Page 42 of Off the Stick
With a tilt of his head, he quirks an eyebrow and gives me one of his signature smirks, the same one that won me over back in the day.My heart skips a beat.
“I always had it in me, Cherry.I just never had a chance to prove it to you until now.”
A noise sounding a lot like a laugh bursts from my lungs, followed by a deep barking cough.“I see you’re still full of yourself though, aren’t you, hockey boy?”
“When you got both the skills and the looks, Cherry.”With a bit of a swagger, he flicks his hand to flip his hair back with a haughty flourish.“Who wouldn’t be, eh?”
Oh Mylanta.Dane hasn’t changed too much.
But I’ll admit, the man may be arrogant and have an ego the size of a hockey arena, but he backs it up with his damn good looks and a level of charm that will steal your heart.
Dane Axelrod is blessed with a fierce jawline that could cut glass and is covered in a tawny honey-colored scruff that makes my fingers want to strum through it.Once again, I’m struck with the physical changes in his body.Toned, muscular arms that look like mountains protruding underneath his form-fitting Henley shirt, and thighs that bulge from years of skating and intense physical workouts that I can’t help but yearn to wrap my legs around again.
And he’s not just a pretty face, either.Dane has a quick wit and a bold confidence that measures up and makes me swoon.
What he’s apparently done with Lenni the past few days while I’ve been under the weather shows that he is willing to accept fully capable of handling our child.
Which means I need to be even more vigilant at guarding both Lenni’s and my hearts.
“Why did you agree to help us?”
Dane’s gaze finds mine, his gray eyes flashing with confusion.He grabs my hands in his, and turns my palms face up.His thumbs stroke a lazy pattern over the skin of my wrists and goose bumps of electricity surge through my body.
My sense of smell and taste may be severely affected by this virus, but it doesn’t douse the spark of sensual heat I feel from his touch.
“Halle, I would do anything for you.”He stares at me from under his long lashes.“And for our daughter.”
As if his words summon her, Lenni comes bursting through the bedroom door right on cue.This time, she holds a piece of pink construction paper that she must’ve pulled out of the cubby in the kitchen.
“Look, Mama!I made a card for you.”She shoves the picture in front of me, and I grab the edge, flipping it around to see the artwork.“And look, Mama, Ax helped me wiff the words and dwaw the hockey stick.He plays hockey like Zack and Drew.”
I glance at him and try to hide my smile.And then I look back down at Lenni, who grins broadly with the knowledge she’s shared.
“I know, baby.And he’s a really good hockey player.”
“Yeah.He plays for the Vikings.And he called you baby, too.”
My eyes go wide, and I pin him with my question.“Oh?Did he now?”
He shrugs and gives me a wink.“Old habits.”
“Yeah.But I towd him you’re not a baby.He’s silly,” she explains, then grabs Dane’s hand and pulls his arm.“Come on, Ax.Time to wide my bike.”
I watch as my little girl tugs Dane up to his feet and pulls her two-hundred-something-pound father toward the doorway.Dane just looks back at me and grins that boyishly charming smirk.
Oh shit.I’m a goner.
21
Dane
I learned the hard way that a child’s car seat does not—and for the record, cannot—fit into the front seat of a Porsche 911 Carrera GTS.
Apparently, car seats must go into the backseat of a car.Who knew?
Lenni did.
She expertly explained to me in no uncertain terms that “You can’t do that, silly.Kids sit in the back.”I may have covertly googled that safety tip after her pronouncement, not extremely confident in the words of a four-year-old.
