Page 15

FIFTEEN

MADELINE

I’ve never been the kind of person who likes to go out and party.

I respect the women who like to put on a cute dress and spend their night at the club. I admire their ability to stay up past ten, but after a week where Lucy had a field trip to the Pentagon and Hudson played three games in a row at home—which meant cooking three meals a day for six days straight—the blissful quiet of a Friday evening on the couch with my Chinese takeout and reality television sounds like a fucking dream .

I curl my legs under me and sigh. Lucy fell asleep hours ago. Hudson is out with some of his teammates. The dogs are snoozing on the floor, and for the first time all day, no one needs me. I flip on the TV and relax into the cushions. One bite into my spring roll, my phone buzzes. A number I don’t recognize pops up on my screen and I slide the message open with a greasy finger.

*Unknown Number has added you to GIRLS JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN(DAMENTAL RIGHTS) AND GOOD SEX*

Unknown Number

There we go. I added her!

Piper

Hi, Madeline! Welcome to the group chat!

Unknown Number

It’s Emmy.

Unknown Number

And Lexi!

Unknown Number

And Maven Lansfield! I know we haven’t met yet, but hi! I’m a photographer for the Stars!

I smile and set down my carton of food, making sure to save their contact information.

Me

Hi, everyone. I don’t think I’ve been in a group chat before, but I’m happy to be here.

How is everyone’s night?

Emmy

Maverick came home from being out with the guys and had food all over him. I asked what happened, and he said instead of going to the bar like they planned, they decided to have a massive food fight. He wouldn’t stop giggling when I told him there was spaghetti behind his ear.

Piper

Are they twelve?

Maven

They did this sober?

Emmy

Oh, yeah. Only water tonight. And apple juice for Grant, who started this whole thing when he launched a breadstick at Ethan for making fun of his drink choice, apparently.

Lexi

Boys are so fucking weird.

Piper

Wait. I looked at the photos on Mav’s Instagram story, and they’re really funny. That one of him and Riley with lettuce in their hair is so cute!!!

Emmy

It is cute, isn’t it?

Me

I’ve never really looked at any of their social media before. Emmy… Maverick has your name tattooed on him?

Lexi

Yes he fucking does!

Maven

Multiple times!

Piper

Find the photo of him wearing her jersey!

Me

Wow. That’s love if I’ve ever seen it.

Emmy

I’m a lucky girl.

Gotta run. He says he’s not getting out of the shower until I come in there and join him.

Lexi

Someone is going to come.

Piper

Liam just asked why I laughed so loudly. Have fun, Em!! We’ll all get together soon.

Piper

The week after next!

Me

Sounds good. Night, everyone!

I lock my phone and smile, glad to be included in a really fun group of women. Turning my attention to dinner, I polish off the spring rolls before I move onto the white rice and orange chicken. When I finish, I put all the empty food containers on the coffee table and pull a blanket over my lap.

Before I can get too comfortable, the front door opens then closes with a soft click. I crane my neck and see Hudson walking down the hallway.

“Hey.” I mute the television and smile. “How was the food fight?”

“How’d you hear?” He leans against the wall and matches my grin. “Could you smell the garlic sauce from the foyer?”

“I was added to a group chat with Emmy, Lexi, Maven, and Piper.” I sniff and wrinkle my nose. “But now I can smell it. Did you bathe in it?”

“I might as well have.” He sits in the chair next to the couch and grimaces. “I think it’s in my hair.”

“I hope you retaliated appropriately.”

“Yeah.” His grin widens to a beam. “I launched a whole bowl of tzatziki at Grant’s face.”

“Ah, to be thirty again.”

Hudson leans forward and grabs the collar of his stained shirt with one hand. He pulls it over the back of his head and all the way off, leaving him bare-chested.

I gape at him, caught off guard by seeing his naked torso for the first time.

Broad shoulders covered in patches of freckles give way to sculpted biceps and pec muscles. His skin is smooth and blemish-free, his summer tan fading away as we move through November. Blond hair cascades down his stomach and disappears in his jeans. There’s a mole next to his belly button and veins that travel down his arms.

My mouth goes dry, and I know I’m no better than a man with the thoughts racing through my head.

I’m staring at him like I haven’t been fed in goddamn years , but I can’t help it.

Hudson Hayes is built like a god, and he’s hot as hell.

I could pretend to be oblivious to it before.

Sure, he has a pretty face. A smile that can make you blush and eyes that twinkle when he thinks something is really funny.

But now?

Now I know he has a six-pack.

Now I know he’s been hiding a body that looks like it was handcrafted out of the finest marble, but he does and he is, and my brain nearly short-circuits because of it.

“Jesus Christ,” I mumble.

“What?” he asks

“Nothing. I—the smell.” I stare at his ear instead of his chest. I’ve never seen such a good-looking man before. I could bounce a quarter off his stomach if I wanted to, and I really kind of want to. “Did you have a good night?”

“Yeah.” Hudson sets his shirt in his lap and laughs. Drops his head back and spreads his thighs. “We’re all dumb as hell, but at least we know how to have fun.”

“I like that your idea of fun is a food fight, not a strip club.”

“Not my style, knife girl.” His eyes roam over the empty cartons on the coffee table and my position on the couch. “Am I interrupting you?”

“From watching bad television? Not at all. Some company would be nice.” I smile and rest my elbow on the pillow to my left. “I promise I won’t hurl any leftover lo mein at you.”

“You hurled a banana at me.”

“I won’t hurl any food at you again ,” I amend. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

Hudson’s laugh is soft and slow, an indulgent sound, and he bobs his head. “Why not? I have grilled chicken in my hair. I’m allowed to have a drink. But only one glass. A headache at practice tomorrow sounds like my idea of hell.”

“So, you’re a lightweight? I can’t wait to see this.”

“I’m two hundred pounds. It’s going to take more than one glass of alcohol to get me drunk.” He stands and drapes his shirt over his shoulder. It’s absurd he walks around looking like that . “Do you need anything while I’m up?”

“Nope,” I say. “I’m fine.”

I’m treated to a view of his back muscles as he walks away, and I push the heels of my palms into my eyes.

It’s wrong to be gawking at him.

That’s exactly what I said I wouldn’t do when I took this job, but here I am: my tongue almost hanging out of my mouth, my skin flushed and my pulse racing. Starry-eyed, like I’ve never seen a man before.

And, fuck , is Hudson a man.

Every inch of him shows off the hours he spends on the ice and in the gym perfecting his physique. I’m torn between throwing a blanket his way so he has to cover up and asking him to model for a picture so I can commit every line, every divot, every curve of his body to memory.

It doesn’t help that I haven’t been with anyone in years. That the only physical contact I’ve had since my divorce has been my fingers and a vibrator. I’m aware this is a natural reaction to seeing someone like him without clothes, but the other things?

The other things are very not good.

Like the way I’m imagining what’s under his jeans. What his hands would feel like on my thighs and his mouth on my neck. If he’s as nice in the bedroom as Emmy claims, or if he’s someone else entirely.

“Didn’t feel like cooking?” Hudson asks when he returns with a glass of wine and the bottle tucked under his arm. My stomach swoops low when I notice he’s changed into sweatpants and a thin T-shirt. That’s not much better than what he was wearing before. “I didn’t think to tell you about some of the restaurants around here, but it looks like you found one.”

“I ordered takeout, and it was delicious.” I shift across the couch so I’m not taking up all three cushions and point to the other side of the sofa. “Sit wherever you want.”

“Thanks.” He takes the spot beside me and swirls his drink around his glass. “I’m not a big wine guy.”

“What’s your drink of choice?”

“Beer, typically. If I’m feeling fun, I love whiskey.”

“I like whiskey too.”

“I’d say we should pour some of that, but it’ll get me in trouble.”

“Trouble? You mean like going thirty miles an hour instead of twenty-five?”

“Wow. Throwing me under the bus.” His throat bobs with a sip, and he leans back. “I know how to have fun, believe it or not. I don’t always behave.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” I say, and I’m hopelessly wondering what kind of trouble he’s talking about.

“What have you been up to tonight?”

“Watching TV. Greasy food. Enjoying the quiet. It’s been a long week, hasn’t it?”

“Too long.” Hudson rests a foot on his knee and blows out a breath. “Next week isn’t going to be any better. I have book club and a home game. After that, we’re getting into the holiday season with Thanksgiving, and things won’t slow down until the new year.”

“Book club?” I finish off my drink and reach for the bottle. “Who do you have book club with?”

“My teammates. We, ah, read romance books.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. It started when Maverick was trying to impress Emmy—he does that a lot, by the way—and it’s become a regular thing during the season. It’s silly, but I think it’s helped us play better hockey. It takes our minds off the games. Gives us something else to put our time and energy into. Plus, it’s fun as hell.”

“I never would’ve guessed that. An outlet is good, though.”

“It’s not the only outlet. Ethan rides motorcycles. Grant carries around this small notebook but won’t tell us what is inside. He claims it’s to play tic-tac-toe with himself, but it’s obvious he’s lying. I’m wondering if he’s drawing or writing a book. Maverick spends most of his time obsessing over Emmy.”

“What else do you do?” I ask.

“I hang out with the dogs. Go for long walks. Enjoy the peace and quiet when I’m not surrounded by the hooligans I have to call my teammates.”

I laugh. “You love them, don’t you?”

Hudson’s smile melts into something nostalgic, almost, and he nods. “With everything I have. Which is something male athletes are told they shouldn’t say, but whatever. They’ve gotten me through some rough days, and I’m not sure I’d be here if it weren’t for them.”

I lift my glass. “We need a toast.”

“What are we toasting?”

“To the family you’re born with, and the family you meet along the way.”

He scoots toward me. Raises his glass and knocks it against mine. “I’ll drink to that. Cheers, Madeline,” he says in a husk of a voice, and we might have a problem.