Page 72 of Slap Shot
“Hey,” he croaks, and I like how hoarse and rough his voice sounds. “You’re back.”
“I am. Sorry I’m so late.”
“What time is it?”
“Midnight, so way past my bedtime.”
“Knife girl knows how to party. How was your night? Did you have fun?”
“So much fun.” I sit on the edge of the couch near his thighs, and I don’t miss the way he scoots over so I don’t fall off. “Those girls are something else. I learned all about pierced dicks.”
“Casual Saturday night.” He flashes me a smile that’s tired at the edges and sits up. “Lucy did great tonight. I put her to bed around eight thirty after Liam left, but she came back out an hour later. She let me know she couldn’t sleep, so I let her hang out with me. Guess we both passed out at some point.”
“Yeah.” I hold up my phone so he can see the picture of them. “Now I’ve got some blackmail on you, Bombshell.”
“Hope you can’t see any drool in that photo. I didn’t mean to keep her up past her bedtime. She’s been asleep for a while now, I think, and?—”
“It’s the weekend. She’ll sleep a little longer in the morning, and she’ll be fine. Kids are resilient. Much stronger than my ass, because I’m going to be fighting a hangover when the sun comes up. Let me get her to her room so you can head to bed.”
“I can do it.” Hudson climbs off the couch and stands. He scoops Lucy in his arms, looking down at me. “Come say good night, Mads.”
Mads.
I like that.
Hudson steps over the dogs, and they don’t budge. I follow him, and my heart does that weird, painful thing again when he puts a hand on the back of Lucy’s head so she doesn’t bump the wall. When he gently sets her on her mattress and pulls the covers up to her chin.
I expect her to wake up, but she rolls onto her side and lets out a breath. I kiss her forehead, glad she’s safe and content. When I close the door behind me and head for the kitchen to grab a glass of water, I’m surprised to find Hudson lingering by the sink.
“Do you want some food? There’s leftover pizza in the fridge,” he says. “A couple slices of pepperoni.”
“You couldn’t finish a whole pizza? I’m shocked,” I say.
“We might’ve had six breadsticks first.”
“Ah. The truth comes out.” I laugh and open a cabinet. “I stuffed my face tonight too. I’m pretty sure I’m going to explode like a can of biscuits when I take off my jeans.”
Hudson blinks, and it’s like he moves from unconscious to wide awake in the span of two seconds.
His gaze roams down my body, and he’s never looked at me like this. Intentionally, and without an hurry.
Under his attention, I’m aware of the thin straps of my bodysuit slipping down my arm. The way my breasts are pushed together and how tightly my pants hug my thighs.
It’s like he’s undressing me, almost, and when his eyes get back to my face, they’re full of heat.
“Wow. You look—” He stops mid-sentence. His throat bobs around a swallow. “Incredible.”
“I do?”
“Yeah.” His voice is deeper than before, and he can’t stop staring at my collarbone. “I like your shirt. Top. Thing.”
I think I’m a little drunk.
I think my conversation with the girls earlier is making me a little bold, because instead of hiding, I stay in place. I lean back and rest my hands on the edge of the counter, pushing my chest out ever so slightly.
Hudson’s eyes flick to my breasts for a millisecond before he glances at the floor and cups the back of his neck, acting like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t have.
I wonder what it would feel like if he hooked his thumbs in my bodysuit’s straps and dragged them down my arms. I wonder what it would feel like to have his hands on me.
