friend Sadie is a big help. She lives with us and takes care of him when I’m working.”
“The one you wanted to fix me up with?”
My cheeks warmed as I remembered that conversation. “Yes.”
“I hope you’re not still thinking about that.”
“No … I’m not.”
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and just looked at me.
“What?” I asked.
“I was just gonna say that if things were different – if I wasn’t a hockey player and you weren’t a hockey trainer, I’d be asking you out right now.”
I had to stop myself from babbling like an excited teenager. If I said anything right now, it would sound stupid. Instead I smiled silently.
“Say something,” he said. “I can tell you’re thinking something.”
I shrugged, not wanting him to know how happy I was about what he’d said. “I’m just thinking you don’t seem like the dinner and movie type.”
“What type do I seem like?”
“The ‘ come check out the mirror on my bedroom ceiling’ type.”
“Ouch.”
He seemed less and less like that guy, but there was safety in my blanket assessment of hockey players. “Any guy who could get away with it would do the same in your shoes. It’s the biggest perk of being a hot hockey player.”
He shook his head slowly. “I’ve got friends on my team who are happily married.”
“How old are they?” I asked skeptically.
“Late 20s. 30s. It’s all about finding the right person.”
The waiter walked in with a tray of food and I breathed a sigh of relief. I had no idea how to respond to what he’d said. We’d established that I wasn’t the right person due to our jobs, but I was filled with envy for the woman he’d eventually decide was the one. She was incredibly lucky. I was getting a small taste of her future life right now.
Late dinners with a broad, blond hockey star whose smile upped the temperature in a room. I hoped she’d appreciate him for him, and not his money. Luke deserved a loving family of his own.
The thought of the future Mrs. Hudson having his babies was too much. I shook away the thought. I wasn’t thinking about that right now. Instead I wanted to enjoy my taste while it was just a couple feet away, looking sexy as hell.
Chapter 4
Luke
Of all the guys on the team, I’d been forced to move in with Vanderschmidt. He was a strange one. And while I wasn’t a clean freak, he was a fucking slob of epic proportions.
“Jesus, V, your dirty dishes have been sitting here for days ,” I said, scowling at the caked on taco-meat remnants on the plates and skillet he’d left on the counter.
“Sorry, ma,” he said, not looking away from the TV screen displaying his video game.
I’d walked in to water nearly ankle deep in my apartment almost a week ago, forcing me to live with a roommate while the place was stripped of everything and cleaned up.
It was early in the morning, a weird time to pop out of bed and play video games. I’d just been out on a run, and I went into my bedroom to escape the filth. I scrolled through my phone, smiling at Facebook posts from my teammates back home. I missed those assholes bad.
We had a game that night, and by mid-morning, I had to get the hell away from V. Aggravation wasn’t good for my concentration. I went across the hall to Niko’s apartment and walked in.
“He’s watching Braveheart again,” I muttered, flopping onto the couch.
“Yeah, he watches it before every game,” Niko said.
“Every game?”
“Yep. He’s been doing it since college.”
“That’s fucked up, man.”
He laughed. “V’s a different kind of cat.”
“You guys give him shit over the Braveheart thing, don’t you?”
“Hell yeah, we do. When he scores, we’re all bent over showing him our asses when he walks into the locker room.”
“I had a roommate in college who was OCD about his rituals,” I said, shaking my head at the memory. “He had to leave for the game exactly two hours before start time and drive
“The one you wanted to fix me up with?”
My cheeks warmed as I remembered that conversation. “Yes.”
“I hope you’re not still thinking about that.”
“No … I’m not.”
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and just looked at me.
“What?” I asked.
“I was just gonna say that if things were different – if I wasn’t a hockey player and you weren’t a hockey trainer, I’d be asking you out right now.”
I had to stop myself from babbling like an excited teenager. If I said anything right now, it would sound stupid. Instead I smiled silently.
“Say something,” he said. “I can tell you’re thinking something.”
I shrugged, not wanting him to know how happy I was about what he’d said. “I’m just thinking you don’t seem like the dinner and movie type.”
“What type do I seem like?”
“The ‘ come check out the mirror on my bedroom ceiling’ type.”
“Ouch.”
He seemed less and less like that guy, but there was safety in my blanket assessment of hockey players. “Any guy who could get away with it would do the same in your shoes. It’s the biggest perk of being a hot hockey player.”
He shook his head slowly. “I’ve got friends on my team who are happily married.”
“How old are they?” I asked skeptically.
“Late 20s. 30s. It’s all about finding the right person.”
The waiter walked in with a tray of food and I breathed a sigh of relief. I had no idea how to respond to what he’d said. We’d established that I wasn’t the right person due to our jobs, but I was filled with envy for the woman he’d eventually decide was the one. She was incredibly lucky. I was getting a small taste of her future life right now.
Late dinners with a broad, blond hockey star whose smile upped the temperature in a room. I hoped she’d appreciate him for him, and not his money. Luke deserved a loving family of his own.
The thought of the future Mrs. Hudson having his babies was too much. I shook away the thought. I wasn’t thinking about that right now. Instead I wanted to enjoy my taste while it was just a couple feet away, looking sexy as hell.
Chapter 4
Luke
Of all the guys on the team, I’d been forced to move in with Vanderschmidt. He was a strange one. And while I wasn’t a clean freak, he was a fucking slob of epic proportions.
“Jesus, V, your dirty dishes have been sitting here for days ,” I said, scowling at the caked on taco-meat remnants on the plates and skillet he’d left on the counter.
“Sorry, ma,” he said, not looking away from the TV screen displaying his video game.
I’d walked in to water nearly ankle deep in my apartment almost a week ago, forcing me to live with a roommate while the place was stripped of everything and cleaned up.
It was early in the morning, a weird time to pop out of bed and play video games. I’d just been out on a run, and I went into my bedroom to escape the filth. I scrolled through my phone, smiling at Facebook posts from my teammates back home. I missed those assholes bad.
We had a game that night, and by mid-morning, I had to get the hell away from V. Aggravation wasn’t good for my concentration. I went across the hall to Niko’s apartment and walked in.
“He’s watching Braveheart again,” I muttered, flopping onto the couch.
“Yeah, he watches it before every game,” Niko said.
“Every game?”
“Yep. He’s been doing it since college.”
“That’s fucked up, man.”
He laughed. “V’s a different kind of cat.”
“You guys give him shit over the Braveheart thing, don’t you?”
“Hell yeah, we do. When he scores, we’re all bent over showing him our asses when he walks into the locker room.”
“I had a roommate in college who was OCD about his rituals,” I said, shaking my head at the memory. “He had to leave for the game exactly two hours before start time and drive
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