Page 30 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)

He came up right behind me and not only did his heat wash over me, but so did that impossibly delicious scent.

All him, all man, wafted up my nostrils and zipped straight down between my legs.

“How was your weekend?” he asked, following me into the entryway.

I ditched my shoes and hung up my jacket and purse.

“Uh … it was fine. Thanks. How was yours?”

He continued to follow me into the kitchen, giving me a little bit more space, but definitely not enough.

“Really great, thanks. Hung out with Logan and his friends. Watched a movie, ate tacos.” He huffed a small laugh and raked his fingers through his hair as I …

I had nothing to do in the kitchen. So I did busy work of opening my linen drawer and refolding the tea towels.

“I’ve been so focused on hockey for as long as I can remember, that getting to just hang out with people, grab dinner, and watch a movie feels novel to me. ”

I swallowed. “Wh-what did you guys watch?” Why the fuck was I stuttering?

“Have you seen The Beekeeper ? It’s a Jason Statham film.”

“Uh … no. I don’t think so.”

He shrugged. “It was all right. Not his best. But entertaining. Penny and Renée wanted to get up and do the sunrise yoga class at the yoga yurt, so Logan and I headed home just after ten.” Rather than wear a rain jacket like a normal person, and hide his physique, Maverick wore a white, nearly see-through T-shirt, and an open green and brown padded flannel jacket type-thing—which he removed and placed on the island.

Either way, it all just made him look rugged and extra sexy.

And the T-shirt clung to his very ripped abdomen, showing off ridges and valleys of muscles like a damn topography map.

All I could do was nod, and focus on the tea towel folding like it was the hardest Sudoku in the world. “Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.”

“Gabrielle?”

“Hmm?”

“Can … can you look at me, please?”

I swallowed again and lifted my gaze to his face.

Concern and honesty gleamed back at me in those deep, dark blue orbs. “Have I done something to upset you?”

“What? No. Why?” My words came out rapid-fire.

“Because it feels like you’re avoiding me.

I stayed away this weekend, even though Damon texted me a lot, asking me to come over, because I feel like maybe I’ve been smothering your family.

I wanted to give you all space. Have I been around too much?

” His brows lifted a little. “You can be honest and say so.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I folded, unfolded, and refolded the same towel in my hand, before making a noise of frustration and throwing it down on the counter. He approached, and I backed up until my ass hit the counter.

Seeing me retreat like that caused him to back up again. “Are you … are you not comfortable around me?” Fear replaced the look of the concern in his eyes. “I have done something. Haven’t I?”

I shook my head. “No. It’s …”

“It’s what?”

I glanced down at the floor.

“Look at me. Please,” he pleaded.

“You’re flirty with me,” I blurted out. “You’ve been flirtatious and complimentary and … and it’s not right.”

His head reared back. “It’s not right ? How so? We’re both adults. Neither of us are married or attached.”

“You just can’t. Okay?”

“Do you find it … icky ? Do you see me as a son?” Terror filled his voice and made it almost crack at the end.

“No!” I cleared my throat and brought my volume down. “No. I do not, and never have seen you as a son.”

“Do you find it icky though?”

I didn’t respond.

He moved closer, bracketing me against the kitchen counter with his muscular forearms on either side of my body.

Crap . Here came another hot flash. My pulse quickened, and it was all I could do to keep my tongue inside my mouth as I pulled in a deep breath, and more of that delicious, almost woodsy scent of his made its way into my brain.

“Do you find it icky?” he asked again, his voice low, rough and sending zaps between my legs.

“No,” I whispered.

He sighed in relief. “I heard you once, you know?”

My eyes met his.

“In your room, when I lived with you. I walked past your bedroom door on my way to the kitchen one night, and I heard you … taking care of things.”

My face surely had flames flickering off of it at this point.

“I don’t see you as a mom , either. I see you as Gabrielle.

Strong, brilliant, beautiful, and a wonderful mom—to Damon and Laurel—a badass lawyer, vineyard owner, and provider for her family.

” He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“But I also see you as a woman. A woman I’m …

very, very attracted to. That’s why I’m flirty with you.

Because I can’t stop thinking about you.

I spend my days wondering what your neck tastes like, or what kind of noises you might make when I go do—”

“Stop!” I pressed my hand to his mouth, and he smiled against my fingers.

A war raged inside of me. One part of me knew I needed to shove him out the door, but another part, particularly the lower half of my body, wanted to grab him by that nearly see-through white shirt and crush my mouth to his, just to see what he tasted like.

“Are you attracted to me?” he asked, behind my hand.

Luckily, we were saved by the ding as Maverick’s phone started going crazy in his coat pocket on the island.

“You should get that,” I said, removing my hand, but unable to take a deep breath out of fear my chest would expand and brush his.

“It’s fine,” he murmured, still staring at me. “Can you answer me, please?”

The phone wasn’t stopping.

That interruption gave me enough time to cling to some clarity, and I pushed my hand into his chest. “I think you should go.”

Crestfallen, his mouth fell and his eyes turned sad. “But—”

“I think you should go,” I repeated, taking advantage of the few steps he had retreated, and ducking out from between his big frame and the counter.

Now his phone started to ring. He reached for it in his coat pocket, glanced at it, and made a noise of discontent.

“Maverick,” I warned, giving him a pleading look. “Please.”

He headed for the door, the phone still ringing in his hand. “I’m sorry,” I whispered before turning back to face out the kitchen window.

I tuned my ears into the door closing, his footsteps down the porch stairs, and finally the rev of his truck and the gravel under the tires. Only when I knew he was gone, did I let out a shaky breath.

Maverick was attracted to me too.

This was worse than I thought.