10. Evan
Chapter 10
Evan
" Y ou have got to be kidding me."
The next day after Ry’s last practice , I stare at my truck's very flat tire, wondering what I did to deserve this today. It's not enough that practice ran late, or that I'm already cutting it close for Natalia's game.
No, the universe decided I needed an extra challenge.
"Problems?"
I turn to find Sophie approaching, still carrying her camera gear from practice. She's switched her usual Blades hoodie for a Tiny Terrors shirt—Natalia's hockey team—and something about that makes my chest feel tight.
"Flat tire." I gesture at the obvious. "Because apparently, the gods hate me today."
"The gods gave you that save against Detroit last week." She sets down her equipment and peers at the tire. "This looks more like the work of that construction site you keep parking next to."
"I like that spot."
"You like that spot because it's exactly seventy-two steps from the player entrance, and you're a creature of habit."
I stare at her. "How do you…"
"Research is my thing, remember?" She grins. "Also, I might have counted one day when I was bored."
Of course she did. Nothing gets by this girl.
"Need a ride?" she offers. "I'm headed to the game anyway."
I hesitate. Getting into Sophie's car means close quarters. Small spaces. The scent of her vanilla coffee and that flowery shampoo she uses...
"Unless you'd rather call an Uber and miss the first period?"
"Fine." I grab my bag from the truck. "But I'm paying for gas."
"Such a gentleman." She chirps at me as we walk to her car, a sensible Honda that's definitely seen better days. "Fair warning—the passenger seat sticks sometimes. And the air conditioning only works if you sweet-talk it."
"Sweet-talk the air conditioning?"
"Her name is Betty. She responds well to compliments about her efficiency."
I bite back a smile as I fold myself into her car. The seat is covered in papers. Score sheets, game notes, what looks like a half-finished crossword puzzle...
"Sorry about the mess." She starts the car, which makes a concerning noise before settling into a purr. "I usually have more warning before hauling pro athletes around."
"I've seen your desk at the office. This is actually an improvement."
"Hey! My desk is organized chaos."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
She shoots me a look that would be more effective if she wasn't fighting a smile. "Keep it up, Daniels, and you can walk to the game."
The drive is...nice. Comfortable. Sophie lets me control the radio (classic rock, because some stereotypes exist for a reason) and tells me about her latest article ideas. I find myself relaxing despite the cramped quarters, enjoying the way she gestures with one hand while she drives, the way she hums along to songs she claims not to know.
We make it to the rink just as warmups are starting.
"Daddy!" Natalia spots me immediately, rolling over in full goalie gear. "You made it! And Sophie!" Her face lights up even more. "You're wearing the team shirt!"
"I said I would." Sophie holds up her camera. "Mind if I get some action shots?"
"Please!" Natalia practically vibrates with excitement. "Can you get the butterfly save I've been practicing? And my glove saves? And…"
"Warmups," I remind her gently. "Show Sophie what you can do out there."
She zooms off, nearly taking out a teammate in her enthusiasm.
"She's definitely your kid," Sophie observes, already adjusting her camera settings.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Focused. Intense. Little bit scary between the pipes."
"I am not scary."
She looks at me over her camera. "You made a rookie cry last week."
"He was screening my goal!"
"He was tying his skate."
"In my crease!"
Her laugh echoes through the rink, drawing looks from other parents. I should care about that. About people seeing the Ice Man making a reporter half his size laugh.
But I don't.
The game is a good one. Natalia makes several key saves, including a butterfly save that has Sophie whistling in appreciation.
"That's all you," she says during a break between periods. "The way she tracks the puck, stays patient..."
"She's a natural."
"It's more than that." She shows me some of the photos she's taken—Natalia in perfect position, focused and fearless. "This is learned. This is hours of practice and good coaching and," she glances at me, "and having a dad who believes in her."
Something warm unfurls in my chest. Before I can respond, the buzzer sounds for the third period.
Tiny Terrors win 3-1. Natalia is ecstatic, bouncing up and down.
"Ice cream?" she asks hopefully. "To celebrate? We have five different flavors at home."
I look at Sophie, who's reviewing photos on her camera. "Want to join us?"
"Oh, I don't want to intrude on family time..."
"Please?" Natalia gives her best puppy eyes. "You can show me the pictures! And tell me if my form was good! And…"
"Okay, okay!" Sophie laughs. "Lead the way, captain."
Which is how I end up with a reporter and a sugar-high nine-year-old in my kitchen at nine p.m., debating the merits of different ice cream toppings.
"Sprinkles are clearly superior," Natalia argues, adding approximately half a jar to her sundae.
"Chocolate sauce is absolutely essential," Sophie counters, demonstrating with her own bowl.
"You're both wrong," I say, reaching past Sophie for the caramel. "Caramel sauce is the only correct answer."
"That's because you're old and boring," Natalia informs me solemnly.
Sophie nearly chokes on her ice cream.
This is all domestic in a way that should probably worry me but doesn't. Sophie fits here, perched on my kitchen counter, while Natalia shows her every single hockey card she owns. She knows when to ooh and ahh over rare cards, when to ask questions about players, and when to share her own stories about watching them play.
By the time I manage to get Natalia to bed, it's way past her bedtime but she's happy. That's worth the battle I'll have getting her up for school tomorrow.
I head back to the kitchen to find Sophie loading the dishwasher.
"You don't have to do that."
"Pretty sure I'm partly responsible for the sprinkle explosion." She rinses a bowl. "Besides, it's the least I can do after you let me crash family ice cream night."
"You didn't crash anything." I move to help her, reaching around her for a dish towel. "Natalia loves having you around."
She goes still as I lean past her, and suddenly I'm very aware of how close we are. Of how she fits perfectly between me and the counter. Of how she smells like vanilla and chocolate sauce and sprinkles…
"Just Natalia?" she asks softly.
I should step back. Should remember all the reasons this is a bad idea.
Instead, I find myself turning her slowly to face me.
"No," I say roughly. "Not just Natalia."
She looks up at me, eyes wide and dark. "Evan..."
I don't know who moves first. All I know is one moment we're staring at each other, and the next, my hands are in her hair and her lips are on mine, and everything else just...stops.
She makes a soft sound against my mouth, her hands grabbing my shirt to pull me closer. She tastes so good, and when she runs her tongue along my bottom lip, I groan.
"Sophie." I pull back just enough to rest my forehead against hers. "We should..."
"Stop?" She sounds as breathless as I feel.
"Probably."
"Right." But her hands are still in my shirt, and she's looking at my mouth, and...
I lean in again, capturing her lips in a deeper kiss. She responds eagerly, her body pressing against mine. I can feel her heat, her desire, and it's driving me crazy. I want to touch her, to taste her, to make her scream my name.
My hands slide down her back, cupping her ass and lifting her onto the counter. She gasps as I step between her legs, pulling her against me. I can feel how heated she is even through our clothes.
"Evan," she whispers. "We shouldn't..."
"But we are," I murmur, trailing kisses down her neck. "Do you want this?"
She can't deny it. She nods quickly, and her body is telling me everything I need to know. I slip my hand under her shirt, feeling her smooth skin, her racing heartbeat. My hand finds her perfect breast and palms it, my thumb brushing over her nipple through the lacy material of her bra. She moans softly, her body bending toward mine.
My lips trail down her neck as I unbutton her shirt, revealing more of her creamy skin.
"Is this okay?" I murmur against her collarbone.
"Yes," she breathes, arching into my touch.
I kiss lower, between her breasts, then trace the lace edge of her bra with my tongue. Sophie threads her fingers through my hair, holding me close. When I take her nipple into my mouth through the thin fabric, she lets out a quiet moan that makes me want to take her right here and now.
"You're so beautiful," I tell her, kissing back up to her lips. "So perfect."
Our kisses grow more heated, tongues tangling as Sophie wraps her legs around my waist. I run my hands up her thighs wishing I was touching her soft skin rather than her jeans. Sophie shivers at my touch, pulling me closer. Our kisses grow more desperate as the heat between us builds.
I slip my hand between her legs. Sophie gasps and pushes herself into my palm.
"Evan," she moans. "Yes..."
That breathy voice nearly undoes me. I fumble with the button of her jeans, desperate to touch her. Sophie helps, lifting her hips so I can slide them down.
My fingers ghost over her panties, teasing. She whimpers, trying to press closer.
"Tell me what you want," I murmur against her neck.
"You," she breathes. "I want you."
I want nothing more but can’t risk taking her in the kitchen with Natalia upstairs. This will have to be good enough for now.
I slide her silky panties to the side and slowly tease her opening, barely dipping my finger in and then pulling back out. I tease her this way for as long as I can before she insists, “More. I need more.”
I sink a finger fully into her wet heat. Sophie gasps, her head falling back as I begin to stroke her. She's so wet, so responsive to my touch. I add a second finger, curling them inside her as my thumb circles her clit.
"Oh God," Sophie moans, her hips rocking against my hand. "Evan..."
I kiss her deeply again as I increase my pace. She's close already, I can feel it in the way she tightens around my fingers. She also seems to be concentrating so hard that she’s holding her breath.
"Breathe, baby," I murmur against her ear. "And let go. Just let go for me, Sophie."
She comes with a muffled cry, her body shuddering against mine. I work her through it, gentling my touch as she comes down from her high.
Inside my pants, my cock hardens and strains, pushing against the fabric and making itself known. And when Sophie’s eyes open, they wander right to it.
She licks her bottom lip, the soft skin glistening, making it hard to focus on anything else. Making it hard to not imagine my cock slipping between that perfect seam of her…
"Dad?" Natalia's voice carries down the stairs. "Can you bring me some water?"
We jump apart like teenagers caught in the backseat of a parent’s car. Which, given the circumstances...
"I should..." I gesture vaguely upstairs. Luckily, Natalia’s request has deflated my erection in a matter of a millisecond.
"Go," Sophie says, smoothing down her hair. She buttons her jeans, avoiding my gaze. "I need to head home anyway. Early practice tomorrow."
"Right. Practice."
I watch her gather her things, trying to get my heart rate under control. Trying not to think about how perfectly she fit against me, or how soft her lips were, or how much I want to do all of that and much more again.
"Text me when you get home?" I call after her.
She pauses at the door, looking back with a smile that makes my chest ache. "You got it."
Once she's gone, I lean against the kitchen counter, running a hand through my hair.
I am in so much trouble.
"Dad!" Natalia calls again. "Water!"
Right. Dad mode. I can do that. I can be responsible and mature and not think about Sophie Bennett's lips...
Later my phone buzzes.
Sophie: Made it home. Thanks for letting me join you tonight.
And another…
Sophie: Also, caramel sauce is still wrong. But you make it look good. ??
So much trouble.
Worth it, though.
Definitely worth it.