by Elise Faber
His expression was thunderous, but his hold gentle.
“Shh,” she said, smoothing her fingers over the stark lines near his mouth, above and between his brows, radiating out from his eyes. “I decided I’m not doing that anymore.”
Gentle crept in, pushed out storm clouds. “Just like that?”
She nodded. “Just like that.” Shifting, she settled her forehead against his. “So, can you keep pushing and teasing and breaking the rules? I’m going to do my best to find that sixteen-year-old girl again, but it’s easy to fall back into old patterns.”
“Can you shoot for eighteen rather than sixteen?” he asked, lips twitching. “Gotta keep things legal.”
Her heart swelled. This man.
“I’m guessing that’s a yes for the teasing?” she asked lightly. “But not the rule-breaking?”
A dark look, though his mouth was curved into a gentle smile. “There are some rules that can’t be broken.”
“True.”
“What’s that face?” His fingers traced the lines of her eyebrows, the angle of her jaw.
“That’s everything,” she whispered. “All of the sad. All of the heavy secrets.”
Traces of a storm on the edges of his irises. “And you think what, that I’m going to leave now?”
“It’s a lot for two weeks of acquaintance.”
He sighed, tugged her down so that she was sprawled across his chest. “I was a lot after a few hours of acquaintance,” he said. “Just in case you’ve forgotten my mini-meltdown.”
“There were no tears, so it doesn’t count.”
Laughter that filled her with warmth. “Good to know, J.B.” He hugged her tight, stifled a yawn. “I’ll summon some up next time.”
She rested her palm on his chest, felt his heart beating slow and steady beneath her hand. “You’ve impressed me with your pillow talk, Stormy, but you played a tough game. You need your rest.”
“Stormy?”
Her cheeks went a little warm. “I’m trying out nicknames, Sweet Cheeks, since you have yours for me.”
“I veto both of those names.”
“Good thing you don’t get to decide.”
Fingers brushing through her hair. “What does Stormy mean?”
She tsked. “Nice try. But I’ll only do a tit for tat exchange.”
“I—” His yawn wasn’t stifled this time. “I get it,” he said. “My eyes.”
Damn. Back to the drawing board because she couldn’t honestly see herself using Sweet Cheeks on a daily basis.
He bent, nearly dislodging her from his chest. “Yup,” he said, seeing her face. “I knew you’d be pouting.” His lips brushed hers. “Still beautiful, even though I won’t dish on the nickname meaning.”
Warmth in her belly, her heart, her soul.
“Now,” he said before she could respond to that, “not to be a wimp, but you tired me out.”
“Not the game?” she teased.
Another yawn, a gentle caress brushing her hair off her face. “Not the game,” he murmured, voice drifting off, sleep creeping up. “Need anything before I pass out?”
Mia snuggled closer, smile on her lips. “Nope. I just need you.”
A kiss to the top of her head, arms wrapping tighter.
Then they fell into sleep.
“I thought—” Liam stopped, winced. “Never mind.”
She reached across the table. “What were you going to ask?”
“It’s—” A shake of his head.
“Solid Gold,” she warned. His brows drew down, and damn, she’d known that nickname wouldn’t work, even before she’d said it out loud. “No fair.” It was a mutter. “You came up with J.B. and all I’ve got is weirdness.”
He lifted her fingers to his mouth. “I like your weirdness.”
Heat trailing up her arm, down her spine.
He’d woken her in the most delicious way that morning, kissing his way across her stomach.
When she’d protested that they hadn’t showered the night before, he’d given her a slice of dirty that had sent her flying.
“I’m starting my Cheat Day off with my favorite meal,” he’d said then had proceeded to move lower, to give her an orgasm with his mouth even before the last bit of sleep had left her mind.
And yet even though they were now in public, at a restaurant eating breakfast . . . she wanted him again.
“Nice try avoiding my questions,” she grumbled, tucking that desire away. She’d jump him later. “But what were you going to ask a minute ago?”
“Well, when we grabbed breakfast last week, you said you’d never eaten there or had a lot of junk food.” He shrugged. “I guess the way I was imagining your mom, I’d think there would be lots of sugar and treats.”
Mia laughed. “I could see how you’d think that. But my mom was a total hippie. No sugar. No processed foods. No salt. We only ate protein we’d caught ourselves, which meant we were mostly vegetarian with the exception of any fish or abalone she brought home when she went to the coast a few times a year, and bacon. My mom always said she could give up a lot of things, but she couldn’t give up bacon.” She smiled. “I still get my bacon and eggs from the same farmer’s market a few blocks from my apartment. Cage-free. No antibiotics. Fresh. Local.”
He grinned. “Hippie.”
“Exactly.”
“Is this where I shouldn’t tell you that with three boys at home and competing hockey schedules, we subsisted mostly on processed foods?”
She gave a mock-sigh. “Yup. Total deal-breaker, that one.”
Liam chuckled. “Good,” he said, scooping up a bite of chocolate chip pancakes that he’d liberally doused with syrup, even though they had been delivered to the table already coated with powdered sugar. “I won’t tell you then.” He shoved the bite into his mouth.
“How do you not have diabetes?”
A shrug. “Every man has his vices.”
She primly took a bite of her egg white omelet. Then she pointed. “Hey, is that Mandy?”
Liam glanced over his shoulder. “Where?”
Mia switched the plates, sliding her omelet toward him while stealing his pancakes. She might not have much of a sweet tooth, but even she had to admit they looked delicious.
He turned back. “I don’t see her. Are you sure you saw her?”
A shrug. “I guess I’m seeing things.”
Liam dipped his fork down, scooped up a bite without glancing at his plate. Instead, his eyes were on hers. “What time do you have to be back?”
“My Mom and Ninja class is at 11:30 am, though I need to do a fair amount of setup for it.”
“I can help.”
Her heart bubbled with joy even though she asked, “Are you sure you want to spend your day off scrubbing mats and herding kids?”
“I’m sure I want to spend my day off with you, whatever form that takes.”
Aw. Her heart skipped a beat. “Then mats it is.” He had a bite of egg white hanging from his fork, suspended a few inches off his plate, and Mia began to feel a little guilty for her prank. The man was spending his day off with her, had offered to clean mats and chase toddlers, and meanwhile, she was corrupting one of his Cheat Days, of which he only got a max of one per week. “Li—”
“Is it because Blane is coming?”
“Yes,” she said. “Li—”
“You should really consider renaming it Parent and Ninja or something, especially if you want to entice the rest of the hockey guys to come and take the class,” he said. “And with the rate the team is going, there’ll be a whole tiny Gold army invading.” The fork drifted closer. She opened her mouth, but Liam kept talking. “Blue even pulled me aside yesterday before the game. His son is a few months younger than Mandy and Blane’s daughter, so he wanted to join in the class. I hope it’s okay that I gave him your number.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sure that’s fine, but—”
The fork went into his mouth.
For all of a
second, then it was back out, Liam’s face one of disgust as he chewed. She had to give him credit for not spitting out the bite. She might have, had she been expecting fluffy pancakes and getting a semi-chewy omelet.
This breakfast place wasn’t as good as the one around the corner from her house.
His eyes flicked down at the plate in front of him then over to the plate in front of her, and figuring she was already in for a penny, she scooped up a bite and plunked it into her mouth.
Then winced.
Because it was a straight shock of sugar.
That was it. Sugar.
Ha.
Mia affected her best innocent expression. “Is there a problem?” she asked, scooping up another bite but not quite able to shove it into her mouth.
“Nope.”
He grinned, nodded at her plate. “You going to eat that, J.B.?”
“Are you going to eat that, Sugar?” She nodded at his plate.
“Sugar?” One brow came up.
She lifted both of hers. “J.B.?”
His eyes warmed. “God, I love you.”
Her fork hit the table, her jaw nearly followed suit.
Meanwhile, Liam set his utensil calmly on his plate then stretched across the worn Formica top and kissed her. “Ignore me if it freaks you out,” he murmured before sitting back. “I know it’s crazy and too soon. But . . .”
“But what?” she breathed.
“But . . . it’s true.” Clear gray eyes on hers. “It’s insane. It’s too much. It’s probably going to make you run out of this restaurant and—”
No, it wasn’t.
Because, yes it was too soon, too fast, too much.
But . . . she felt the same way.
And even though it was a little terrifying—feeling this way for someone when she had been closed down for so long—she loved (yes, loved!) Liam too much to leave him hanging in this.
She stood up, ignoring the flash of pain that crossed his face when her feet hit the floor, then rounded the table and dropped into the booth next to him.
Her words were for his ears only.
Leaning close, she whispered, “I love you, too.”
His shoulders stiffened. His jaw dropped open, and he turned to face her, slowly, incrementally, as though he were afraid he was just hearing things and that she’d poof away if he moved too fast.
“What did you say?”
She picked up the fork, slid her plate closer to her. “You heard me, Sugar.”
Fingers on her throat, brushing lightly along the place her pulse was pounding even despite the cavalier words. “I did hear you,” he murmured. A kiss to her jaw before his voice rose, lifting to normal volume. “I also do not support that nickname.”
“What’s J.B. mean?”
A flash of stubborn, bright as lightning in those pretty gray eyes.
“Sugar’s here to stay,” she said, scooping up a bite of omelet. “Unless you give up the goods.”
“That’s blackmail.”
A shrug. “That’s life with a stubborn as shit black belt.”
He grinned. “Guess I’d better get used to it.”
She smiled back. “Guess you’d better.”
“Good thing I’m good at cleaning mats,” he teased.
She laughed, light and fluffy, fully in the moment, totally enamored with this man. “Good thing.”
Sitting next to the man who’d taken over her heart, who’d made her feel and hope and grow—all in a couple of weeks—Mia knew she would never go back to being the woman she’d been before.
And that was okay with her.
In fact, it was pretty damned perfect.
Nineteen
Liam
His phone buzzed when he was at the bottom of a dog pile of toddlers, so it took Liam a moment to extract himself and pull his phone from his pocket.
His agent was calling.
His agent never called.
Unless it was bad news.
Dread curled like a lead ball in his stomach, but he knew he wouldn’t be traded at this point in the year. It was past the trade deadline. He was here for the remainder of the season. And his contract was only one-way—which meant that if the team sent him down to the minors, he’d still be paid his contract rate. That had been enough of a motivation for his former teams to keep him in the league, even if he’d been scratched from the actual game roster too many times to count.
As he was staring at the screen, the call cut off.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, still untangling himself from the toddlers and hoping that at several feet above them, they hadn’t heard the curse. He didn’t need to add corrupting young children to his list of skills.
So maybe he wouldn’t be traded, but the call couldn’t be good news. He’d been hoping to have enough time in San Francisco, to keep making a dent in the past fuck ups, to put the puck in the net, to get on the scoresheet with assists, to work his ass off in the defensive end.
He’d wanted more time to make himself valuable.
He wanted to stay.
Because of Mia, but also because of Brit, Blane, Coop, Blue. Because of Mandy and Calle and even the two Rebeccas, despite them nagging him about social media presence and how much animal protein he consumed—each nag only important to one of the Rebeccas, of course. Because the Gold were the Holy Grail. They were the team he’d hoped but never expected to find.
They . . . well, he’d been able to be himself.
And Liam hadn’t had that since he was a teenager.
That thought had him looking up, his heart constricting because Mia had experienced the same thing, only hers was exponentially more difficult to reconcile. She’d been through so damned much and—
A sharp whistle drew the rug rats’ attention, and the trio still clinging to his shins released, hurrying to the front of the room to get what appeared to be a stamp.
All except for a little boy with pale blue eyes.
“Up!” he said, lifting his arms.
Despite the ice in his heart, the resultant nerves from the missed call, the lingering pain in knowing what he would be losing because this was probably a courtesy call letting him know that the end was nigh, the request still made Liam smile. In fact, he’d gotten quite used to this particular request over the last few hours. So much so that he knew he would be skipping arms and shoulders during his gym time the next day.
“Up!” the little boy demanded.
“Oh no,” his mom, a pretty brunette with an intoxicating laugh, said. “Mr. Liam is all done today.”
His—the toddler, not Liam’s—lip slid out into a pout, eyes filling with tears.
This was also a look that Liam had gotten familiar with.
He knelt. “We’re all done for today, bud.” The little boy’s face screwed up. “Race you to the stamps!” Liam took off, and as he’d hoped, the little boy trailed him, giggling now as he ran by.
“Thanks,” the mom said, shaking her head.
“No worries. I’m one of three,” he told her. “My mom always said we gave her three gray hairs hourly.”
The woman laughed. “I could see that. He’s only a three-nager and he’s already doing that.” She tugged at her ponytail, grays not visible to Liam’s gaze, not that he was going to comment on that either way. He did have some common sense. “Sometimes I wish I was his age,” she said, moving after him as he closed in on Mia and the stamp pad, “then I would be able to stick out my lip and get my way.”
“That doesn’t work?” he teased.
She giggled. “If it did, I’d have been able to convince my husband to get that Tory Birch diaper bag.”
Liam grinned. “Might be worth a second try.”
Another giggle as she jogged to the front, scooping up the squirming toddler and tucking him under one arm. “Come on, Trouble.”
Mia came over to him. “Everything okay?”
For a second, he thought she might have been jealous of the conversation and started to reass
ure her that it had just been harmless banter. Then he realized she wasn’t looking at the mom at all. Her eyes were on his cell.
Which buzzed, right on cue with a text from his agent.
Call me.
And the lighthearted banter that had managed to distract him was gone.
“Who is that?”
“My agent.”
She stilled, and he knew she understood with just those two words. “Will they trade you?”
He shook his head. “No. My contract is up and it’s beyond the deadline, but they can say they don’t want me back.”
“But wouldn’t they wait until later in the season?” Her brows drew together. “I mean, I’m not an expert, but the playoffs are coming up. This might be a good thing. Wouldn’t they—”
A tug on her leg had her glancing down. “Bye, Ms. Mia.”
She patted the little girl’s head. “Bye, Ms. Lily.”
Lily smiled and ran back to her mom, who waved and headed for the door. Liam glanced around, saw that most of the other parents were occupied, including Blane, who’d brought Madeline in for her class. But there were a few other moms hovering nearby, clearly wanting to talk to Mia.
He touched her cheek. “Deal with what you need to,” he murmured. “I’ll just step outside and return the call.”
“I’m sorry—” she began.
“Don’t you dare apologize,” he told her firmly. “This is your job, and it’s important to you, to them.” He let his hand drop, knuckles skating down her throat, her arm. “It’s important to me.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
The dread eased. Because, ultimately, hockey wasn’t the most important thing in his life any longer. He had Mia. He had himself. He had his family, who loved him even though they meddled. He had friends, new from the team, old built over the years. He would be okay, no matter what. “I love you, too, J.B.”
“Silly man.” A rueful smile, a shake of her head, and he knew it was the nickname that had garnered the reaction. “Use my office.”
He nodded, crossed over to it, and closed the door behind him.