Page 14 of Slap Shot (Blades Hockey #5)

Daisy

¨Go ahead, Hall. Claim a room.〃

Iˇm exhausted and sweating from every orifice of my body after hauling boxes of crap into Westˇs house, but apparently not tired enough to resist sneaking a peek at my soon-to-be-husbandˇs ass as he bends over to set down the last of my boxes on his kitchen floor.

For the record, itˇs the perfect hockey bubble butt. High, tight, and thick enough to make even the most devout drool. You could stick West in a lineup, strip him down to only a pair of well-worn Leviˇs, and Iˇd still be able to pick him out from the crowd.

Hello, my name is Daisy Hall, and I am a connoisseur of all things Weston Cain.

Pretty sure no one would find that addition to my resume impressive but me.

Their loss.

¨Water first, room second.〃 After collapsing on top of the closest cardboard box, I make a grabby motion with my hand. ¨Please take pity on me, good sir.〃

With a low chuckle, West picks his away around stacks of my belongings to open his commercial-grade fridge. Everything in Westonˇs house is oversizedthe rooms, the furniture, the appliances. Does he need it? Probably not. Then again, he once told me that he only bought the waterfront property for the view of Bostonˇs skyline. Everything inside the place was simply a secondary bonus.

And now itˇs all mine.

Half-mine.

Okay, not really mine, and to be honest, I can take or leave the decor, but the view really is to die for. Without meaning to, I find myself straining sideways to get a glimpse of the water beyond the massive glass doors that lead from the living room and out onto Westonˇs deck. Even from here, I can see the cityˇs tallest skyscrapers shimmering under the late afternoon sun.

A water bottle appears in front of me. ¨Need me to carry you out to the deck?〃

Accepting the water, I lift my gaze past Westˇs drawstring shorts, and the damp T-shirt clinging to his rock-hard chest, to meet his soft green eyes. ¨I can walk.〃

¨Can you?〃 His mouth curves in a grin. ¨Because it looks like youˇre in danger of becoming one with that box.〃

I wriggle my butt a little. ¨It wants me to stay but Iˇm ready to go.〃

¨Sounds like my relationship with my parents.〃

I laugh, but only because I know that he meant it as a throwaway joke. ¨Okay, yeah.〃 I lift my arms. ¨Iˇll take the ride.〃

West turns around, presenting me with the broad expanse of his shoulders and the narrow width of his waist. He bends his knees so that I can loop my arms around his neck, the water bottle still clasped in my right hand. I hop up onto my toes to give him enough time to hook his big hands under my thighs. Blood rushes to my head as he stands up straight, bouncing me in place to put me in a more comfortable position.

I might as well be on top of the world.

Hoisted six-plus feet off the ground, I swear the air is a little thinner up here. Or maybe thatˇs thanks to the fact that Iˇm tangled breathlessly around Weston, clinging to him like a koala bear, never wanting to let go.

To my surprise, he doesnˇt immediately put me down once he steps outside onto the deck. Instead, he positions us so that we both have a view of the harbor, with me sitting on the porch railing and him standing in front of me, his back still flush with my chest. Weˇre both sweaty and a little gross, but

My breath catches at his closeness.

At the realization that he has no intention of pulling away.

Would it be okay if I tuck my chin into the crook of his neck? Would it be weird if I link my legs around his waist instead of letting them dangle listlessly on either side of his thighs? Would itcould we pretend, for just one second, that weˇre something more than friends?

West tilts his head to the side. ¨Is this okay?〃

It takes me a moment to find my voice, and when I do, itˇs scratchy with desire. ¨If you wanted to be the little spoon, Cain, you could have just asked.〃

I feel the reverberation of his laughter all the way down to the tips of my toes. And then he shatters whatˇs left of my self-control by gripping my thighs and encouraging me to wrap my legs around his lean waist. He drops one hand to the porch railing for balance and keeps the other linked around my ankles so I can relax into his hold.

¨Now Iˇm the little spoon,〃 he says, and his tone isnˇt smug, exactly, but . . . satisfied, I think. Pleased. As if having me wrapped around him is all heˇs ever wanted in life.

Oh, fuck. I wonˇt survive this.

Not the marriage. Not the emotional devastation of unrequited love.

Iˇm going to pass out on the spot, and one day someone will discover my grave and realize that my epitaph reads: Died from Sexual Combustion. May She Rest in Peace .

It takes every ounce of concentration to focus on the horizon and direct the conversation elsewhere. ¨Have you talked to them?〃

West doesnˇt ask for clarification, but beneath my crossed ankles, I feel his flat stomach expand with a sudden breath. ¨Yeah. Briefly.〃

¨With your mom?〃

¨Dad, this time.〃

I donˇt let myself think too hard about it, simply lower my chin to the top of his shoulder so he knows that Iˇm here with him and that Iˇm listening.

Without further prompting, he murmurs, ¨Is it wrong that I donˇt want them at the wedding? I know itˇs not real, that weˇre not . . . Anyway, I know that if I donˇt tell them, theyˇll find out online with everyone else. Itˇll be so much worse that way, but . . .〃

I stay quiet to give him time to untangle his thoughts.

¨But I want them to understand that the harder they push, the closer I am to walking away for good.〃 A rough sigh slips past his lips. ¨Iˇm tired, Hall. Iˇm so fucking tired of walking on a tightrope around them, just holding my breath, waiting for the moment that it snaps.〃

¨Are you worried they wouldnˇt catch you?〃

¨Iˇm worried that they would. That Iˇd be stuck in the prison that they call a life, caring more about appearances than they do talking with their own kids to find out what we want, what we care about. I mean, Tory〃

¨Is doing his own thing,〃 I say. ¨He processes his relationship with them differently than you do. Not worse, not better, just different.〃

¨Yeah.〃 His fingers flex against my ankles. ¨Yeah, youˇre right, he does.〃

I turn my head and let my gaze travel over the familiar lines of his facethe delicate, blond lashes that are shades lighter than his hair, the crooked bridge of his nose and the perfect, sensual curve of his mouth. He hasnˇt shaved in a few days so dark blond scruff is growing in, and I canˇt help but wonder what it might feel like against my skin.

With a rough swallow, I blink those dangerous thoughts away.

¨Do you want me to tell you what you want to hear?〃 I ask to the backdrop of waves crashing against the shoreline not even twenty yards away from the back steps of Westonˇs house. ¨Or do you want me to play tough guy?〃

¨Fuck, I hate it when you play tough guy.〃

At the acute misery in his voice, a wicked smile quirks my lips. ¨Youˇre the one who introduced me to him.〃

¨Yeah, for when you needed advice,〃 he mutters, readjusting my limbs so he can sink deeper into me, ¨not so you can turn it against me.〃

I click my tongue to mime the ticking of a clock. ¨Whatˇs it gonna be, Cain? Make your decision and let me pass judgment.〃

He hisses through his teeth. ¨Youˇre a menace.〃

¨And in forty-eight hours, Iˇll be legally yours. Careful, hide your excitement now, I canˇt handle all of the enthusiasm. It blinds me!〃

Shoulders shaking with husky laughter, he gives me more of his weight. Enough, actually, that I let out a surprised shriek, halfway convinced that he might send me toppling over the porch railing into his hydrangea bush. The water bottle clatters to the deck as I plaster myself against his back, heels digging into

Weston grunts in pain. ¨Feet up, please,〃 he croaks.

¨Oh, oh shit.〃 Dropping my legs from his waist, I hide my face against the warmth of his back, trying to stifle howls of laughter into his shirt. ¨Not so tough now, are you, Little Cain?〃

He goes still in my arms.

And then slowlyso slowly, in fact, that I almost miss how tension sparks like a livewire between ushe steps forward and lets me slide down his back. His eyes are narrowed when he turns around to face me, his chin set in that same arrogant tilt he gets whenever heˇs playing hockey and has his sights set on the enemy. He opens his mouth, and with just one word, sends my world tilting on its axis:

¨Run.〃

Stunned, I blink at him. ¨Sorry, repeat that please. I could have sworn that you just said.〃

¨Run, Hall.〃 He takes another step toward me. This time, I have the good sense to skitter away on the balls of my feet. ¨Run far, run fast, because as soon as I catch you, youˇre going straight into the water.〃

My gaze slips past him to the glistening blue harbor.

Itˇs October in Massachusetts. Not as bad as a dunk in the middle of winter but still, itˇs going to feel like an ice bath. And, you know, when I do choose to go swimming, itˇs generally summertime vibes only. Like, with watermelon margaritas, SPF 100 slathered across my vampire skin, and a really good book.

I tiptoe backward. ¨Iˇm fast, you know.〃

¨Iˇm faster.〃

¨Youˇve got a bum hip.〃

¨And youˇve got a bum leg,〃 he counters.

¨So, youˇre saying that weˇre a match made in Heaven, then.〃

Mirth dances in his gaze. ¨Soulmates.〃

¨Partners in crime.〃

¨Husband and wife,〃 he says.

¨For now.〃

¨Maybe forever.〃

¨Yes,〃 I whisper back, feeling my heart trip over itself, ¨maybe forever.〃

Then I run, the wind in my hair, my laughter loud and wild and free. He catches me around the waist and throws me over one shoulder, and itˇs not until heˇs marched us halfway down to the beach, with me kicking and screaming with the promise of retaliation, that I pause long enough to catch my breath, and say, ¨Invite them, West. Just in case this never ends.〃