Page 33 of Breaking Point (IceHawks #1)

Grayson

GRAYSON

are you coming back tomorrow?

BELLA

yes, why?

GRAYSON

I just miss your cooking is all

M y truck pulls up alongside Bella’s car right as she gets out and opens the trunk, revealing bags of groceries. Something in my chest uncoils, warmth flooding my veins at the sight of her.

I haven’t seen her since Friday, and although it’s only Monday, I found myself missing her around the house.

Missing the lingering scent that she leaves from room to room, missing the playlist that seems to always be on as she works, and most importantly, missing the way the ache in my chest lessens when she’s around.

This weekend was…hard.

The AA meetings I went to ripped open that wound of Drew so thoroughly it took every ounce of my strength not to drive to a liquor store.

Monday couldn’t come soon enough.

Jumping out of my truck, I drink in the sight of Bella in tight black leggings and a white sweatshirt, along with the smile she gives me as she turns and locks her gaze on mine.

I put all my focus on breathing normally as I slowly approach her.

A smile of my own spreads across my face because I can’t help but smile when she’s nearby.

“Let me get those,” I offer, not waiting for a response before grabbing up five bags.

She huffs out a laugh. “What takes you one trip would have taken me two.”

“Pays to be an athlete, I suppose.”

Her gaze trails down my body as she murmurs under her breath, “That it does.”

Turning from her before she can see the heat filling my cheeks, I carry the groceries into the kitchen, grateful beyond measure that I showered at the gym after my personal training session. As she walks in, I’m surprised by the intensity of wanting to touch her.

One public outing with this woman where I could touch her and hold her at my leisure, and here I am with no one around craving the feel of her skin.

I make myself busy with my hands so I don’t do something foolish like wrap my hands around her waist. I move around the kitchen gathering ingredients for a protein shake, my entire body hyperaware of her.

“Anything else on the agenda for today?” she asks.

Shaking my head, I gulp down some of the protein shake, noting how her eyes are trained on my neck.

Do I have something on my skin?

“Nothing more for the day. The shelter has too many volunteers today if you can believe it.” I give her a smile. “Afraid you’re stuck with me.” Taking in the amount of groceries, I frown. “Did Kieran get into the food again?”

She deadpans, “When doesn’t he?”

“I need to start sending him my grocery bills.”

A small breathy laugh escapes her, stopping me dead in my tracks.

I’ve never been so hyperaware of another person.

Never had my gaze track every movement they make, never thought so much about them before.

And yet here she is, humming under her breath, wholly unaware of how much she affects me.

My heart’s beating a thousand miles a minute all the while she’s flitting around the kitchen without a care in the world.

“You can put your playlist on if you want.”

She stops, her cinnamon-colored eyes lifting to mine. “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”

“If anything, I’m intruding.”

The corner of her lip twitches. “In your own house?”

Rubbing the nape of my neck, my cheeks heat. “Right.” I quickly change the topic. “Need any help?”

She frowns. “It’s okay. You don’t have to help.”

I shrug. “I don’t have anything going on this afternoon.”

Her lips purse, her eyes raking over the mountain load of groceries. “You can help if you want. I’m just meal prepping for the next three days.”

“Done. Just tell me where you need me.”

Jumping off the kitchen bench, I wash my hands, noting how despite offering to help, a small furrow forms between her brows, her movements more hurried than usual.

Is she stress cooking?

Drew used to do the same thing. You could tell when he was cooking because he wanted to or when he was doing it to take his mind off something because his hands were frantic, his cuts and slices heavier.

“Are you okay?” I ask quietly, coming up beside her and taking the potatoes and peeler she hands me.

Her shoulders tighten. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t mean to pry, you just seem to be in a hurry.”

Her shoulders drop on a deep exhale. “I’m sorry, I actually do need to be out of here a little early. I was hoping to have most of my work for the day done by three.”

It’s outrageous of me to be disappointed that the first available afternoon I have off she can’t be here, and yet I am. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the sudden heartburn racing up my chest is because of it .

“That’s all right. How come you have to leave?”

“No reason.”

The peeler slips from my hand. A layer of potato skin flies across the bench and lands on the marble counter with a wet slap.

She’s being cagey.

Is she…going on a date?

The thought makes my chest tighten to the point I have to put the peeler down and gulp water to try and ease my now clammy skin. Bella busies herself with slicing into meat, her playlist drifting from her phone beside her.

I’m grateful she’s distracted so she can’t see how much this affects me, but I’m also concerned that she’s so distracted because she’s thinking about her date tonight.

Am I being ridiculous?

I’m certain I am and yet the tightness in my chest, the hot burning sensation beneath my skin…am I jealous ?

Of an imaginary date?

I thought the puck bunny question last week after the game meant she wasn’t seeing anyone either. Perhaps I’m jealous for the same reasons she asked about puck bunnies—I don’t want people to think I’m being cheated on.

Yet a small, teeny tiny voice in my mind knows that isn’t the case.

“Big plans tonight?” I can’t help but ask.

Moving the meat onto a sizzling pan, she looks at me over her shoulder. “Not really. Do you?”

Moving onto the vegetables she left out for me to chop, I shake my head.

I was hoping she would be my Monday night plans, that I could finally eat dinner with her in the same room and ask more questions under the guise of needing to get to know her for the arrangement.

I shouldn’t be disappointed. I have no right to be disappointed.

Passing her the chopped vegetables, I listen to the soft sound of her voice singing to the music playing throughout the kitchen. With nothing left to do, I move to a stool, knowing I look like a creeper just sitting here watching her, and yet I can’t help myself .

She holds out a bag of gummy bears to me. “Want one?”

Taking a handful, I offer my thanks, noting how she only takes a red and yellow gummy. “Are you free next Saturday?”

Her gaze moves to the schedule she put up on the fridge. “During the day?”

More night plans?

“Yes,” I say, desperately wanting to ask why she isn’t free at night suddenly.

Can I even ask that? Yes, this is an unusual arrangement, but it’s also unusual for me to want to know what my assistant is doing once they leave my house. I’ve never gotten involved in my assistants’ personal lives.

But Bella is different.

She feels like more than an assistant. If anything, the title is a disservice to her.

“If you need me, then of course,” she offers.

For some reason, my hands turn clammy as I say, “There’s a charity event I’m attending for dogs with special needs. I was hoping you could come.”

“Of course! I love dogs,” she gushes, moving to write it down in the calendar.

Turning my head to the side so she can’t see my wide smile, I place my attention on my yard—my extremely depressing yard.

I sigh at how sad it looks.

Bella places the chicken on simmer and rounds the bench, coming to sit beside me as she follows my line of sight. “Did you fire your groundskeeper too?” she jokes.

I let out a deep chuckle. “No, I used to do all the landscaping myself actually.”

The red gummy making its way to her plush pink lips pauses mid-air.

“That surprises you?”

“No offense. It’s just such a large property it would be hard for one person to manage.”

Looking back out over my garden, toward the mountains on display in the background, I admit, “I used to love it. It wasn’t work in my mind. ”

“Why don’t you garden anymore?”

My entire body tenses at the question.

Tearing my gaze away, I snatch a gummy from the packet, purposely not taking a red or yellow one. “Not interested anymore,” I answer gruffly.

Halfway through eating the candy, I notice her staring at me. I give her a pointed look, making her shake her head. “What?”

“I call bullshit.”

The gummy goes down the wrong pipe, and in the next second, I’m choking, whacking my chest as tears spring into my eyes.

Bella rushes to grab me a bottle of water, her small hand on my back doing the opposite of helping.

I choke harder, my body so excited that she’s finally touching me again I swear my throat closes up to keep her hand there for longer.

Turning, I hunch over and cough, and Bella steps forward, practically standing between my legs as her hand rubs up and down my shoulder.

How long can I continue to choke before I pass out?

Furthermore, is it wrong I want to pass out so she has to give me mouth-to-mouth?

Taking a sip of water, I get control of myself again, though my face flames with embarrassment.

Bella scoffs, yet there’s a look of fright covering her features. “No one ever called you out on your bullshit before?”

“Plenty, actually.”

She gives me a look that has me smirking. “I highly doubt that considering you’d rather die than hear the truth.”

“And what exactly is the truth?” I ask, finding myself leaning into her warmth as she stands in front of me. If I continue, she’ll be standing between my legs.

Heat grows in my belly at the thought alone, my cock stirring as she gives me the most devilish smirk imaginable, peering up at me through her thick black lashes.

“You, Mr. Crawford, are an avoider.”

Reclining on the kitchen bench, I note the way her eyes go to my arms. “No such thing. ”

A humorless bark bursts from her lips. “There are thousands of psychologists that would disagree with that statement.”

“Are you one of them?” I ask, quirking a brow.

“Well, no, not a psychologist but?—”

“I’m not an avoider,” I cut in.

She steps forward as I continue to challenge her, but suddenly, I don’t care what the topic is. Bella standing between my legs, her arms crossed over her chest and her cheeks flushed with determination, is the most attractive sight I’ve ever witnessed.

“Why haven’t you gardened then?”

I shrug half-heartedly, loving the way her eyes flare at my lack of response. “Why did you stop drawing?” I throw back at her.

That makes her pause, those plush pink lips pursing as she levels me a look. “Touché, Crawford. Touché.”

Pushing my upper body off the kitchen counter, I place my hands between my legs on the barstool to stop myself from touching her. Her eyes widen with how close we are, just inches away from each other’s faces.

She didn’t realize she was slowly moving in inch by inch toward me. Just like how I am subconsciously drawn to her.

Perhaps this isn’t all in my head after all.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” I drawl.

Her chest rises and falls, growing faster the longer she gazes into my eyes.

“I’m listening,” she whispers, yet it’s more a rasp than anything.

My gaze flicks back and forth, searching hers for…something, anything, just a sign that what I feel right now, the pull between us, isn’t one-sided.

“When you draw again, I’ll garden.”

Her hot exhale fans across my lips. The simple feel of it sends a shiver down my spine. My hands curl around the bench until it’s a white-knuckled grip of pure determination to not reach out and slide my hand into her soft brown locks and kiss the ever-loving fuck out of her.

“Okay,” she breathes .

But her eyes are no longer on mine. They’re on my lips.

Her swallow is audible as her body leans forward a slight fraction. My heart leaps into my throat, blood roaring in my ears as I meet her that small movement.

Her breath hitches at that, and whatever is between us bursts with life, sparks like fireworks. Everything around us simply fades into the background.

“Looks like we have a deal, Blaze.”

“It’s Bella,” she corrects, yet her eyes are still sizzling with heat.

A lopsided grin spreads across my face. “I know.” Before I lose the nerve, I drawl, “What are you doing Thursday night?”

“Why?”

“Because you owe me a date, Miss Stratford.” My hoarse voice makes her eyes fall hooded and her breathy pants dance across my lips. “Once a week I get you to myself, remember?”

She licks her lips. “For the arrangement.”

“Mm-hmm,” I hum.

“Okay,” she whispers again.

A sizzle of anticipation races up my spine, and with it, I move forward ever so slightly. “I surprised you last time. What do you want this time around?”

“You could teach me how to skate.” She bites her lip.

“You want to go to the rink?” I ask, shocked.

“I want you to show me what you love most” is her soft answer.

And for some reason, a small voice in the back of my head whispers that I’m staring at it right now.

My fingers flex, her gaze dropping down to them, not missing a beat. “Want something, Crawford?”

The husky drawl of her voice has my cock twitching.

Her eyes flare, the pulse point in her neck beating erratically, and her body—that gorgeous fucking body—moves toward me so slowly until our lips are just a hair’s breadth away?—

BANG.

“Please tell me Bella went shopping,” Kieran calls from the front hallway .

Bella leaps backwards a mile as the front door slams shut.

I close my eyes slowly, trying to contain my anger.

I will kill my best friend.

And as Bella busies herself in the kitchen, wrapping up on the cooking to get out of here quicker, it will be by throttling the man as he grins.

“Oh, did I interrupt something?” he drawls, the smug fucker .

“No,” I growl through clenched teeth.

Kieran’s grin turns devilish. “Good. Wouldn’t want to impose,” he says as he makes himself at home, my and Bella’s moment long gone.

But not forgotten.

Because now I know without a shadow of a doubt that what I feel isn’t one-sided at all.