Page 125 of Pucking the Team

He glanced at his watch. “And it’s getting late. Most families will have hit the theme parks by now.”

We wandered into a huge restaurant that had one side sectioned off for breakfast. The air was heavy with the scent of waffles, bacon, maple syrup, and cinnamon.

My stomach rumbled, and my mouth watered.

A member of staff took our room number and told us to sit anywhere. She didn’t give either of us a second glance, and the restaurant was half empty, so we hoped we’d be lucky and have a quiet breakfast.

Soon I was tucking into yogurt and granola and sweet berry compote. A plate of pancakes, eggs, and fried tomatoes awaited me.

Eduardo seemed to have piled everything onto his plate, and it was a mass of flavors and colors.

We ate and chatted about the shoot the day before, and the upcoming season and the fact that Eduardo’s father andstepmother were coming over from France to watch the first two games.

“I’d like you to meet them,” he said.

“I’d like that.” I stabbed my fork into a piece of pancake. “And perhaps one day you’ll meet my Aunt Mary.”

“She’s like a mother to you, right?”

“She is now.” I pointed to the lobby. A gaggle of people were at the reception desk. “It’s getting busy, must have new arrivals.”

He set his knife and fork on his empty plate. “Oui, we should get going, I have practice to get to.”

“And I need to call Trevor about a few things.”

We wandered from the restaurant and into the lobby.

Eduardo slipped his arm around my waist and spoke against my ear. “I wonder if we have time to make good use of that big bed before we hit the road. I am sure I missed a tiny bit of your ass cheek when I kissed you all over.”

I giggled and leaned into him, rested my hand over my chest. “I’m sure that could be remedied.”

“There they are? Over there!”

A sudden commotion to my right drew me to a halt mid-stride. My breath caught, and a heavy feeling that had nothing to do with breakfast dragged in my stomach.

“Merde,” Eduardo muttered, holding me tighter.

A group of reporters were heading toward us with microphones and camera lenses aimed our way.

I pressed my hand to my cheek, hiding my face, and gripped Eduardo’s arm. I sensed a flash going off, and then another.

“The elevator,” he said.

“Pippa. Pippa Bentley, can you tell us how long you’ve been seeing Eduardo Dubois?” A high-pitched female voice rang out behind me. “Is it serious?”

“Eduardo, can you give us a moment?”

“Pippa, what is your relationship with Theo Evans?”

“Is it true you have been watching The Vipers’ practice sessions?”

“Eduardo, did you know your teammates are also good friends with Pippa?”

“Can you confirm where you are living? Pippa! Pippa!”

Eduardo stabbed at the elevator button. It was on level three. “Where the hell is hotel security?”

“Eduardo, are you and Pippa together?”