Page 44 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)

Chapter Thirty-Three

LUKE

“ Y ou know...” Eva says as we step into the elevator after a nearly silent and very short cab ride back to our place.

I’d been too keyed up to talk about what had just happened and didn’t really want to discuss it in front of the driver, either.

“...that’s the second time you’ve used the whole ‘my wife’ line in the past few days. ”

“You are my wife.” I keep my voice casual despite the way my body is still simmering with rage at watching that asshole put his hands on my wife. My pregnant wife .

“You know that’s, like, a thing, right?”

“A thing?” I glance down at her, and the way her cheeks are flushed and her big brown eyes are wide as she gazes up at me makes me relax a bit. She’s fine , I remind myself. She was never in any danger.

But my body reacted like that man was threatening her, and that fact has me a little worried. I kept my cool, but all I wanted to do was end him—and not in the fistfight kind of way, more like I was wondering which of my brothers would be the best one to help me bury a body.

Preston. Most definitely Preston.

“Yeah.” Her tongue slides along her lower lip before she pulls it between her teeth, as though she’s trying to hide a smile. “It was kind of sexy.”

Taking a step closer, I lean in, resting one hand on the wall of the elevator behind her. “Yeah?”

She reaches up and rests her hand on my shoulder, her thumb tracing the line of my collarbone, and it takes everything in me not to pin her against the wall with my body in response to her touch. “You were awfully...possessive.”

I lean in a little closer and her hand falls to rest on my chest. My voice is low and raspy when I ask, “You like me possessive?”

That idea is dangerous, because I have years of possessive energy just waiting to be unleashed. All that time I’ve watched her pursuing other guys, even the years I’ve watched her skating with Christopher, it left its mark in tiny cuts all over my heart.

I’ve always felt territorial about Eva, but I’ve just never had any right to feel that way...until now.

Her head is tilted back against the wall as she looks up at me, and I watch the way the steady beat of her pulse beneath her jaw increases the longer she stares into my eyes. Her tone is flirtatious when she says, “I guess I do.”

My other hand lands on her hip, but before I can close the distance between us, the elevator dings to let us know we’ve arrived at our floor. The door opens to the entryway that leads to the two suites on this side of the building, and we turn toward mine .

I don’t know what to do with this raw, almost carnal energy that’s burning me up inside.

I don’t miss the way her nipples are hard and straining against the thin cotton fabric of her dress.

I know she wears dresses most days because, with the way her body is changing, they’re what she’s most comfortable in.

The way they drive me crazy feels wrong.

I’ve always tried not to sexualize her because that’s not what our friendship was based on, and she deserves more than that.

So instead of acting on the impulse to strip her naked right in my entryway, I head through the living room and into the kitchen. “I need some water. Do you want some?”

“Sure,” she says, and I hate the way her voice sounds uncertain and even a little worried. I can tell she doesn’t know what to make of my erratic behavior. One minute, I’m about to kiss her in the elevator, and the next, I’m walking away from her, claiming that I’m thirsty.

I don’t know what to make of it either, except I don’t ever want to take advantage of her in any way. And it feels like every time something has happened between us, I’ve instigated it.

The other night on my kitchen counter, I was the one who trailed frosting over her body and licked it off, working her up until she needed me as much as I needed her.

Back in LA, she might have ground herself against me and claimed it was an accident, but I was the one who egged her on, practically daring her to keep going.

At our wedding, it was me who kissed her—both times.

And now, I need her to come to me because that’s what she wants .

I fill both of our stainless-steel bottles with water and then turn away from the refrigerator to hand one to her. But as she reaches for it, she gasps, pulls back, and plants her hand on her belly.

Her eyes are huge, but she doesn’t look scared or hurt, so I try not to panic as I set our water bottles on the counter next to her. “What’s wrong?”

Reaching out and taking my hand, she places it low on her belly, holding my palm flat against her. “Do you feel that?”

Against the pressure of my palm on her abdomen, I feel slight movements pressing back. “Oh my god, Evie. This is the first time you’ve felt the baby move?”

I don’t mention that I was getting worried because normally you can feel the baby move by twenty-four weeks.

I’ve been telling myself that everything with the ultrasound was fine, so we know the baby is okay, but I’ve definitely been waiting for this milestone and worried that it hasn’t happened yet.

“Maybe?” she says, and I’m actually a little choked up that I’m getting to experience this with her. “The other night at my parents’ house, something similar happened, but I thought I was just nervous. It happened again at practice yesterday.”

“A lot of times, the first movements just feel like normal rumblings of your digestive system.”

Her eyebrows dip as she tilts her head to stare at me. “You know this, why?”

“That app I told you about is very informative.” I don’t mention how much time I’ve spent doing additional research. If I’m going through this with her, I want to be as informed and supportive as possible .

With the circumstances of her pregnancy, I’m not shocked that she hasn’t jumped feet first into learning everything she can about being pregnant.

Which is why I’m happy to pick up that slack for her, the same way I picked up some prenatal vitamins and iron supplements when I noticed she wasn’t taking them, and I started making her a nutrition-packed smoothie every morning.

“My stomach has been doing these flips a lot lately, and I thought I was just nervous about all these changes in my life.”

There’s so much I want to ask her about those nerves, but I don’t want to ruin the moment. So instead, I focus on the small, fluttery movements pressing against my palm as I lean down and tell the baby, “You’re doing such a good job in there.”

Eva laughs as I pat her belly, and then we both feel the movement again, and she says, “I think the baby likes you.”

“I’m a very likable guy,” I say, glancing from her belly up to meet her eyes.

Eva stares back at me, and several different emotions move across her face. That lust I saw in the elevator? Gone. And it’s replaced by...worry?

Maybe she’s as confused as I am about the ways our relationship is changing?

I need her to want this change as much as I do, because if she tells me that we need to walk ourselves back over that line and remain firmly in the friendship zone, that’s going to be an enormous problem for me at this point.

I was done being her friend the moment I slid that ring on her finger, though I was still lying to myself, trying to convince myself that I was only doing this because I was a good friend.

And while that might have been my initial intention, that’s not what I want with her—it’s not what I’ve ever wanted and it’s certainly not what I want now that we’re married.

“You are very likable, Luke,” she says, and I hear the but coming like a fucking freight train.

I let the silence extend and feel like I’m bracing for impact while also needing to understand where her head and her heart are at.

Finally, she says, “That’s part of what has me worried about how we keep crossing that line together. ”

Me being a likable guy has her worried about our relationship shifting? That makes no sense. “How is me being a likable guy a bad thing?”

She tilts her chin down, staring at my chest instead of looking me in the eye. “Because women love you, Luke. And from what I’ve seen, there’s a constant rotation of them in your life. I can’t be just another woman you sleep with.”

“Whoa, hold up.” It’s my own fault she’s confused about my reputation, and it’s time to set the record straight.

I tilt her chin up so she’s looking at me.

“First of all, you’re not just another woman, you’re my wife.

And second, I’m not sure what you think my sex life looks like, but I can assure you, it’s nothing like what you just described. ”

“Yeah?” she says dubiously, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so how many women have you slept with?” She looks like she’s steeling herself against my answer, while simultaneously hoping the number isn’t as high as she’s prepared to hear.

My sigh is deep and long, and the force of it ruffles her hair. I drop my chin to rest against the crown of her head, because I don't think I can handle seeing her face when I give her my answer .

“Zero,” I admit as my heart races.

She gasps as her hand flies to my chest and she pushes me away slightly, giving her enough room to look up at me with those dark eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, what? You’ve... never ?”

Aside from the obvious shock, I can’t quite tell how she feels about that. “No.”

“But you’re in the NHL.”

A small chuckle escapes from the back of my throat. “Believe it or not, that’s not a draft requirement.”

She lets out a small laugh too, before her eyebrows pinch. “But...back in LA, and the other night on this counter...” As she nods her chin over her shoulder, and then she looks back at me, her face showcases her confusion perfectly. “How did you seem so experienced?”

“I said I’ve never had sex, not that I’ve never touched a woman.”

“But...” she repeats, clearly struggling to grasp how this can be true.