Page 21 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)

Gabrielle

I was a coward.

I spotted Maverick at Booch and Bagels and deliberately stayed in the grocery store longer, chatting with Jordana at the checkout, until I saw him walk away.

But fate—that bitch—had other plans, and he saw me loading my bags into the car.

I chose to let the wind carry his voice away before it reached me, and I pretended I didn’t hear him.

Maverick Roy flustered me, and I did not get flustered.

Flustering was not in my DNA. I had an appointment with Justine later in the week to see if I was indeed entering perimenopause, because there had to be a scientific reason for my hot flashes.

It wasn’t just the flustering, or Maverick being very attractive.

No man had ever made me feel like this, and I’d found men attractive before.

So there was obviously more to it than just attraction.

I unloaded the groceries in the kitchen, shaking my head at myself.

Gabrielle Campbell didn’t back down from anything.

Not anymore. I cowered to Cyrus when I was married to him.

Made myself small and meek and a shell of a human being in order to avoid his wrath.

But once I turned that motherfucker in, and rid him from my life for good, I vowed to never back down or hide away in fear ever again.

I wanted to instill strength in my children, and the best way to do that was model it.

Good thing the kids were in school and didn’t bear witness to my cowardice. Maverick sure as hell did though.

Ugh!

I planned to make kung pao chicken over rice for dinner. So after rinsing my rice, I set the timer on the rice cooker to come on in a few hours.

Pushing all thoughts of Maverick out of my head, I went into my office and started working on the revisions for our upcoming land proposal.

I was engrossed in Bennett’s revision suggestions, and ignoring my rumbling stomach, when there was a sharp knock at my front door.

I wasn’t expecting any packages.

Who the hell was it?

I got up from my seat, my tea cold in my mug, but I sipped it anyway as I headed down the hallway to the front door. Dread hit me like a baseball bat to the face when I realized it was probably Maverick.

My slippers almost made a screeching sound on the vinyl kitchen floor I stopped so abruptly.

“Gabrielle?” he called out.

Shit. It was him.

“You home? That’s your SUV, right?”

I clapped my hand over my mouth.

More knocking. “Gabrielle?”

Heat raced up my chest into my face and my arms tingled like I slept on them funny. I shook my head and set my mug down on the stove before I accidentally dropped it, alerting Maverick to my presence.

I held my breath until his footsteps down the porch stairs echoed, followed a moment later by his truck engine revving.

I couldn’t avoid him forever. He was friends with my kid and seemed to actually be bringing Damon out of his sulky teenage funk.

He was a good role model, and the kids all really liked him.

I had no serious reason to say he couldn’t come over.

Except for the serious way my heart hammered against my ribs, and the serious way my body caught fire when he was around.

Maybe I just needed to retreat to my room or go visit one of my cousins at their place when he was around. Get out of Dodge and let him hang out with Damon without me hovering like a helicopter.

I nodded for no real reason. That’s what I’d do. Next time Maverick came over to see Damon, I’d go visit Danica, or Naomi, or something.

Exhaling the air that I’d trapped in my lungs until they burned, I went to the kettle and flicked it on. I needed more tea.

More tea would help.

The thought of tea just plunged me into the memory of the tea spilling on my thighs and my blistered burns itched as if they had ears.

I was still only able to wear loose-fitting pants and kept rubbing aloe on them multiple times a day.

The blisters weren’t as bad as I thought, but when I rolled over onto my stomach at night, the pain and pressure on them woke me up.

The clock on the microwave said it was just after two o’clock. Laurel would be home soon. She had watercolor class tonight, and Maverick said he’d pick up Honor and her.

I’d have to see him then.

Shit.

The kettle clicked off and I carefully poured myself more tea, leaning against the counter and cradling my hot hand-thrown mug—a Hugh Tapper original—I reflected on my time as Maverick’s host. I couldn’t bring myself to call myself his host mom . That just gave me the ick, as the kids said.

He was the ideal guest. Polite, respectful, kind, and even clean.

I was warned by other host families that some of the players could be absolute slobs, and that they needed to hire a hazmat team to come in over the summer to clean the room when the player went home to see their family.

But Maverick was tidy and gave us zero problems.

I met his parents a couple of times, and while they were a bit intense and put a lot of pressure on Maverick to “be the best” I could tell they genuinely loved him.

I could only imagine the pressure he was under though. Not only was his father a former NHL player—and a Hall of Famer to boot—but his two older brothers also played in the NHL. He was part of a legacy family, and the skates he was supposed to fill seemed impossibly large.

After meeting his parents, I did my best to let him know that nobody was perfect.

We all made mistakes, and you’re only a kid once.

So even though his parents and coach made him have a ten o’clock curfew, once in a while, I didn’t enforce it.

He never came home drunk or high, never snuck a girl into his room, and I was more than happy to let him borrow my car—particularly since he said he preferred to be the designated driver for his teammates at parties.

The kids and I were sad to see him leave when he graduated high school, and I knew I’d never find a better live-in player than Maverick. So I didn’t sign up to be a host family again when he left.

I blew on my tea before taking a sip now. Maverick Roy … he might only be twenty-six, but he was an old soul. He was a good soul.

Lost in thought—about Maverick—I didn’t realize how much time had passed with me just standing in the kitchen holding my tea, and I startled a little when the door opened and Laurel walked in. She gave me a look like she’d never seen me standing there before.

“You okay?” she asked, hanging up her jacket and putting her shoes away.

I nodded and sipped my tea. “How was your day?”

She shrugged, opened up her backpack, and yanked out her lunch kit.

“Mr. Gregory, the librarian, doesn’t think I should be reading Kurt Vonnegut.

He says it’s too mature for me.” She made a confused face.

“Then why is it in the elementary school library?” Pulling a sheet of paper out of her backpack, she handed it to me.

“This is a letter you need to sign that says you’re okay with me reading books you’ve preapproved.

” Her eye roll had me chuckling. “I typed it up after I finished my math.”

My mouth twitched, but I withheld my smile as I read over the eloquently written letter to my daughter’s librarian that was supposed to be from me.

It included a part that said any new books I’ve vetted, I am to email Mr. Gregory and let him know that they are “Laurel Safe” and he is to allow her to check them out.

“Can I get a new e-reader for my birthday?” she asked, pulling a yogurt cup out of the fridge and grabbing a spoon.

“I love real books. Especially the old ones, and that old book smell.” Her swoony face had me chuckling.

“But if I have to fight with Mr. Gregory, it’s not worth it.

And Sakura keeps saying she’s going to get more books in the island library, but she hasn’t. ”

“I’ll talk to her again,” I said, joining my daughter at the dining room table. She tucked a loose strand of her dark-brown hair behind her ear and peeled off the foil from her yogurt. “Good day otherwise?”

Another shrug. “Yeah. It was fine. Honor is so excited for Maverick to drive us to watercolor. I think she has a crush on him.” She smirked as she brought the full spoon to her lips. “I mean, he’s nice. But I don’t see the appeal.”

I was very glad my daughter and I did not have similar taste in men. That would have been … ick .

We chatted more about her day—a part of my day that I treasured more than anything.

Laurel, while brilliant, had a shy side to her, and she opened up more to me when Damon wasn’t home.

Not that her brother would tease her about anything, in fact, my kids were actually fairly close.

But she just seemed to feel more comfortable filling me in on school, her friends, and her worries when her brother wasn’t in the house.

I sipped my tea, she ate her yogurt, and we bonded until the door opened and my fourteen-year-old with a thundercloud for a hat came inside.

“Hello,” I called from my seat. “How was your day?”

He took a moment to ditch his hoodie and shoes, before coming around the corner to show his face. “Fine,” he murmured.

“Just fine?” I probed.

His shoulder lifted. “Maverick came to the school today to meet my friends.”

My brows hiked up my forehead. “He did? Did you ask him to?”

Damon nodded and flicked his head so his hair moved out of his eyes. It was only temporary though, and quickly fell back over his forehead in emo-kid fashion. “Yeah. My friends were such …” He rolled his eyes, then growled. “I hate how small this island is. How small the school is.”

I met Laurel’s eyes and she twisted her lips like she didn’t disagree with him.

“And why is that, exactly?” I asked calmly. “Did something else happen?”

“The kids at school just suck.” He slumped into the seat at the end of the table. “The guys anyway …”