Page 162 of Slap Shot
“You don’t like brussels sprouts?”
“No. The last two times you put them on my plate, I’ve hidden them under a scoop of mashed potatoes to make you think I ate them.”
“Oh my god.” I sit up and look down at him. He’s grinning at me, a lazy, unhurried beam that hits behind my ribs. “You sneaky little asshole. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you and Lucy like them. I fake it so you can still eat them.”
“We can have them when you’re not here, knucklehead.” I grab a pillow and hit him on the side of the head. “My job is to make sure you’re eating a balanced meal, and I can’t do that when you’re hiding your vegetables from me like achild, Hudson Hayes.”
When I try to roll off the bed to get away from him, he grabs me by my waist. He pulls me close to his chest and laughs again. “I’m sorry. Forgive me, Maddie.”
“I’m mad at you, but I forgive you. What vegetabledoyou like?”
“Broccoli.”
“Broccoli it is.” I close my eyes and sigh. “I should get dressed. I have some chores I need to get done before Lucy’s back from school, and that means I need to get my ass moving.”
“How can I help?” Hudson yawns and rubs his eyes. “Tell me how I can be of service.”
“You can dig through the trash and show me how much food you’ve wasted by tossing out your source of vegetables.”
“I like when you make jokes after an orgasm.” He kisses me one more time and stands. I admire his naked body before he slips on a shirt and a loose pair of boxers. “But only because I like you, knife girl.”
He heads for the kitchen with a wink, and I’m left staring after him.
So easy to love.
FORTY-SEVEN
HUDSON
Madeline,Lucy, Gus, Millie, and I walk into Maverick and Emmy’s place for team dinner on Monday night. I unhook the dogs from their leashes and let them take off through the apartment. They stop and get head scratches from all the guys, and everyone cheers when they sprint after a tennis ball, ready to play fetch.
We’re in a rare stretch of the season where we have four days off in a row without any games, and it’s been nice to enjoy the extended downtime at home.
I’ve always preferred my own bed over a hotel, but I like it even more when Madeline sneaks under my covers once Lucy goes to sleep. Sometimes we have sex, but other times we stay up late talking, hours passing in what feels like seconds.
I’ll snap a blurry photo of her mid-laugh. She’ll rest her head on my shoulder and ask about my mom, allowing me to tell her about little pieces of my life before she showed up.
It’s natural now, this thing between us. How we hook our pinkys together in the kitchen while I’m helping her get dinner ready, the way she hugs me from behind and wraps her arms around my waist, kissing between my shoulder blades.
There was no hesitation in asking if she and Lucy wanted to join tonight. She even made a pot of carbonara to bring with us, thwarting all my attempts of trying to sneak a bite while she mixed the ingredients together earlier this evening.
“What’s up, Huddy Boy?” Grant calls out. “And hello, ladies. Welcome to your first team dinner.”
“Hi,” Madeline says, slipping into SimCom. “Lucy is very excited to hang out with Ethan tonight. She’s hoping they can discuss the best condiments for hot dogs.”
Madeline interpreted for me on the ride over while I watched Lucy’s handshapes in the rear view mirror, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the enthusiasm on Lucy’s face when she started signing about pickles.
“Easy E,” Grant yells. “Get your ass in here.”
Ethan walks out of the kitchen holding a slice of bread. He rips off a piece and pops it in his mouth, grinning at us. “You summoned me, lads and ladies?”
I pull my notepad out of my back pocket and chuck it at him. “Lucy wants your opinion on hot dog toppings.”
“They are her favorite food,” Madeline explains. “I mentioned there was a player who liked them, too, and she was very excited to meet you.”
“No way.” He shoves the rest of the bread in his mouth and wipes his hand on his shirt. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone to ask me about hot dog condiment preferences. Do I, uh, just write on the paper?” Ethan fumbles with the spiral notebook, opening it. I think his hands might be shaking. “Sorry. This feels really important, and I don’t want to fuck—sorry, mess up.”
