Page 82 of Get Me to the Starting Line
“Did you just notice I wasn’t carting a wiggly toddler with me?” I ask, incredulous at his lack of perception.
“I was distracted,” he mumbles.
I have to snort, feeling the tension break as I laugh, though it’s more like a giggle. He narrows his eyes but there’s humour in them.
“Maggie picked him up early today—it’s grandkid day.”
Once a month, Maggie and Thomas have all the grandkids over for a fun night where they spoil the living daylights out of the kids. Whenever I pick up Levi, he’s clinging to Thomas, hearts in his eyes.
I get teary every time, so grateful for this family that has welcomed us wholeheartedly.
Julien smiles, knowing how much Levi loves it there. When we get into the apartment, it’s quiet and dark. The tension begins to simmer again. I try to make myself busy in the kitchen, reheating leftovers of the dinner Julien cooked for us yesterday.
There’s a Whales game tonight so we eat early. Julien gets so tense he can’t stand to eat anything during the game. That doesn’t stop me from eating all the snacks though.
“Jersey,” Julien says from the couch. Like I could forget.
Given that athletes are a superstitious bunch, I was surprised when Julien still asked me—ordered me—to wear his jersey. I’d thought since he got injured when I wore it to the game, he wouldn’t want me to anymore.
I was wrong.
Despite his injury, that game ended their losing streak with a shut-out. So I guess that’s all thanks to me for wearing his jersey, and it would be blasphemous not to now.
It’s not a burden, though sometimes I wonder if he puts it on during the day when I’m at work so it smells like him when I wear it.
I toss him his jersey before pulling mine over my head, effectively dousing my body in his delicious scent. My suspicions might be confirmed when I spot Julien eyeing me with what can only be described as a satisfied male look. I raise a brow, but he just smirks and turns the TV on to watch the pregame show.
That fucking smirk. Such a jackass move.
“So, how was the brace?” I ask, making sure to keep a safe distance from him.
He relaxes when I sit down, sinking farther into the couch, as though he couldn’t rest until I was there. I shouldn’t let myself assume these things, but it’s sort of hard to ignore them when they’re in the shape of an intense, hulking goalie who pays such close attention.
I don’t miss the way his eyes heat when he turns to me.
“It’s good.”
“Seriously? Months of work just for you and that’s all you have to say. Typical.” I slump back into the couch with a sigh.
“Leah.” He says my name like a prayer. “Look at me,” he growls.
How can I refuse? My body is calling the shots right now and she’s always at attention for him. When I turn, I see the hunger inhis eyes, in the lines of his face where his jaw clenches under his thick beard.
“Stop bossing me around,” I say.
“Why would I? When you enjoy it so much.”
My nostrils flare with anger and desire. It’s always those two feelings around him. Especially when it feels like he’s flirting with me. This is flirting, right? Fuck, it’s been too long.
“The brace is good—it doesn’t pinch. I can’t move as freely so it’ll take some getting used to, but my hip feels more supported and stable, so there’s less pain.”
Relief floods me. “Was that so hard?” I tease.
He turns back to the TV. “Yes.”
Ah, the one-word answer. Classic.
“Is there anything you think would make it better? Any changes I can make so you still have the range of motion you’d like?”
