Page 113 of Lucky Laces
My heart squeezes.
“We’re building something special here,” he says.“And I’m going to have your back—and it’s not because you’re a woman or that you’re making friends with my daughters.It’s not that you adopted a cat or fell in love with one of my players.It’s not even because you’re a great fucking coach.”He bumps his arm against mine.
“Then why?”I whisper.
“It’s all of that.And more,” he adds.“From the moment you showed up at our first meeting ready to kick ass all the way to the Cup, I knew you were fucking special.So, there’s no question of why in my book.You’re you, DeeDee”—he smiles as he uses Huddy’s nickname for me—“and that means you’re stuck with the annoying, nosy, sometimes dysfunctional family that is the Eagles.So you’d better get used to it.We take each other’s back.We gossip like fiends.And we don’t letourpeople face shitstorms alone—not ones that are already here nor ones that are incoming.”
I blink, the unpleasant thing gone.Sort of.
Because that’s sweet.
But there’s also the whole shitstorm thing he keeps mentioning.
Now,” he says, clearing his throat and closing his laptop.“I think it’s time to call it a day.”
I frown, thinking it’s still early and I have a lot of work left to do.“Why?”
“Because I think someone wants you.”
“Who?”I ask, confused.Because I’m also thinking that I knew Jean-Michel could be sweet, but I never figured he’d be sweet with me.
So…I’m touched.
And a little terrified.
But mostly touched.
Because it’ll be nice to have a family again, even one that can be slightly dysfunctional and nosy.
I glance at Jean-Michel when he doesn’t reply, see that he’s not looking at me.
His eyes have gone over my shoulder.
“I think someone wants you,” he repeats, amusement in his voice.
So much that I table my tangle of emotions (including the terror) and follow his gaze.
It takes me a second to realize what he’s looking at.
No.Whohe’s looking at.
Hudson is standing in the open doorway, his stare fixed on me.Fixed.
As though I’m the only person on the planet aside from him.
As though I’m some delectable treat he’s desperate to devour.
Hell, considering the foreplay—if rounding third base and engaging in oral sex and making out like teenagers for nights on end can be considered foreplay—of the last few weeks, I can’t pretend to be in a different mindset.
Clearly seeing that I’m right there with him, his mouth curves up into a sexy half smile.
God, he gave me that smile the other night.
After the towel had “fallen” to the floor and I’d taken his cock in my mouth and he’d?—
Heat engulfs me from head to toe, and I shiver—and it’s not from the cool air of the rink seeping down the hall and invading the office Jean-Michel and I are using.
Nope.
