It’s an admirable effort, but either the bull’s making up for lost time or else Blue’s switched it into high gear. The thing lurches forward then rears up in the opposite direction and the abrupt change of course is too much for Blue. He goes flying through the air but somehow manages to land on the edge of the sofa so it cushions his fall.
The bottle of Jack he was holding isn’t so lucky.
I know what’s coming, but I still wince at the sound of glass shattering as it hits the hard marble tile in the entryway to the kitchen.
I hear Blue groan as he tries to sit up. At first, I’m worried that he broke something, but one look at the gray color on his face tells me what’s coming next.
Right there, on our living room carpet, in front of about fifty people, Blue tosses his cookies all over himself.
Fuuuuuck.
10
Fallon
It’s not even eight in the morning, but I’m starving and there’s no way my stomach is going to wait three hours until I get to Gran and Grandad’s for brunch.
Crawling out of bed, I stretch and then pull my unruly hair into a topknot. I don’t bother putting in my hearing aids. There’s no way anyone else is up at this hour, and since I have to wear them when I’m out in the world, I’m happy to ditch them whenever possible.
Ducking into my ensuite bathroom, I take care of business, wash up, and then head toward the kitchen in search of food. I’m a terrible cook, so I’ll steer clear of anything that requires a stove top, but I bought frozen waffles earlier this week, and I’m praying they’re still in the freezer. All those years of Christian school better be worth something.
My bedroom is across from Liza’s at the back of the house, but it’s a short walk past the first-floor laundry room and into the kitchen.
There’s a light on, and I’m wondering if someone else is up—and if they’ve made coffee. In all the chaos of theparty ending, though, I wouldn’t be surprised if no one thought to turn it off.
My bare feet hit the cold tile as I try to remember if I saw syrup in the fridge or not. I reach for the door handle, and that’s when I notice Ollie over by the table, waving at me.
I don’t feel like starting my morning with a fight, but he seems especially agitated, so I give him my attention. Dammit. That means breakfast will have to wait. Shutting the refrigerator door, I take a step toward him.
But it’s too late.
At the exact moment I see him sign, “Stop!”, I feel a sharp pain slice through my foot. I hiss in agony. I’m tempted to take the two remaining steps toward the table so I can sit down and see how bad it is, but that’s when I notice the broom in Ollie’s hand. This floor is clearly a minefield, so I back up, hopping back to safer ground as carefully as possible.
Balancing on my uninjured foot, I slide myself onto a barstool to see if it’s as bad as I think it is. Before I can psych myself up to assess the damage, I see Ollie kneeling in front of me.
I can’t lie; this is an image I could get used to. Minus the sore bloody foot, of course.
Ollie’s hands are gentle, but I’m white-knuckling the edge of the counter because this fucking hurts. I chance a quick look and while I don’t see any giant shards of glass, it feels like someone stabbed me in the sole of my foot with a very sharp, very small knife.
Ollie taps my leg, forcing our eyes to meet. “Do you have a first aid kit?” he asks, his lips moving as he signs.
I shake my head and sign the word for bandages. That’s really all I have in the way of medical supplies.
Ollie nods decisively before signing to let me know he’llbe right back. I reach for my phone before realizing that it’s charging on my nightstand. But before I can get too bored, Ollie’s back and scooping me up in his arms. I don’t even protest because my foot hurts like hell, and because Ollie’s embrace is warm and strong. Don’t tell anybody that last part, though. That secret is just between you and me.
He carries me into my bedroom and for a second, my mind betrays me and escapes to an alternate universe—an upside-down world where Ollie hauling me around is a common occurrence. A place and time where my bedroom is our bedroom.
That’s nonsense, of course. Even if our first meetup hadn’t ended in disaster, it’s a pretty big leap to assume we’d have gone from hockey party hookup to happily ever after.
Still, a girl can dream, especially if said daydream involves chiseled abs, clear blue eyes, sandy blond hair, and more swagger than any one man has a right to claim.He’s six feet tall and muscular. Ollie doesn’t just look like he hits the gym; he looks like he could kick somebody’s ass after working out for hours.
Ollie Jablonski’s hot as hell, and he knows it.
Right now, though, as he gently deposits me on the bathroom vanity, I can’t help but notice that every ounce of his focus is trained on me. He’s not preening or posturing. He’s not cracking jokes.
He’s…serious. And I can’t handle it.
I’m fine, I sign, dismissing him.
