Page 30 of Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend (Catching Feelings #1)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SEAN

K ayla’s still finding pockets of barbecue sauce on her hands when we pull up to the hotel.

“That’s my sixth wet wipe. What did Big Hank make that sauce with?”

“Sugar. And love,” I say, earning a laughing groan from her.

I grab my duffle bag and take her hand as she leads me through the lobby and toward the elevator.

“I booked a room,” I say quietly, because I don’t want her thinking I have any expectations about what happens next. “But I should probably give you a proper goodnight.”

We step onto the elevator, and her lips stretch into a smile. “You really should.” Then she cranes her head up, and I lean down and plant my lips on hers.

Well, I’m about to.

Someone stops the door right before it can close, and …

I hold back a groan.

In walks Fletch and about half of the freaking Mudflaps, wearing swim trunks, pool slides, and altogether too many abs.

(Though mine are better.)

“Sean, my man!” Lucas Fischer says, holding his fist out.

And that means I have to let go of my wife.

Freaking Lucas.

“Hey,” I say, bumping his fist. They all cram in, and I angle Kayla away from the guys, mostly to avoid them dripping pool water on her. Fletch gives me a nod. “What floor?” I ask him.

“We’re all on the top. With you,” Fletch mutters, almost apologetically. “They have a strict curfew, but I can’t promise they won’t be idiots.”

Kayla and I share a glance. My room is on the fourth floor, not the fifteenth, with them.

Heat bubbles in my chest, feeling less like excitement and more like anxiety. Kayla bites the inside of her cheek.

“So how was the pool?” Kayla asks.

“I was in the sauna,” Fletch says. “The yahoos were swimming. At least at first. Then they all decided to join me.”

“Team bonding,” one of them jokes.

“Come on, Coach,” another says. “You act like you didn’t love every minute.”

Fletch closes his eyes like every word hurts.

The elevator stops at the top floor, and everyone files out.

Kayla and I hold hands and walk down the hall, but it feels different with people watching.

We have to think about what they’re thinking.

The team. We’re being watched by at least eight red-blooded males, and every one of them would be all over Kayla if they had the chance.

And I’m just holding her hand?

Kayla’s room is at the end of the hall, so as we pass room after room, guys enter them. But they don’t stay there. They prop their doors open and walk in and out of each other’s rooms.

“We have an audience,” I say, hoping she understands I’m not trying to cross a line.

Even if I happen to like crossing this one.

As she pulls out her key card, I stand behind her and put one hand on her waist. The other sweeps her hair away from her neck, and I press a kiss to the smooth ivory skin just above her collarbone.

Oh, man.

Oh.

Man.

Her skin. It’s addicting. It’s so soft, so smooth, it shouldn’t be legal. It’s all I can do not to let my lips make a trail up her neck, to her ear and jaw. It’s taking every ounce of willpower I have not to spin her around and kiss her until she can’t see straight.

But I keep my lips there, in that same spot above her collarbone, waiting for her to open the door.

Except, she isn’t opening the door.

She’s stopped.

She’s stopped everything . Moving. Breathing. It’s a total stillness, like she physically cannot move.

My hands tighten on her waist. “Sorry,” I whisper. “Too much?”

Her face leans against mine, like it’s reflexive, like my breath and lips against her neck have tripped her breaker. “Ask me when my brain starts working again,” she mutters.

I chuckle, and she shivers.

And Lucas yells, “Get a room!”

And as she finally gets the door open and we walk into the room, I can’t stop myself from popping my head out and calling back, “We did.”

“I’m sorry,” I say immediately when the door closes.

Kayla drops onto an arm chair, throws her long legs over one side and fans herself with her hat.

“I kept thinking how every guy out there would have been all over you if he were lucky enough to be your husband, and I didn’t want to not sell it, but I also didn’t want you to think I was planning to take advantage of you when we got into the room.

I didn’t know how to keep it chaste and sexy. ”

“No kidding. Keep working on that one, Cap,” she says, but she’s smiling.

“That sounds more like an invitation than a rebuke,” I say, treading lightly.

She just smiles, closes her eyes, and stretches like a cat.

I drop my duffle on the floor and take the chair across from her. The room is modern and sleek, with monochrome art and edges too clean to feel lived in. There’s a small lounge area, kitchenette, and the bedroom tucked behind a frosted glass wall. It’s elegant and polished, but too cold for Kayla.

“I’ll slip out when the guys shut up out there,” I tell her.

“That’s risky,” she says with a yawn, not meeting my eye. “If anyone’s out there, they’re going to think we got into a huge fight if they see you leave. Or if they see you walking around early in the morning.” She wrinkles her nose. “I think you may need to stay.”

I nod, a bouncing movement that lasts way longer than a nod should. “I can make up an excuse. Say I left to get us late night donuts.”

“With your duffle bag?”

“I’ll say I forgot it in the car.”

“They’ve already seen you with it, remember?”

Shoot. I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re sure full of objections, Boss.”

She narrows her eyes back at me, but it’s all bark. Or is it? “I could say the same about you. If I didn’t know you only married me because I backed you into a corner, I might think you didn’t want to be here at all.”

Whoa. Are we really going here? With that challenge in her eyes?

“Maybe that’s not the only reason I married you.”

Her body goes tense, a total contradiction of her relaxed pose on the chair. “Really?” She turns her head slowly toward me. “Why did you marry me?”

My pulse kicks against my ribs, like it’s trying to break out. Do I give her the safe answer or the honest one?

I pause, deliberating. Trying to work up the courage to be real.

But I don’t quite get there.

“I’ll admit I asked you in part because I thought you needed saving.”

Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t question or say a word. And as my words spill out, I realize they’re not the whole truth, but they ain’t a lie, either.

“I’ve spent a long time being someone’s second choice.

Serena only wanted me because Tucker wouldn’t commit.

My family needed me too much for me to even try something of my own.

The Arsenal didn’t want me—they needed me when their starter got injured, and they’re not sure they want me now.

The Blue Collars treated me like their safety net, and even now I don’t know if they’re rooting for me to succeed in the NHL or if they secretly want me to fail so I can make them look better on the ice, give them a chance at the big leagues. ”

I look down at my hands, twisting the ring around my finger. It’s been less than a week, and I already spin it without thinking. I’m not sure how weight can be a comfort, but this one is.

“So yeah, I asked you because I thought you needed me.”

The silence is thick between us.

“I didn’t say yes because I needed you, Sean. I could have fought the residency issue in court. I could have thrown money at the problem to make it go away. I didn’t need you.”

I nod once, slow and quiet. My thumb drags over the ring again.

“I know,” I say. “Like I said, I asked you because I thought you needed me.” Then I glance up, meeting her wide, unguarded eyes. “But I think I married you because you didn’t.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

I shrug. Give her half a grin, because I don’t think either of us are ready for more. “You’re the first person in a long time to treat me like you want me around.”

“I do.”

She says it so simply. A declaration, if not quite a vow.

I smile the rest of the way, now. “I want you around, too.”

I watch Sports Center while Kayla gets ready for bed.

She comes out of the bathroom with her face washed and her curls twisted up in a silk scarf, like she’s halfway between bedtime and a Vogue cover.

And then it’s my turn. I take off my wedding ring and then my watch, but my finger catches on the thick brown hair tie, and I hesitate.

If I take it off, she’ll find it in the morning and think it’s hers.

She’ll put it in her bag, maybe, or use it.

But what if she needs it later and doesn’t have one? Maybe not tomorrow, but the next day? Next week?

I keep it on my wrist and get ready for bed.

When I come back, Kayla’s already made up the couch, sleeping in the makeshift bed she’s made for herself.

I laugh. “You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

“I’m already in here. Sorry, Cap. You’re taking the bed tonight.”

“I’m not taking the bed.”

“Your knees?—”

“Are knees, not a back. They won’t be affected by a couch.”

I snap and point toward the bedroom. “Get in there before I pick you up and take you there.”

She hesitates, like there’s a debate playing out in her mind. Then she throws the sheet off.

“Fine. But only because you’re such a gentleman.”

She holds out a hand, and I pull her up.

Close.

I should stop myself from bringing my hand up to her cheek.

I don’t, but I should.

I stroke her skin with my thumb, and her breath catches in her throat. She grabs my wrist, and her eyes flit down to the elastic.

She blinks again.

I swallow, suddenly feeling twelve kinds of exposed. “It, uh, keeps the sweat off my watch.”

She just looks at it for a moment, something unreadable passing behind her eyes. And then she bites her lip and peers up at me through her auburn eyelashes. She runs her index finger beneath the hair tie, grazing the skin on my wrist until I about melt.

She inclines her head toward mine, and I close my eyes, hoping. Waiting. Her warm breath whispers against my lips, making them part.

“Good night, husband.”

Then I feel her mouth on my cheek. Feel her let go. Hear the click of the bedroom door, all before I can even open my eyes back up again.

I fall onto the couch, holding my fist to my forehead in agony. In hope. In the sure knowledge that the longer I’m sleeping on a couch this close to her, the harder it’s going to be to sleep at all.

“Good night, wife.”