Page 81 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Ten

Jules

I hefted the bag of trash out through the backdoor of CeCe’s.

It was late.

Last call had been made.

And all I wanted was to get home to Ethan.

Plus, if I made it home before three, I wouldn’t have to pay Mary for another hour. Mary was awesome, but money was always tight, and with Ethan in big kid school now, things were only going to get more expensive.

My baby was getting bigger.

Which meant the kid was eating more, and he was outgrowing his clothes and his shoes, and?—

Every hour I wasn’t spending on childcare meant more money to save for clothes and food and hockey gear, and, heaven help me, college one day.

I dropped the trash bag to the ground, tied it off, and then rose on tiptoe to push open the top of the dumpster, having to do it a couple of times before it banged back against the brick wall and stayed in place. Then I waited, eyeing it warily.

It had fallen down and crashed onto my head too many times to count.

But when it remained resting against the wall, I bent for the bag, hefting it up and launching it into the dumpster.

The rim of the dumpster was high, and I was short, so even with practice, that still took me a couple of tries to be successful in my bag launching. A leap had my fingers reaching for the top, sending it crashing down, and I turned back for the bar, brushing my hands off as I went.

All I had left to do was close out a couple of tables, bus a few others, and then I was going to clock out and head home.

Smiling, I tugged open the door to the hallway.

And just that quickly, my smile faded.

I sighed, my head falling back, gaze hitting the ceiling. “Jesus Christ, not again.”

Cas’s ex.

The woman’s name was…Chester? Charmaine? Colette? No. Chelsea .

It was Chelsea.

And that woman was a Do Not Engage Zone.

Thus, I didn’t say anything, just started to brush by her. I’d learned my lesson the last time Chelsea came in. The daggers that woman had thrown my way…yeah, I didn’t want any part of that crazy.

I needed to focus on Ethan. On the new clothes he was going to need. The shoes. The hockey gear. The college fund.

All of which would be really difficult to give my son if I got my ass fired.

Talons gripped my arm, yanking me roughly to a halt.

Okay, so truthfully, they were really long nails , but they might as well have been claws, digging in with surprising strength considering the lithe, slender blonde seemed to barely weigh a hundred pounds.

God, Cas could have crushed her.

Cas was big and strong and dwarfed me and?—

Was why I was in this predicament.

Right. Focus. Mentally sighing, I tugged at my arm. Unfortunately, the talons didn’t release, Chelsea holding firm.

“Let go of me,” I ordered, keeping my temper in check.

Barely.

Chelsea’s eyes narrowed at my tone, furious sparks in the depths, snapping out, “You need to?—”

“I don’t need to do anything.” I was patient.

I had to be. I dealt with drunk assholes on the regular, had a kid I loved, but who tried my patience—also on the regular.

But I had no room in my life for this kind of bullshit.

I knew, knew Cas had been clear that he didn’t want to see Chelsea anymore—he’d said as much the previous three—yes, three —times that the other woman had shown up at the bar when he’d been here with his teammates.

He hadn’t played any games.

The last time Chelsea had appeared, he’d given her the blunt truth, and he’d done it in front of the table—instead of walking her into the hallway (where I had shamelessly eavesdropped on them) as he’d done on previous visits.

All that being said, I knew this wasn’t some game-playing nonsense from a hockey playboy. He’d been kind on visit one. Firm on number two. Blunt and a little frustrated on visit three. So, there was no reason for Chelsea to be here, thinking she had a chance and generally fucking up my night.

As thus, my temper flared. “Let go,” I growled, “and back up.”

“I said, you need to?—”

“Again, ma’am”—too polite, probably, but I was hanging onto the dredges of my patience by my fingernails—“I don’t need to do anything.

” I tugged at my arm again. “Except for my job, which”—I glanced down at the talons digging into my skin and sending pain shooting up my arm—“you’re stopping me from doing. So… you need to back up.”

Outrage across a beautiful face. Those nails digging deeper. “Did you just ma’am me?”

Wow.

Not touching that one.

Instead, I tugged at my arm. Again. And this time, I finally succeeded in freeing myself. Although the action hurt like hell and left me with nail marks—several of them bleeding—on my forearm.

Great. Good times.

Sighing, I stuck out my arm when Chelsea reached for me again, nearly clotheslining the other woman, but at least she slid to a halt…and seriously, there was a whole lot of crazy in the other woman’s eyes.

“You need to go home,” I tried.

“I need Luca?—”

My patience snapped.

I was bleeding and my arm hurt and, dammit, it was fucking late, and I was tired. I wanted to go home to my bed, wanted to sleep. But, most of all, I wanted to be done with this fucking conversation.

“Who’s Luca?” I snapped, my back to the barroom that I needed to get back into…once I could turn away from the clawed woman in front of me.

A talon-tipped finger jabbing in my direction.

“ You know who he is. Cas. You always flirt with him and then he watches you and I know you’re in love with him.

” More crazy in those eyes. “I know it and I hate it, and you need to leave him alone because. He. Is. Mine.” She pushed against my arm. “ Mine! ”

Apparently, Cas was Luca.

That was…a development.

But I couldn’t focus on it. I needed to get home and save that hour of babysitting. Stat. And maybe I also needed to get away from this woman who saw what I had been trying to hide, saw that I wanted Cas, saw…too fucking much.

Because I couldn’t have it.

Because—

“Jules?” Matt asked from down at the end of the hallway. “You okay?”

And seriously, now I could kiss my boss.

“Not really,” I called.

A heartbeat later, he was at my shoulder, heat drifting along my spine, soaking in through my clothes, his male scent filling my nose.

“What the fuck?”

I froze.

Because…not Matt.

Oh. Boy . That wasn’t Matt.

I whipped around, saw Cas standing there. But I’d already known that it was his heat soaking into me, his scent in my nose. Beyond his big, strong frame, I saw that Matt was pushed against the wall, as though he’d been shoved there and was now regaining his balance.

Because Cas had been in a hurry to get to me.

Me.

I inhaled, my insides going melty. They’d begun to thaw at the sight of him crouching in front of Ethan, talking about hockey, offering up his time. That melt had continued when he scooped up Sparky and carried his sleepy pooch just because his dog was tired. And now?—

“What. The. Fuck? ”

Thoughts of melting disappeared.

Because… shit .

“Luca, baby,” Chelsea began.

I turned back and saw that Chelsea’s gaze had gone…oh, man, it sent a prickle down my spine. It had been crazy before, but now it had gone really, really …bad. This was not a woman who was going to give up easily.

Not now that her prey was in her sights.

Right. On that note, I was out of there. Clearing my throat, I inched along the wall, said, “I’ll just go?—”

Cas’s fingers wrapped around my wrist, and he started to pull me toward him.

Gently, but angling his body so that I could stand behind him, so that he was between me and the crazy in front of him.

And that settled somewhere deep inside, sanded off the rough edges, warmed me, set the melt going again. But before I made it all the way behind him, he went tense and something scary—or scarier —emanated from him, filling the air, filling the hall.

On instinct, I froze.

Cas lifted my arm, and the scratches, the blood dripping along my forearm hit the light, suddenly much more visible, suddenly much more obvious, and that scary in the air increased. It looked worse than it was. Yeah, it hurt. For sure. But the dripping wounds looked…ghoulish.

And Cas’s face…

Was frightening.

“What the fuck?” he said a third time before he finished drawing me behind him.

“Cas,” Chelsea began, “I need to?—”

Cas— Luca —spun us around, propelling me down the hall, leaving Chelsea still talking behind us, but I barely heard another word because then I was inside the women’s restroom and my arm was in the sink, and Cas was turning on the faucet.

Warm water on my skin.

The volume increasing in the hall…then abruptly cutting off.

And all the while, Cas didn’t seem to notice.

His fingers were gentle as they smoothed soap over my skin, rinsing it with the warm water. Then washing it again.

Like him shifting me behind him in the hall, talking with Ethan, dealing with Sparky, his actions settled deep.

Even though they probably shouldn’t.

Even though they probably didn’t mean anything except that he was a good guy looking after someone who was hurt because of him.

Not that I was blaming him (or reading too much into what he was doing, for that matter). I was just acutely sensitive to it because I’d never had that type of care growing. No mom. A resentful, angry father. Getting my booboos gently tended hadn’t been something I was used to?—

The water shut off.

Cas blotted my skin with a paper towel.

Gently. So gently.

“I’m okay, you know,” I whispered. This hurt was…nothing.

His head tipped up, gaze hitting mine, eyes still furious.

But he didn’t say anything, just kept blotting until my skin was dry. “You need to be bandaged up,” he said, shifting my arm from side to side as he stared at my skin, “but I don’t think any of these need stitches.”

“I’m fine,” I told him. “Promise.”

His eyes flickering.

His fingers tightening.

Then slowly, oh so slowly, he lifted my arm, pressed his lips to the inside of my elbow well above the cuts. After, he inhaled deeply enough that I shivered.

“You’re cold,” he murmured, lips still on my skin.

I still had his hoodie from the last time he’d presumed that. Hadn’t been able to bring myself to return it. Not when I’d begun sleeping in it—wrapped in his warmth, his scent.

“No,” I whispered.

My voice was husky.

“No?” he asked, heat in amongst those flickering eyes, and I knew, like last time, he read between the lines, that he knew exactly what I was thinking.

Mutely, I shook my head in answer.

“So, if not cold then…” He trailed his lips a little higher, pushing the sleeve of my tee up, dragging his mouth along the inside of my biceps, and I shivered again. “Warm?” he asked silkily.

Another shake of my head.

“Hot?”

Yeah, okay, that was the one.

And even though I didn’t nod, I knew he felt the answer. Because I shivered again and then melted against him. Oh God, that was good—his hot, hard body all along mine.

“Hmm.” He dropped the sleeve of my T-shirt, pressed his mouth to my throat, tongue flicking out, just the slightest bit, tasting me.

I wished he’d keep doing it, wished he’d taste in other places.

And now I wasn’t just hot.

I was molten .

“Jules?” he asked against my skin.

My pulse was thundering beneath my skin, leaving me weak and shaking, my thighs trembling, my body slumping against his. I couldn’t remember any of the reasons I’d thought exploring this pull between us was a bad idea, why I’d been avoiding it. Not when this was so, so good. “Hmm?” I managed.

He lifted his head.

Green, green eyes on mine.

Lips parting—mine, his —and he leaned down, his lips growing closer.

Hot breath on my skin. Spicy male in my nose. His mouth right, right there.

Oh God, he was going to kiss me.

Oh God, I wanted him to.

Oh God?—

His lips hit mine just as…

The door to the bathroom slammed open.