me to fuck off. As long as Ican see his face and know he's okay it'll be worth it. I clip the baby monitor to my sleep shorts, grab an eye pack from the freezer and some Neosporin from the first aid kit in the bathroom. His door is open, but the lights are off when I knock on it lightly.
He's in bed, leaning up against the headboard, his hair still damp, soft light from the window making it difficult to get a good look at his injuries. I stand in the doorway, silently, waiting for something. An invitation in, a 'fuck off', I don't know.
As my eyes adjust, I watch his gaze drag up and down my body, one eyebrow raised. I take that as an invitation. It's at the very least not a 'fuck off'. I set the baby monitor down on his nightstand and slowly, silently, kneel next to him, assessing the damage in the low light. He's got a bruise forming on his chin and one black eye. I wince. I place the ice pack gently against his chin and raise his hand to it to hold it there. He rolls his eyes at me but complies.
I then take a look at his cuts. One split eyebrow, and a split lip. I shuffle a little closer before dropping some Neosporin on my finger and gently spreading it against his eyebrow and the butterfly bandage there.
I know the boys have a medical team that does an excellent job, but I also know how stubborn and tough hockey players are. My brother played quite a few games with a broken finger or a busted knee.
I expected Gabe to complain that I was making a bigger deal out of a little cut, but he didn't. He watches me with curiosity. I get the feeling he's not used to someone worrying about him, or taking care of him.
I'm glad he's letting me. Maybe it's one more way he's letting me in.
I gently press some Neosporin onto his lip. He winces and I pull away quickly, with a gasp. He grabs my wrist with his free hand and brings it back to his mouth. He's staring at me with a heat, and intensity I find uncomfortable. It feels like his gaze is burning into my very soul. The air between us is charged and it's difficult to breathe. I stare at his mouth to avoid the intensity of his eyes. His bottom lip is perfect and pouty, and it gives under the slight pressure of my thumb. I lick my own lips, my mouth suddenly dry. His breathing is deep, labored.
