Page 31 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)

Chapter Twenty-Four

EVA

I wake up to Luke moving around in my kitchen. When I roll over to get a better look at him standing with his back to me in nothing but a pair of shorts, I can still feel the warmth on his side of the bed—and the view from over here is nothing short of spectacular.

The tattoos that run around his upper arms and onto his shoulders highlight the definition of his muscles, but those legs...Don’t even get me started on how muscular his thighs and calves are. He’s got the body of an athlete who’s clearly never skipped leg day.

What’s less clear, however, is why my kitchen looks like a scene from The Sixth Sense . Every upper cabinet door is flung wide open, and he’s standing still, scanning their contents.

He squats then, pulling open one of the lower cabinet doors, and sighs. I lean over farther to get a better look, and he must hear the rustling of the sheets, because he stands again and glances over his shoulder. With a tentative smile, he says, “You’re awake.”

I clear my throat. “Yeah.”

There’s a cloud of awkward energy filling the room, and I hate that. One of the main reasons I’ve convinced myself that it’s probably better that nothing ever happened between us is that I never wanted us to risk feeling this uncomfortable around each other.

He sets a coffee mug on the counter and turns toward me, and then I realize why he’d been searching my cabinets.

Since he was last here, I installed pull-out shelves in the lower cabinets and moved my plates and cups there.

Yesterday morning, I got a mug out for him and made his coffee while he was in the shower, so he didn’t know where to find a mug this morning.

He crosses the living room in a few long strides and sits next to me on the bed. Reaching out, he brushes the hair off my face and tucks it behind my ear. He doesn’t pull his hand back, leaving it cupping my cheek. “Are you freaking out?”

“Little bit.” I press my lips together and force myself to hold his gaze.

“Okay,” he says with a nod that causes his light hair to fall forward before he reaches up with his other hand and brushes it back. It’s unfair that all he has to do to get a perfectly styled look is run his fingers through his hair. “Let’s talk about that.”

My laugh is awkward as I sit up on the bed, facing him, and my mind immediately goes blank, because Luke Hartmann is sitting across from me in nothing but a pair of jersey shorts, still smelling like sex.

Luke chuckles like he can read my thoughts, and all I can focus on is his smile with perfectly white teeth sparkling between his full pink lips and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Holy shit, get it together Eva.

But it’s no use, because when Luke smiles at me like that—like he’s remembering what I look like naked and enjoying the fact that I’m struggling to find my words—I can’t think of anything but him .

The way he kissed me like he wanted to become a part of me.

The way he knew all the right ways to touch me.

The way he made me come harder than I ever have, just from his fingers.

Of course he did. He’s had plenty of practice.

It’s been hard over the years to watch the women parade in and out of his life, never staying for more than a night or two.

Luke doesn’t date during the season, and even though we don’t really talk about our sex lives, I know he’s way more experienced than I am.

It takes me a while to warm up to people, to trust them enough to be intimate.

And the one and only time I let myself get carried away with a one-night stand. ..well, we know how that turned out.

“You’re still freaking out,” he asks, his eyes scanning my face like he’s searching for an indication of what’s going on in my head.

“I’m just . . . I’m . . . I . . .”

For the love of god, girl, just say something!

Luke leans toward me, and before I can even register what’s happening, he kisses me. It’s soft and gentle, his lips brushing mine in a way that has a breathy sigh escaping my lips.

He pulls my lower lip between his teeth, sucking gently, and I fucking melt. I’m a puddle for this man. In just one night, I’ve learned that he can be tender with me when I need it, but can also take control of my body as if he knows exactly what I need and how to give it to me.

How does he know me as well as I know myself? Better than I know myself, actually?

Just as I lean forward, ready to deepen the kiss and see where that leads us, Luke slowly pulls back.

“What was that for?” I ask, desperate to know why he kissed me. Could he not help himself?

He gives me a smile that’s almost sympathetic. “Seemed like you needed something to calm you down.”

“And that’s how you calm me down?” Does this man have any idea how not calm my body is at this moment? How I only want more, every single time he touches me?

I told myself that we could do this whole marriage thing precisely because we were friends and nothing more. What does it mean that we’ve crossed this line now? What does it mean that I don’t want to cross back, consequences be damned?

“You still seem worked up. Maybe I need to try again,” he says with a sly smile.

“If you try again, we’re going to end up with a repeat of last night—because nothing about kissing you is calming me down. ”

“I’m okay with a repeat of last night.” He fucking winks at me, like this is some sort of a game. And maybe it is, to him. I’ve watched him flirt with women my whole life, and it always looks a lot like this. The teasing comments, the subtle smiles, a wink here or there.

The realization that he’s treating me like he treats every single woman he flirts with, that I’m not special, that I’m just one in a long line of women in his life—it’s like a glass of ice water in my face. I was so damn willing last night, just like every woman is around him.

Fuck! Our friendship is special because it’s unique, because there’s no one else he’s allowed into his life like he’s let me in, and the same is true in return. And now I’ve gone and ruined it by acting like every other woman who has hopped into his bed.

I glance at the clock. “Christopher’s going to be here in less than an hour. I need to get ready.”

“You can’t skip it?” He sounds hopeful, and delusional.

“Luke, this is my biggest endorsement and the main reason I needed to be in LA this week. No, I cannot skip filming this commercial.”

Endorsement deals for figure skaters are nothing compared to what he makes as a hockey player.

The handful of deals I have, and the prize money that Christopher and I have earned at major competitions this year, cover my basic expenses.

The athlete-development fund for figure skating and my parents cover the rest. I have enough to get by, but it’s not like I’m going to retire rich.

Even winning an Olympic gold medal and landing more coveted endorsement deals, I’d still earn less in a year than Luke makes in a month. Not to mention, he could always fall back on his trust fund he’s never needed to touch.

I, however, have no such safety net. Which makes me a little annoyed that he’s asking me to blow off something that will contribute to my financial future, just so we can fall back into bed again. It feels like I’m a commodity, instead of a person whose future he’s looking out for.

You know that’s not his intention , I tell myself. And while, logically, I know that’s true, I’m definitely being guided by my emotions right now.

“I’m going to hop in the shower,” I say quickly, scooting away from him.

And with that, I rush off to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

He didn’t do anything wrong, I tell myself as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. He was trying to comfort me, and when I leaned into that kiss, indicating I wanted more to happen, he gladly agreed.

So why am I upset about it? It makes no sense. I’m making no sense. But despite knowing that, I can’t stop the tears. I hop in the shower, cursing the pregnancy hormones that made me want to jump my husband last night and have me crying over him this morning.

This isn’t me . I’m calm and steady, the opposite of overly emotional.

If anything, people have told me I’m not emotional enough.

I don’t know if I can no longer hide my feelings for Luke because I’m pregnant, or if it’s because I’m sensing that he might feel the same way.

More importantly, I don’t trust myself to know the difference.

“ T hat looks great,” Christopher tells Luke as he reaches over to return Luke’s phone. “I really appreciate you setting me up with a furnished apartment in Boston.”

“Anything for Eva,” Luke says lightly, before glancing over from where he sits beside me on the couch.

I don’t miss what he’s really telling my skating partner: I’m doing this for her, not for you .

And while I appreciate his help in placing Christopher in one of the corporate apartments owned by Hartmann Enterprises, he’s only doing it to make our marriage work better.

I don’t know why, but I keep hoping that he’ll eventually come around to Christopher.

At least he hasn’t called him Christopher Fucking Steele. Yet.

Honestly, everything would be easier if Luke and Christopher could get along. It was fine when Luke lived in Canada and only saw Christopher a couple of times a year. Now that we’ll all be in Boston together, I can see things being a little more difficult.

Maybe I can start by talking to Christopher, whose hostility toward Luke might be easier to tamp down?

Christopher isn’t the kind of person to be emotional about things—at least off the ice.

If anything, he comes off as cool and indifferent, like nothing’s ever a big deal to him.

And if I tell him to cut this shit out, he probably will.

Luke, on the other hand, has some deep-seated animosity toward Christopher that I’ve yet to figure out. Whenever I bring it up, he deflects.