Page 76 of The Rebel (Looking to Score 1)
“C’mon, sleepyhead,” I murmur, guiding my hand along the front of his boxer briefs.
His body jerks in response, and he instantly stiffens beneath my touch, just as I hoped.
“Mmm, yeah?” His gray eyes flutter open, already dark with need as he touches his lips softly to mine.
One hand floats up to my jaw, and when he kisses me again, we’re suddenly both wide awake. He plants a trail of lazy, open-mouthed kisses along my neck and down my collarbone, while I fist my hand around his shaft through the cotton of his boxer briefs. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, pushing his hips against my rhythm.
And then, in a moment of pure bad timing, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I try to ignore it, keeping my grip on his length, but then it buzzes again. I’m getting a call.
With a sigh of defeat, I slip out of Holt’s arms, reaching for my phone. It’s Coach Wilder.
“I have to take this.” I scramble out of bed and lunge for my robe, making myself feel decent enough for a work call, then wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder. “Hello?”
“Eden.” Wild sighs, sounding relieved. “Thank God you picked up. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
“No, you didn’t,” I grumble, because technically, that’s the truth, although his call is certainly an unwanted interruption.
“Good. Any chance you’ve heard from Braun recently?”
My brows scrunch together at the mention of my ex, and Holt definitely notices. He sits up in bed, arching one thick brow at me. I mouth the words it’s fine before slipping out to the kitchen.
Something about discussing an ex in my bedroom, even in a professional capacity, feels wrong, especially when my boyfriend is half-naked and probably still hard between my sheets.
“I haven’t spoken to him in weeks,” I say to Coach once I’m safely in the kitchen, leaning up against the island and chewing on a hangnail. “Other than a word or two at practices. Why do you ask?”
A low, frustrated noise comes over the line. “I really hate to involve you in this, Eden, but we might have a bit of a problem.”
“What kind of a problem?”
“An Alex-is-missing kind of a problem. He wasn’t at practice on Wednesday, and he skipped morning skate today. It’s not like him.”
My stomach squeezes into a tight knot.
Coach is right. That isn’t like Alex. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never let anything stand between him and his hockey career. If he’s skipping practice, he must be either sick as a dog or in a ditch somewhere. And the man may have broken my heart, but I don’t wish either of those things upon him. Especially not the second one.
I promise Coach that I’ll do what I can to help the situation, although I’m not entirely sure what that entails, then end the call with a huff, leaning heavily against the kitchen counter.
Holt and I need to be on the road in an hour if we’re going to stick to our plans. How much can I get done in an hour? I suppose we could go to Alex’s apartment and check on him before we leave town, but that feels all kinds of awkward.
I tap on my phone screen, pulling up my contacts. If ever there was a time to delegate, it’s now.
Moments later, I’m on the phone with Aspen, interrupting what’s supposed to be her day off too. “I’m so sorry to do this to you, but will you go check on Alex? He’s not showing up to practice, and Coach is worried.”
“Sure thing.”
When Aspen agrees cheerily, I make a mental note to double the holiday bonus we budgeted to give her.
Just as we’re finishing up our call, two big, warm arms encircle my waist, and I instantly feel at ease.
“Everything okay?” Holt asks once I’ve hung up, leaning over to press a kiss onto my cheekbone.
“I’m not sure. Coach is worried about Alex. He’s been missing from some practices lately.”
“Sounds serious,” Holt replies with a grunt, which is really the most sympathy I could ask from him on topics pertaining to Alex. He knows that my involvement with my ex starts and ends with his work on the ice, but when he’s not showing up to do that work, we have a problem.
“It might be serious,” I say, grabbing Holt’s big hands and pulling his arms tighter around me. “Or he might just be throwing some kind of temper tantrum. Either way, I’ve got Aspen taking care of it. You and I have other plans this weekend.”
“We sure do, baby. I’m proud of you.” He hums against my neck, his curious hands wandering down my hips. “Now, where were we earlier this morning?”
Before I can respond, I feel my feet lift up from the tile, and soon I’m slung over Holt’s shoulder, squealing and kicking my feet as he carries me back to bed.
