by Elise Faber
She shrieked, hands incongruously moving to cover herself, even though she was fully dressed. “Coop! What the fuck? How did you get inside?”
He shrugged, though chagrin drifted across his face. “The door was unlocked.”
Calle’s brows drew together. “It was?”
A nod. “It was. Gotta be more careful, sweetheart.”
Yeah, she did. But also, “Why didn’t you knock?” She’d known he was going to pick her up. He’d said as much, and she’d known he hadn’t asked for her address because he had followed her to her place after the first doctor’s appointment. But she also didn’t expect him to barge in and make himself at home.
That wasn’t very Coop like.
“I did knock,” he said. “Several times. Texted, too.” Oh. She nibbled at her lip. “Also, I happen to like you in sweats,” he added, pushing off the doorframe where he’d apparently been leaning, while watching her meltdown and talk to herself and—
He took her in his arms.
“I don’t care that you’re pregnant,” he murmured, pulling her closer and resting his chin on the top of her head. It was a sign of how off-kilter she felt that she let him hold her.
Calle didn’t hold her tongue, however. “You’re going to care in six months’ time, when I come home with a crying baby and a broken vagina from pushing him or her out.”
Coop snorted. “I think your vagina will be fine. And if not, I have the funds to buy you a labiaplasty.”
Her arms might have naturally looped around his waist when he’d taken her in his arms, but that didn’t mean she was going to let him slide with the snark. Thus—dear Lord more thuses—she smacked him.
On his glorious ass.
Because hockey players had the best asses.
Yes, that was a bit egotistical since she was a hockey player herself, but it was true. Hockey players did all the squats and box jumps and biking and because of that, they carried a special brand of junk in the trunk.
Which meant when she smacked Coop’s ass, the light swat quickly transformed into a light squeeze.
Then a not-so-light one.
She groaned.
He groaned.
“Going on a date with you is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” she blurted, explaining when a slice of darkness slid across his expression. “My life is a barely controlled disaster. You should be out with some hot, single girl who isn’t looking for nannies or spending hours arguing with the team’s insurance company to get permission to stay on ice until I reach the third trimester or who’s trying to plan her return to work after I’ve had the baby who’s going to ruin my vagina and—”
He kissed her.
Not softly, either.
His lips dropped to hers, and he kissed her in a frenzy of teeth and tongue, demanding a response, effectively distracting her from her tizzy.
“I’d be arguing with you, too,” he muttered, pulling back.
“What?” She blinked, desire had pooled in her center, and she was much more focused on getting Coop’s mouth back on hers than their previous conversation.
“About being on the ice.”
The fog began to clear, and she sighed, pushing lightly to get him to drop his arms. Which he didn’t because . . . of course, he didn’t. “Not you, too,” she said. “I’ve been skating since I was three. Plus, I’m not playing. I’m observing.”
“And you can’t observe from the bench?”
Since this particular sentiment had been pointed out by the insurance agent and then Devon and then Becca when she’d called in her friend’s wife for moral support—which, by the way, she hadn’t gotten and instead had received words of caution, reminding her she had her whole life to skate and that she could accommodate a few months from the bench because one never knew what could happen and—
“You’re about to yell at me, aren’t you?” Coop asked.
“Yes!” She huffed, pushed at his arms again.
Again, he didn’t let go.
“I’m not going to tell you what to do,” he said. “It’s your life—and your baby’s—I know you’ll make the right call to keep him or her safe.”
She stopped. “You do?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“And you’re not going to give me shit about getting on the ice?”
“You’ve already made your decision,” he said. “And I’m guessing you cleared it with all of the proper channels.” He paused, and she nodded. “So no, I’m not going to give you a hard time. I think you know where I stand, and I hope you’ll be open to revisiting the idea as things progress, but it’s your body, sweetheart.”
Her anger slid away.
“Though,” he said, his hand coming up to brush her hair out of her eyes. “If you even think about demonstrating that move on the boards until that baby is safely outside your body”—his jaw hardened—“then I reserve the right to cart your ass off the ice.”
“That seems fair,” she said.
“Good.”
He dropped his head again and slanted his lips across hers, kissing her until her lungs ached and her knees shook.
“This isn’t really a first date, is it?” she asked when he pulled back, and after she’d caught her breath.
“No,” he murmured, mouth trailing along her jaw.
Nothing about their relationship—was it a relationship?—felt normal. Not the chemistry, not the connection she felt to him. It was like the moment he’d overheard her on the phone, the moment he’d found out she was pregnant, everything had changed.
That last thought made her pause. Then consider.
Then . . . stiffen and say with horror, “Oh God, you’re some sort of pervert who’s only attracted to pregnant women, aren’t you?”
Coop’s head flew up, eyes wide, shock filling his face.
But then his lips twitched, and his arms dropped from around her waist. She didn’t like that at all, but more she didn’t like the fact that she’d discovered why he was suddenly so into her.
Normally, she’d be all about letting the freak flags fly.
But not when it involved her and her baby’s future happiness.
“I get it,” she said, letting her own arms drop and taking a step back. “It’s cool if you’re into that. I . . . I like you,” she admitted. “I just can’t base my whole future on someone who might up and leave when I’m not pregnant anymore.”
He burst out laughing, capturing her arms, tugging her back against him. “I may be a pervert, sweetheart, but it doesn’t have anything to do with that baby in your belly.” He nuzzled her throat, pressed a kiss to the spot in between her collarbones. “It’s you, baby. You’re what makes me crazy. Not your body—though I do love that,” he said, hands slipping down as he did some of his own squeezing on her great hockey ass. “It’s what’s in here”—he let go to lightly tap her temple—“and here”—the spot above her heart.
“That doesn’t make sense,” she argued. “It’s not like we’ve gotten to know each other or spent loads of time alone together. There’s always been a barrier between us because I’m on the coaching staff.”
“I don’t have to have spent time with you alone to see the person you are, Calle,” he said.
She scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I know who you are because I’ve seen you at team events, how great you are with the kids, how you always make sure everyone is included. I’ve seen you be beyond patient with the media when they ask you the same damn questions every time. I’ve even seen you play, been so fucking impressed with your talent and athleticism.” He tugged lightly on a lock of her hair. “I swear if you had two good knees and six more inches, you’d be giving Blue a run for his money for leading scorer in the league. And, I’ve seen you with the team—I’ve seen calm and steady Calle even under stressful circumstances—”
“I’m certainly not calm and steady Calle now,” she said. “I’ve spent the last hour freaking out over what to wear and then the last ten min
utes arguing with you.”
“Baby.” His lips dropped, halting just the barest distance from hers.
Immediately, her worries faded, and she was almost desperate to close the gap between their mouths, to get just one more kiss, to feel his body against hers.
“Maybe you’re not your normal self,” he said softly, his words coating her lips in damp heat. “Maybe you’re on edge and feeling like the whole world changed in the blink of an eye—”
And yes, that was exactly how she felt. He knew it, too, based on the smile he gave her, the stink. “But your world did shift and change, and all your plans and thoughts for the future went alongside with it.” She inhaled, ready to argue that it didn’t matter, that was life, that she was still almost unhinged, but Coop finally closed the distance between their mouths and kissed the words out of her.
When he broke apart, his lightly calloused thumb was tracing her jaw. “Everything changed,” he said. “And yet, you’re right here where you should be. In my arms, arguing with me, yes, but not arguing in a way that’s mean or hurtful and is more about you trying to get whatever fucked up shit is swirling in your head out of it.” A beat. “And I’m here because I’m fucking crazy about you, and I want to help you get rid of that shit so you and I can make something incredible together. So . . . are you with me?”
He’d said a lot.
So much that her head was spinning, and she almost didn’t know where to begin.
But then he dropped his arms and picked up her hand, lacing their fingers together before pressing a kiss to the backs of hers. “So, love, are you with me?”
A shuddering breath.
Yes, she was with him. God, she liked this man so. Fucking. Much. But she had to make sure, just as she was researching and double-checking and confirming everything about her pregnancy with her doctor and Devon and Becca, she also needed to make sure Coop would be looked out for.
She squeezed his hand. “You’ll tell me at the first sign?”
That damned brow came up again. “Tell you what?”
“Promise me you’ll tell me when you’re done, when it’s too much. I won’t be hurt,” she said, talking quickly and lying through her teeth because she knew that the moment she let Coop in, that he’d be all in, and as thus (also, fucking more thuses—she really needed to expand her vocabulary), but the point was, that when he did eventually leave, it was going to hurt like hell.
And what about her baby?
She felt a blip of panic about an innocent child getting attached to wonderful Coop. She couldn’t let her baby get hurt, not—
His free hand came up, cupped her cheek. “What just went through your mind?”
“I—” She broke off, unable to say the words.
“Never mind, baby,” he said. “I can tell it’s bullshit.”
“Coop.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Coop!”
“Fucking no, baby. I get a shot at you, and I’m not just walking away. Absolutely not—”
She turned into him, cupped his cheek for a change. “Please, Coop.”
His expression turned stony.
“Just promise me?”
Thunderclouds across dark eyes. “Fine. I fucking promise,” he growled. “Okay. But also know that I’m not fucking leaving. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever.”
She wished that would be true.
She wanted that to be true.
But that also wasn’t her life.
“You don’t believe me,” he said, the statement quiet and flat, “do you?”
“I—”
Calle didn’t want to hurt him, but she also didn’t have the best track record with men—her father, her exes, with Jason being the biggest douche canoe of them all—and none of those relationships had the complications as did hers and Coops—their careers at odds and a baby that wasn’t his on the way.
“Then I’ll just have to prove it to you.”
“Coop . . .”
He brushed his lips over her forehead then pulled back, and his face was filled with such softness and affection that she gave in to the inevitable. She’d been fending off her attraction to him for two long years, and all the while she’d gotten to know him better, seen glimpses of the sweet, protective, caring man underneath, and that made her resolve crumble away like a cookie dipped in tea.
She melted, softened.
Yes, she knew she was probably dooming herself to a broken heart.
But she was going for this time with Coop.
Because a man like him didn’t come around but once in a lifetime. She opened her mouth to tell him that, to let him know she was giving in to the inevitable, that she was going to go along for the ride and not look back, but he didn’t give her the chance.
Coop took her hand and led her out of her bedroom.
Thirteen
Coop
He’d placed the bag of takeout on her coffee table, a salad from Molly’s for him and the grilled cheese he knew was her favorite for Calle. He’d also bought soup and tea, both seeming like the type of comfort food a pregnant woman would want. Of course, in probably stupid fashion, he’d asked Brit what Calle’s favorites were.
Yes, talking to Brit might have been a mistake.
Just inquiring about her favorite foods from Molly’s was going to have the gossip train leaving the station, chugging through the locker room as speculation went wild with what was going on between them. But Coop was also done with tiptoeing around. He’d begun with pushy and persistent, and he was going to see it through until he’d made his way through that tough outer layer Calle wore around her like a shield. Which was why he’d made some calls the night before, discussing the potential of him and Calle with Bernard and then PR-Rebecca.
After they’d given him the fifth degree, Bernard especially, Coop had discovered what Calle had meant when referencing her contract the day before.
Apparently, Bernard thought he was doing them both a solid by clearing the way with legal, HR, and the board. Coop still couldn’t quite believe that his coach had been playing matchmaker, but he had, ensuring a clause was put in Calle’s contract that protected her from any fallout from dating him. Bernard had also made it clear that if things continued the way they’d been going, and Coop’s agent finalized the deal they were working on, that same clause would be included in his offer.
So, one crisis avoided.
The next was what the blogs and sports shows would say.
But PR-Rebecca was the shit. She’d handle whatever storm blew their way. Which meant that the only roadblock in his way with Calle was Calle herself.
And he didn’t think he was wrong in knowing it would be the hardest to overcome.
Still, she’d agreed to give him a chance.
That was something.
Unpacking why she’d make him promise to tell her when his feelings began to change was a whole other issue.
One he was going to tackle on another day.
“I should change my clothes,” she began to say. “Put on something that’s not sweats—”
He snagged her hand when she turned back to the bedroom, tugging her over to the couch and the coffee table. “You don’t need to change,” he told her. “We’re staying in.”
“I—um—” A shake of her head that sent brown hair skidding over her shoulders. “That’s probably not a good idea.”
Coop thought it was the best idea he’d ever had, holding Calle captive so she couldn’t avoid him. Being in her condo also had the side benefit of giving him the ability to kiss her whenever he felt like it.
Though, holding her captive probably wasn’t the best term.
Either way, he’d shown up for their date, had found the door unlocked, and had made his way inside, and since they’d been on their own for a good half hour now and no police had shown up because a scary black dude had entered a white woman’s condo, Coop figured they were safe from busybody neighbors.
Though, now he needed to have a c
onversation with her about locking her doors.
Figuring that would probably go over as well as him suggesting they date in the first place, he decided to put that conversation off for the moment and focus on plying Calle with carbs.
He pulled out her sandwich and handed it to her, along with a cup of whatever magical homemade soup Molly had put together.
“Eat,” he said, shoving them at her.
Since the soup had bacon and a shit ton of cream and cheese in it, Coop had satisfied himself with only a smell.
It definitely wasn’t on the diet plan.
And his torture at passing over the soup without taking a taste seemed to make Calle relax when nothing else could.
“It’s killing you to not eat this, isn’t it?” she asked, scooping up a large mouthful.
Her moan, when the spoon slid between her lips, made his cock harden. Just like that, just that easy, skipped right over chub and went directly to granite.
God damn.
“You’re evil.”
She smirked and took another bite. “I’ve never been so glad to not be a player any longer than when I realized I didn’t have to follow that food plan.” She set down the soup and picked up her sandwich, taking a huge bite. “Don’t get me wrong, Rebecca does an amazing job and I know it’s working. I’m . . .”
“Just glad you can eat whatever you want?”
“That.” Her lips twitched. “Well, with the exception of alcohol and more than one cup of coffee and ibuprofen and—”
Her sandwich was there, right there, just a few inches from his face and teasing him.
So. Not. Fair.
He bent and took a nibble.
Just one bite wouldn’t gain Nutritionist-Rebecca’s notice, right?
Hell, who was he kidding? She’d take one look and know exactly what he’d done wrong. But Coop found he couldn’t summon a damn to give, not when Calle gasped and snatched the sandwich back then nearly toppled off the couch. He lurched forward and snagged her around the waist while she fought to keep the sandwich away from him. He was pretending to gnaw at her arm, teeth snapping at the grilled cheese, as giggles exploded from her chest.