Page 106 of Lucky Laces
“Worth every stitch,” I say dryly.
A throat clearing has me stilling.Then lifting my head, struggling to smooth out my frown.
Something I think that Jean-Michel clocks, considering his smirk.
“Take your time,” he says.“And tomorrow we’ll sort out some ways to make this all appear above board to any of the idiots who think they have the right to comment.”
“Above board?”DeeDee asks.
Jean-Michel nods.“Like having one of the assistant coaches overseeing Huddy’s playing time so we can avoid talk of favoritism.”
“Oh,” she murmurs.“That’s a good idea.”
He grins, lifts and drops one shoulder.“You would have thought of it eventually.”Then he turns to leave our not-so-private hallway.
I tighten my hand on Dee’s hip, mouth opening to speak.
But I don’t get the words out because Jean-Michel says, “Oh, guys?”
We glance over at him.
“Don’t forget to stop and enjoy these moments.”
Dee relaxes against me, leaning more heavily into my side.
“And make sure you hold them close for the inevitable shit storm that’s no doubt heading your way.”
“I—”
He nods his head once at us.“Hold them tight,” he semi-repeats.
Then he’s gone.
And any hint of relaxation has left her body.
I bite back a sigh.
Then I see about holding the moments tight.
Thirty-Five
Diana
After the chatwith Jean-Michel—one that both settled me and left me completely unnerved—we took his advice and created a moment to hold close.
Hudson’s kissing ability is seriously unparalleled.
But after voices came close and we were nearly caught like naughty teenagers for the second time in a half hour, we venture out of the corridor…
And into heaven.
Because it turns out that one of the best ways to stop thinking about unnerving conversations filled with warnings and tacit approval and my entire social circle—including several men I’m supposed to effectively coach—witnessing me pinned to the wall by one of their teammates while loudly baring my soul is…playing with kitties.
Huddy wasn’t wrong earlier.
It’s really all for the pussies.
Snorting to myself—because apparently I have a twelve-year-old’s sense of humor—I settle in, my back resting against the wall, my lap full of passed-out kittens, and survey the room.
