reinjure his shoulder. A second surgery would most certainly mean he wouldn’t be signed to the Sharks again, or quite possibly any other team either.
I could barely make out his face under his helmet, so I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like he grimaced. I suppose I could be imagining things—I’d done quite a bit of that since he’d crossed his own line in the laundry room.
The cold bench beneath me heated up as the memory of his taste filled my mind. The man was intensity and warmth and sex all combined, and when he let me in…good God, it was incredible. He’d practically made me come from a few touches and a deep kiss—I might as well have been a teenager again for how often that kiss was on replay in my brain.
An excited squeal from Lettie sharpened my focus in time to see Gage pass the puck to Rory, who shot it so fast the goalie didn’t have time to flinch. The two were an unstoppable force, complimenting each other in every regard—Gage was strength, strategy, and intimidation; Rory was speed, stamina, and aim.
The two gave each other a quick glove-covered fist bump after the shot.
“Daddy’s a badass!” Lettie shouted.
I gasped, biting my tongue so I didn’t laugh.
“Lettie,” I said and shifted her on my lap so she could look me in the eye. “You shouldn’t say that word.”
“What?” Her little forehead wrinkled before she smirked. “Daddy?”
I tilted my head at her, she was Gage’s daughter all right. “You know what. I won’t repeat it because it’s not a nice word.” Though I guaranteed she heard it from her father or Rory or Warren. When the trio came together at the house, it was hard for them to keep their animalistic sides in check—it was sexy as hell to me, but not so great for Lettie’s vocabulary.
“Say, Daddy’s awesome , or Daddy’s a rockstar , instead. Okay?”
She nodded, her brown curls framing her face. “Okay!” She hugged my neck and turned back around, her attention recaptured by the game.
Lettie and I went to as many games as possible, even traveling with Gage on the road most of the time, and she was such a trooper. Never once complaining about the cold, the smells signature only to the rink, or the fast food we ate too much of because of the number of away games. The girl didn’t care what we did, as long as she was near her daddy. Gage couldn’t stand to be separated from her, so it worked out beautifully.
“Whoohoo!” Lettie shouted, jerking her fist in the air when Gage zoomed by. “Daddy’s a rockstar!” Her little voice cracked she yelled so hard but she earned several awhs from the small crowd scattered throughout the bleachers. Glancing over her shoulders, she beamed at me.
“Good job!” I said and nuzzled her neck. I loved it when she actually listened to me. She was three, so my chances always averaged fifty-fifty.
I hissed when Gage slammed another player into the boards so hard the poor bastard hit the ice with a loud smack. It gave Warren the advantage and he raced toward the goal with the puck.
“If he isn’t careful he’ll rip himself up again,” a woman said from behind me.
“Think it’s inevitable at this point. He won’t let up.” Another responded.
I held Lettie a little tighter. Don’t feed the hockey wives. Don’t feed the hockey wives.
“I was hoping to see the new kid start today. He’s got to have chops because Gage’s skates will be hard as hell to fill.”
Lettie turned her head toward the women before glancing at me. “Is Daddy giving away his skates?”
Oh hell no.
“No, baby. He’s not.” I stroked her hair until she turned back around to stare at the action on the ice.
I whipped my head around, focusing on the group of women sitting a couple benches above us, all wearing matching yoga pants tucked into Uggs, some with their husband’s jersey’s worn over white long sleeved shirts. The bunnies—who were easy to mark because of their lack of warm clothing—decided tight white
I could barely make out his face under his helmet, so I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like he grimaced. I suppose I could be imagining things—I’d done quite a bit of that since he’d crossed his own line in the laundry room.
The cold bench beneath me heated up as the memory of his taste filled my mind. The man was intensity and warmth and sex all combined, and when he let me in…good God, it was incredible. He’d practically made me come from a few touches and a deep kiss—I might as well have been a teenager again for how often that kiss was on replay in my brain.
An excited squeal from Lettie sharpened my focus in time to see Gage pass the puck to Rory, who shot it so fast the goalie didn’t have time to flinch. The two were an unstoppable force, complimenting each other in every regard—Gage was strength, strategy, and intimidation; Rory was speed, stamina, and aim.
The two gave each other a quick glove-covered fist bump after the shot.
“Daddy’s a badass!” Lettie shouted.
I gasped, biting my tongue so I didn’t laugh.
“Lettie,” I said and shifted her on my lap so she could look me in the eye. “You shouldn’t say that word.”
“What?” Her little forehead wrinkled before she smirked. “Daddy?”
I tilted my head at her, she was Gage’s daughter all right. “You know what. I won’t repeat it because it’s not a nice word.” Though I guaranteed she heard it from her father or Rory or Warren. When the trio came together at the house, it was hard for them to keep their animalistic sides in check—it was sexy as hell to me, but not so great for Lettie’s vocabulary.
“Say, Daddy’s awesome , or Daddy’s a rockstar , instead. Okay?”
She nodded, her brown curls framing her face. “Okay!” She hugged my neck and turned back around, her attention recaptured by the game.
Lettie and I went to as many games as possible, even traveling with Gage on the road most of the time, and she was such a trooper. Never once complaining about the cold, the smells signature only to the rink, or the fast food we ate too much of because of the number of away games. The girl didn’t care what we did, as long as she was near her daddy. Gage couldn’t stand to be separated from her, so it worked out beautifully.
“Whoohoo!” Lettie shouted, jerking her fist in the air when Gage zoomed by. “Daddy’s a rockstar!” Her little voice cracked she yelled so hard but she earned several awhs from the small crowd scattered throughout the bleachers. Glancing over her shoulders, she beamed at me.
“Good job!” I said and nuzzled her neck. I loved it when she actually listened to me. She was three, so my chances always averaged fifty-fifty.
I hissed when Gage slammed another player into the boards so hard the poor bastard hit the ice with a loud smack. It gave Warren the advantage and he raced toward the goal with the puck.
“If he isn’t careful he’ll rip himself up again,” a woman said from behind me.
“Think it’s inevitable at this point. He won’t let up.” Another responded.
I held Lettie a little tighter. Don’t feed the hockey wives. Don’t feed the hockey wives.
“I was hoping to see the new kid start today. He’s got to have chops because Gage’s skates will be hard as hell to fill.”
Lettie turned her head toward the women before glancing at me. “Is Daddy giving away his skates?”
Oh hell no.
“No, baby. He’s not.” I stroked her hair until she turned back around to stare at the action on the ice.
I whipped my head around, focusing on the group of women sitting a couple benches above us, all wearing matching yoga pants tucked into Uggs, some with their husband’s jersey’s worn over white long sleeved shirts. The bunnies—who were easy to mark because of their lack of warm clothing—decided tight white
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