Chapter 46
46
Hudson
I know I should be celebrating, and if you ask my teammates, they’ll say it’s my second home, but really, bars aren’t my thing.
Sure, they’re great to drown out your sorrows. To hide from the real world and the problems you have.
But in truth, I find them too loud, too crowded, and full of way too many people I have no interest in getting to know.
I’m fucking tired.
Tired of pretending I don’t give a shit.
Tired of acting like an ass, so Molly won’t know that she affects me.
And after last night, I hope I don’t have to anymore.
To be honest, I’d much rather have stayed in the hotel and had a round two of the rooftop—this time on a bed instead of the gravelly roof I had to make do with.
One day, we’re going to have sex like normal people.
But for now, I’m just going to remember how she felt wrapped around my dick and try not to get too annoyed as people interrupt my night out with my team.
Fans don’t usually bother me. I’m okay signing autographs and taking pictures. But it’s when they think I owe them a part of myself that I have a problem.
I get that it’s partially my fault. I let them think I was accessible, but now I’m not.
Which is why I’m sitting at a high-top table near the back of the room, drinking a watered-down glass of tequila.
Mason is speaking.
I’m not listening.
As if he can hear my inner thoughts, he calls me out. “Dick, are you even listening?”
“No.”
At least I’m honest.
My attention drifts toward the bar, where a cluster of people stands laughing, clinking glasses, and having the time of their lives.
And then, I see her.
Molly.
She’s wearing a little black dress, the kind designed to ruin a man. It hugs every curve, stops just above her knees, and leaves her shoulders bare, her skin glowing under the low lights of the bar.
Her long brown hair cascades in loose waves down her back, a few strands falling forward, brushing against her collarbone.
She’s laughing at something someone said, the sound soft and light; her lips curved into a mysterious smile.
I feel like I’ve been sucker punched.
It’s ridiculous, really. I’ve seen Molly Sinclair a thousand times before, and I know better than to let her get to me.
But tonight? She’s different.
Or maybe it’s me who’s different.
Either way, the sight of her—confident, stunning, and oblivious to her effect on me—hits me like a freight train.
My chest tightens, my pulse quickening as my gaze travels back to the way the dress dips at the small of her back, subtle but lethal. She shifts, reaching for a drink, and the movement is enough to send my thoughts spiraling.
She’s beautiful, and worse, she makes me feel.
And I hate that.
I hate how easily she can knock me off balance, how seeing her smile in that stupid dress makes me want to walk over and pull her out of this crowd to have her to myself.
I’m screwed.
This is bullshit.
Yeah, I agreed to this. I said I was okay with not acknowledging each other tonight when she texted me that Dane was coming, but fuck, this is a lot harder than I thought.
She stands near the center of the group, making my pulse race in that dress.
Damn, she looks good.
Like a goddess sent down from heaven to torture me.
“You got it bad.”
I barely register Mason’s words.
When I do, I tear my gaze away from Molly. “What?”
“Dane might be stupid enough not to see the way you look at his sister, but I do.” He knocks back the rest of his drink. “You want her, dude.”
“Nah.” I shake my head, trying to play it off, replacing my tequila with a new beer bottle. “It’s not like that.”
But my voice sounds off. Too casual. Too forced.
Mason squints at me like he’s reading a damn book, and my chest tightens.
Shit.
My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out the noise of the bar. He can’t know. No way. Molly would kill me.
If Mason has figured it out, it’s only a matter of time before it gets back to Dane—and I don’t even want to entertain that nightmare.
My grip tightens around the beer bottle in my hand as I try to keep my face neutral, but my thoughts are spiraling.
How the hell did he catch on?
I’ve been careful.
We’ve been careful.
No stolen glances in front of the team. No brushing hands, no sneaking out of rooms together. Nothing. Well, other than that time in the hall.
But I swear he didn’t see us.
Yet here Mason is, acting like he’s got front-row seats to my unraveling.
If Mason tells Molly I’ve slipped up—even a little—she’ll lose it. She’ll panic. She’ll think this whole thing is blowing up in our faces, and then what?
She’ll end it.
She’ll shut me out faster than I can blink, and this thing between us—whatever it is—will be over.
The thought of it makes me feel like I’ve taken a slap shot to the chest.
I can’t let that happen.
I won’t let that happen.
I force out a laugh, trying to sell the lie better this time. “Mason, you’ve had one too many, man. You’re seeing things.”
Mason doesn’t buy it. He never does. He just smirks knowingly, leaning back in his chair like he’s got all the time in the world.
“You keep telling yourself that,” he says, drumming his fingers on the table.
I don’t respond and just take a long pull of my drink, trying not to let him see that he’s hit a nerve.
Because he has.
And if he knows, if he even suspects . . . I’m totally screwed.
“Fine.” A smug smirk graces Mason’s lips. The fucker just won’t let it go. “Then tell me what it’s like.”
“We barely tolerate each other.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
I ignore him, lifting my drink to my mouth and closing my eyes for a brief second.
“Hmm . . .” Mason says in that asshole tone of his. “Then you won’t mind that some guy is hitting on her.”
My eyelids fly open. “What?”
“Oh, and it’s not just some guy. It’s Hayes from the Colts.”
My stomach twists as I take in the sight in front of me.
It’s just as Mason said.
Hayes, the center for the Colts, is talking to Molly, and worse, she’s eating that shit up. Her head is thrown back as she laughs at whatever he says.
I place my drink down with a thud.
Mason pats my chest, pushing me back a little. “Easy there, killer.”
“I’m fine.”
“Breathe.”
I might need to breathe because my knuckles are now white.
Mason’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “You’re not even listening, are you?”
I blink, tearing my gaze away from Molly. “What?”
Mason smirks. “You’re two seconds away from chucking that glass across the room. Let’s try this again . . . what’s going on with you and Molly?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t waste good beer.”
“It’s watered-down shit, and we both know it.”
He does have a point.
I turn my attention back to Molly. Hayes leans in, and his hand brushes Molly’s arm. Even from here, I can see her stiffen.
“Calm down, Wilde.” Mason keeps his hand planted on my torso like he’s afraid I’ll launch myself over there if he lets go. “Molly is a grown girl. She can handle herself.”
“Where the hell is Dane?” My voice is sharper than I intended, and my eyes lock on Hayes like I could set him on fire just by staring.
“Again. Molly can take care of herself,” Mason repeats, but there’s a hint of caution in his tone now. He knows me well enough to hear the edge in my voice.
I grit my teeth, watching Hayes get even closer, leaning in like he owns the air she’s breathing. I can see Molly’s shoulders go rigid, her lips pulling into a tight, polite smile she barely holds in place.
It’s the look she wears when she’s enduring something she hates.
My fists curl so tight that my knuckles scream in protest.
Don’t do it. Don’t do it.
Mason’s hand presses firmer against me, probably feeling the tension rolling off me like a thundercloud.
“Hudson,” he warns under his breath.
He has a point.
Molly’s feisty as hell. She’d be pissed if I interfered. She’s handled worse, I’m sure. If she catches me storming over there, she’ll probably bite my head off before Hayes even gets the chance to process what’s happening.
Not to mention, the press will have a field day if they catch wind of this.
I exhale a shaky breath, willing myself to calm down, to let it go—
And then that bastard touches her waist.
My blood boils.
My vision goes red.
That’s it.
Mason’s hand is no longer enough to stop me.
I shrug him off and stalk across the bar, the pounding of my feet matching the rapid beat of my heart. Every muscle in my body is taut, coiled like a spring about to snap.
“Hudson,” Mason hisses from behind me, but his voice fades into the background.
It’s just Hayes and me now.
And he has no idea what’s about to hit him.
Mason sighs, giving up. “Well, shit. This is gonna be good.”
Once I’m done kicking Hayes’s ass, Mason is up next.
It doesn’t take me long to reach them, and by the time I get there, Molly is already trying to step away. The polite smile she’s throwing at the center is the fuck-off smile Molly reserves for people she thinks are assholes. Present company included most of the time.
Luckily, she no longer looks at me this way.
The asshole doesn’t seem to notice the signals Molly throws out because his hand is still on her.
“Hey,” I say, my voice low and even, the kind of calm that usually comes before a fight.
The guy turns, looking me up and down.
His expression shifts when he recognizes me. “What do you want, Wilde?”
I ignore him, my attention on Molly. “Everything okay here?”
Molly blinks before meeting my stare. “Fine.”
“You sure you’re fine, or is he giving you a problem?” I gesture to Hayes.
He frowns, clearly annoyed now. “What’s your problem, man? We’re just talking.”
“Talking doesn’t involve touching unless you were invited,” I tell him.
The guy bristles but takes a step back. “Should be a fun game tomorrow.”
It would be so easy to clock him right now. To swing and catch him right on the cheek.
I force myself to take a deep breath.
Mom would kill you if you made headlines for this.
She might, the devil on my shoulder starts, but she also might reward you when you tell her you did it for Molly.
“Hudson,” Molly warns.
Fine.
I glare at Hayes, getting in his face. “I’ll see you tomorrow on the ice.”
Both of us have made our intentions very clear. We’ll finish this in the rink.
When the douchebag walks away, Molly glares at me. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
“Didn’t need to,” I shoot back.
Molly hesitates, almost like she’s torn by how to act, but finally, her posture relaxes. “Thanks, I guess.”
“You’re welcome.”
I step closer, bending down so only she can hear. “I know you said this is how it has to be, but know this: I’m going to change your mind.”
Then I pull back and walk away, leaving her with that parting gift.