by Cindi Madsen
The thought bothered me more than I wanted it to, probably because it was true. But now I was being judgmental, and when I’d asked him to slow down, he’d been way nicer about it than I’d expected.
The dinosaurs on the back edge of his desk caught my eye, and I moved over to them. I assumed they’d be more toy-like, but while they were plastic, the tiny intricate details were closer to a model or miniature museum exhibit than a toy. I reached for one, then hesitated. “Is it okay if I pick it up?”
Hudson’s forehead crinkled. “Yeah. I’m not super weird about them or anything.”
When I lifted it, though, he said, “Just be careful with the right leg. It came loose in my last move, and I haven’t fixed it yet.” The smile I attempted to smother refused to keep itself on the down low, and a hint of exasperation crept into his expression. “I think the fact that I haven’t fixed it yet proves I’m not super weird about them.” He gave my shoulder a little shove. “I should’ve just let the leg come loose, then you’d feel bad and stop poking fun.”
I pushed him back, a flutter going through me when my hand pressed against his rock-hard arm. “Stop shoving me or you’ll be the one who breaks it.”
After a mini stare-down that only made the butterflies spread from my stomach to my chest, I ran my finger over the rough “skin” of the dinosaur. Then I moved to feel its sharp teeth. Between the fangs and the funky crest thing on its head, it did look pretty badass—not that I’d tell Hudson that. Yet.
“What kind of dinosaur is it?” I asked.
Hudson sat on the edge of the desk and crossed his legs at the ankle, the hurt one on top. “Dilophosaurus.”
“Give me some fun facts.”
He was rather reluctant about it, so I lifted the dinosaur in front of my face and lent my voice to it. “Come on. You know everything about me. Are you seriously going to play dumb to impress a girl?”
Hudson shook his head—and there was even an eye roll—but a grin slowly worked its way across his lips. “They’re early Jurassic Period dinosaurs, they were most likely piscivorous, and—”
“Wait. I don’t know what the piscivorous thing means.”
“That they ate fish. Their teeth aren’t quite big enough for taking down larger prey”—he pointed at the needle-like teeth and then moved his finger up to the holes next to the orange crest on its skull—“and they have retracted nasal openings. Plus they’ve found swim tracks that indicate as much.”
I grinned, and he reached out and pinched my side. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me like I’m adorable.” He circled the air between him and the dino. “I’m badass, my dinosaurs are badass.”
I placed my hand on the desk next to his leg and leaned in. “I’ve seen you play hockey. I know all about how badass you are.” He was also adorable, though—especially right now—and I couldn’t resist leaning in and giving him a kiss.
He lifted his hand and cupped my cheek, holding me captive in his gaze for a few seconds before returning his lips to mine. The kiss wasn’t nearly as intense as our first—just a little bit of lips and tongue, without the full-body contact—but it still sent desire thrumming through my veins.
“Okay, so how big is it?” I asked.
“Are we still talking about the dinosaur?”
I gasped, and he laughed, the full deep sound echoing through my chest and sending my pulse off and running again. I sat on the desk next to him as he rattled off a few more facts about Dilophosaurus, then he set it down next to the T. rex and Velociraptor. “I brought these three with me because they were the beginning of my collection, and they each took me months to save up for. They’re one of my reminders of how if you want something badly enough, you do whatever it takes to make it happen.” He glanced at his feet and rubbed the back of his neck. “Cheesy, I know.”
I covered the hand he had braced against the desk with mine. “I like it. It’s why I still have my first pair of Steve Madden heels, even though my feet have grown half a size since I bought them and they totally pinch my toes when I wear them.”
One heartbeat passed, then two, then three… My thoughts turned back to the sexy curve of his mouth. His rugged short boxed beard. His ridiculous body. It was like we had this stolen night, the kind of night when Cinderella got to dance at the ball and not think about her work or that she was hiding who she was. The clock would strike midnight soon—well, figurative midnight, because twelve o’clock had come and gone a good hour ago.
The temptation to simply let go and just enjoy the few hours we had left called to me, tapping me on the shoulder and practically forcing my gaze to the bed.
I knew he’d played girls before, that he wasn’t the commitment type. But I didn’t think that he let people in very often, either, and he’d shown me his dinosaurs—even if reluctantly and because I’d pushed a little. I liked pushing his buttons and I liked the way he pushed mine back.
Okay, that’s enough thinking about pushing buttons… Try to think rationally. I was on a sex sabbatical for a reason. I made bad choices when it came to picking guys.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy the night’s spell/ball for a little while longer, even if I decided to stick to my no sex decree. “I think I’m ready for the rest of the movie.”
While he didn’t limp much on the way back to the couch, it was there. I told him not to move while I retrieved an ice pack from the freezer. I thought I’d have to make do with frozen veggies, but apparently hockey players stocked up on ice packs, because there were a few next to what had to be a years’ worth of frozen burritos and Eggo Waffles.
When I closed the freezer, I noticed the note held up with magnets.
McCaffrey said he knows you have a test coming up and insisted I give you this. The email address on top is for the tutor, but he says it’s probably too late for this test, so you should also email the other address, just this once. All you have to do is send the class info and you’ll get an email back for how much it’ll cost. McCaffrey said he’ll spot you the money if you need it.
-D
Two email addresses were scrawled across the bottom, along with one sentence: Remember, the whole team’s relying on you. I stood there, unsure what to do. Here was proof of cheating. Come on, Hudson. Don’t tell me you’d do this.
After a couple seconds of going back and forth, I took out my phone and snapped a picture. That way I could delay my crisis of conscience versus truth and fairness for later.
The smile Hudson flashed me when I placed the pack over his ankle filled my gut with guilt. He wrapped his arm around me and I tried to push everything away and just focus on how nice it was to be cuddled up next to him.
Using my fingertips, I memorized his hand, every long finger and the web work of veins across the back, then moved on to his forearm, running my fingers over the ink and coarse hair. When I got to the puckered scar on the underside, I asked, “What happened here?”
He glanced down. “Just boys being boys.”
I wanted to press more, but then he tightened the arm he had around me and kissed my cheek, a quick brush of scruff and soft lips. I got lost in the rhythm of his breaths, the pulse beating at the base of his neck, and the way the lights of the television lit up his features at intervals.
There were moments we ignored the movie and simply studied each other, exchanging smiles and kisses. I thought about taking off my wig a couple of times, since it was getting itchy, but I was sure my hair was a tangled mess underneath, and it seemed like it had made the spell hanging over us possible.
Hudson’s phone chirped as the movie credits began rolling up the screen. He lifted it and sighed. “The guys just landed. They’ll be home soon.”
Just like that, the spell broke.
If I ran, Hudson’s ankle might prevent him from catching me, but since there wasn’t a pumpkin-turned-coach waiting for me, I didn’t have a ride. “Are you sure you can drive?”
“I’m sure.” Hudson
put his hand on my back and led me out the door.
Neither of us said much on the way home, the low murmur of the radio filling the silence. I wondered if he felt the magic of the night unraveling, too, or if he was just tired and I was delusional for thinking this night had meant as much to him as it did to me.
When he pulled up to my apartment complex, he wrapped his hand around my thigh. I wanted to tell him I’d had an amazing time, but then I didn’t want to sound needy or clingy, even though I felt a lot of need right now, and the desire to cling onto him was definitely there, too.
“You know, I knew from the beginning that there was something you were holding back.” His eyes locked onto mine. “Things that didn’t quite add up.”
My blood pressure spiked and all the air whooshed out of my lungs.
“Time to come clean, Reporter Girl.”
I tried to keep the panic off my face. Oh, holy crap. How much does he know? How long has he known?
I contemplated spouting facts and figures in hopes he’d understand why I’d started the exposé—at least a little. But then I realized maybe he just meant the survey. Or the note.
My journalist side kicked in, telling me to cling to my cover at all costs. Deny. No, turn it on him. Or make a joke. Do…something.
“You want to come clean about something? Ooh, I can’t wait to break the scoop.” I patted my skirt even though there were no pockets, acting like I was searching for my notebook. “Let me guess, you’ve been using steroids. First Lance, now you.” I shook my head, rather proud that I’d remembered an athlete’s name.
Hudson’s mouth dropped open and he threw a hand to his chest. “This body is carved from hard work, baby. Don’t act like you weren’t enjoying it earlier.” His hand drifted up my thigh a few more inches and the temperature in the cab shot up about a billion degrees. “I mean it’s time for you to come clean.”
My palms grew damp and I fought the urge to wipe them on my skirt. I licked my lips and tried to think past his callused fingertips and my short-circuiting emotions. I seriously considered jumping out of the truck and making a run for it. Of course, the one time I needed to sprint I had on my giant heels.
“You don’t know a damn thing about hockey, do you?” He squeezed my thigh, and I sat frozen as my brain worked out what he’d said versus what I’d thought he was going to say.
Hockey? He was asking about my hockey knowledge? That was…not as bad as the exposé. Probably still not great, though. “I…I know some.”
He shot me a look, his skepticism clear. “Name one famous NHL player. Besides Gretsky.”
Damn. I tried to remember the names from that charity game, but I’d thought for once I could simply relax and not worry about jersey numbers and names and positions. Plus Hudson had been distracting me then, too.
Still I opened my mouth like that would make one magically pop out. I knew it wouldn’t, though—after all, up until two seconds ago, I thought Gretsky was some dude with a lot of inspirational quotes.
“I knew it,” Hudson said, and he was smiling about it, which left me completely clueless on how to react. “You mix up the terms, you don’t know how long players are supposed to sit in the box when they get penalties, and you think that Casey Jones is an NHL player. Not only that, what you’re wearing tonight fits you more than the serious business stuff. It’s all starting to make sense.”
I could hardly deny it now, and the tiny, not-freaking-out side of me liked that he’d figured that out about me. “Okay, you got me. But experience in my career field is so hard to get, and all I’ve ever wanted to be is a real journalist, and I really need this job. I’m working to learn the hockey terms, and if anyone else on the team finds—”
“I won’t say anything. To anyone.” He leaned in, pressed his lips to mine, and despite my worries, I couldn’t help but sink into the kiss and let the tingly sensation traveling through my body take over. After all, this might be the last time I got the chance to kiss Hudson Decker—even if he was interested in doing this again, I certainly shouldn’t carry on whatever we’d started tonight.
When he pulled back, a tight band formed around my chest.
“Hey. Stop looking so worried.” Hudson ran this thumb across the line of my jaw. “You can trust me.”
Regret stole my breath and settled into my lungs. I wanted to trust him, and I wasn’t sure if I could, but how could I demand trustworthiness when I’d been playing him and the rest of the hockey team from the beginning?
Getting the chance to write this kind of article for my very first story was a huge opportunity served up on a silver platter, bright red bow tied on top. But that bow obviously had strings attached, and it didn’t look like a gift anymore.
It looked like the complication that might ruin everything.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Hudson
My body balanced on that line between asleep and awake, when your brain was trying to start up and the rest of you begged it for a few more minutes.
Slowly my brain won the tug-of-war, and I opened my eyes. I’d stared at my desk countless times before—sometimes with disdain because of the hours of studying I’d attempted there. But this morning, I saw the ghost of a blue-haired girl, one of my dinosaur figurines in her hands.
I could feel the stupid grin stretching my lips, and I was glad there was no one around to witness it. Since there wasn’t, I went ahead and basked in last night’s memories for a moment.
Something had definitely shifted between us, and while I knew I wouldn’t suddenly become boyfriend material, I knew I wanted to spend more time kissing Whitney.
Last night I’d barely beat the guys back home, and I’d still been distracted with thoughts of her while Dane gave me a detailed recap of the game. Then he’d asked me if my weekend blew, with all of his usual tact. I’d wanted to tell him that it’d been one of the best weekends of my life—which was especially weird considering the lack of hockey. But I’d held back. Usually I told him most everything, so I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t said anything.
Probably because I knew there’d be questions. How I’d convinced her to come over. If I’d slept with her. The bet would get thrown into the mix and it’d ruin what the night had really been—one amazing, perfect night I hadn’t wanted to end.
Speaking of wants, more than anything I wanted to forget the stupid bet existed in the first place. For the most part, I did, because when I was with Whitney it was the last thing on my mind. Every time I thought about it, though, self-loathing climbed up and sat on my chest. I never should’ve made that stupid bet.
I’d tell Dane that it was off, but he’d never let it drop. He’d ask why and push and push, and then he’d be watching every interaction I had with Whitney. That’d put her secret at risk, and she was so sure that if anyone else found out, she’d lose her job. While I was sure I could convince him to keep it a secret, I’d sworn to her that I wouldn’t say anything, and I was going to keep that promise.
I could at least do that. I should probably do one better for her and end things before they went any further, but I was already in too deep, and now that I knew what it was like to kiss her, I wasn’t strong enough to walk away.
Better to just stuff back my happiness over everything that’d happened with Whitney and keep it to myself so I didn’t slip—and so I could hold on a little longer without everything else getting in the way and ruining it.
I stretched and my neck popped, like it had for years. Then I scooted to the end of my bed and rolled my ankle, wincing slightly as it warmed up. After a few circles it felt pretty good, so apparently I hadn’t totally wrecked it by going out last night.
It would’ve been worth extra days of pain anyway.
When I made it to the kitchen, there was no sign of my roommates, which meant they were sleeping off yesterday’s game and the jetlag that flying home late at night seemed to always bring, no matter how many Zs you caught on the plane.
The cool air of the freezer hit me
as I opened the door, the smell making me think of being out on the ice. The first box of waffles only had a single, poorly wrapped one inside, so I shoved the frozen waffle puck in the toaster and reached for more. We were going to have to hit the grocery store soon.
I stuck three more in the toaster, depressed the button, then turned around to wait for them to cook. The note on the freezer caught my attention.
I’d tried not to look at it too much, because I was trying to do the right thing. Heaven knew I’d cheated plenty through the beginning of high school, when it was more about just getting through the day so I could play hockey. Then one of the guys on the team got caught and not only had he been suspended, they didn’t let him play for the rest of the season. So I’d decided it wasn’t worth the risk and suffered through the homework on my own after that.
I pushed off the counter and reached for the note, ready to rip it off, crumple it up, and toss it into the trash. For one, what was Dane thinking displaying it so that anyone could see it? Not that Coach or school officials swung by, but the evidence of having it out there made me nervous.
He’d known that I’d see it here, though, and that it would’ve given me the weekend to get my hands on what I needed. I probably should’ve emailed on Friday night, but I’d been moping over having to miss the game. Plus, I told myself that I wouldn’t need either option—that I had my class under control, or would, after suddenly having a free weekend to study.
I’d used it, too. Friday night and most of Saturday were spent reading and highlighting, my damn ankle propped on the other end of the couch with an ice pack or a heating pad the entire time. I’d read until words blurred into one another. I’d even tried to call a couple of the people from study group, but neither of them answered. Because it had been Saturday, and people were supposed to relax on Saturday.
Hours upon hours of study, and the material hadn’t magically made sense. I still don’t get it—not enough to be ready for the test at the end of the week.
If I got ahold of the test, I wouldn’t just use it to memorize a, b, or c. I could study the questions, find the right answers, and work backward until I understood why they fit. Would that be so bad?