Chapter Thirteen #2
“Do it tomorrow,” he says easily.
“I can’t. Penelope needs them in the morning.”
“I was planning to hit the gym anyway,” he says, far too smoothly. “I’ll drive you. You work, I work. Then I’ll take you home.”
I don’t believe that he was meaning to go to the gym for even a second. But I can’t help the relief I feel at knowing that I won’t be in a deserted stadium by myself, with the exception of a couple of security guards, this late at night.
“You were not planning that,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
He grins. “Do you always have to call me out? It makes it hard to be romantic.”
I try not to smile back. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know.”
“I know.” His voice gentles. “I just don’t like the idea of you being there alone.”
And damn it, that word—alone—does me in.
Because as much as I want to resist, it’s nice knowing someone will be there. Scratch that… it will be nice knowing he’s there.
“Fine,” I say finally. “But only if you promise not to hover.”
He grins, triumphant. “I’ll be on the other side of the stadium in the gym the entire time. You just come get me when you’re done.”
I roll my eyes but feel my heart soften anyway. “You’re impossible.”
“Persistent,” he corrects. “Finnish trait.”
The stadium feels different when it’s empty.
Aleksi’s in the gym somewhere beneath me, pretending to need a workout when we both know he’s here because of me.
I drop into my chair as my computer boots up, filling the silence. I can’t stop thinking about the last few hours and how he fed me, bought an entire nursery, handed me his black card like it was a spare stick of gum, and now he’s parked himself in the same building just to make sure I’m okay.
It’s ridiculously sweet.And infuriatingly annoying how damn hard it is not to fall for him.
The man’s too good. Too patient. Too quietly relentless in all the ways I never knew another human could be.
I lean back, pressing my palm to my stomach as I feel another flutter from the baby, like a reminder that my life isn’t mine alone anymore.
“You’re already halfway in love with your dad already, aren’t you?” I whisper. “I don’t blame you.” I tell my baby bump.
My phone buzzes.
Isla: How’s my favorite preggo doing?
Me: Currently being smothered by a six-foot-three Finnish caretaker with a hero complex.
Isla: Translation?
Me: He showed up with lunch, bought an entire nursery, handed me his black card, and then drove me here under the pretense of “working out” so I wouldn’t be alone.
The typing bubble flashes almost immediately.
Isla: This is the first time I’ve ever heard of that as a complaint.
I laugh under my breath. I get I sound ungrateful. Like a whiny spoiled brat.
Me: He’s doing too much. I can’t let him think this means anything.
Isla: He’s the father of your child, Kendall. This isn’t “too much.” It’s called being a good man.
Me: It’s called being a distraction.
Isla: Your baby just won the daddy jackpot. The man’s already doing more than most first-time dads—and half the seasoned ones too. You couldn’t have picked better if you tried.
Me: I didn’t “pick” him. We got trapped in a quarantine and he used faulty condoms. It was a mistake.
Isla: Let’s be honest for a second. You and Aleksi have been dancing around each other since he got signed.
The sex was inevitable, so don’t blame that on the motel.
And now you have a baby on the way and a partner who’s literally building you a nest. You’re allowed to let him in a little. Let him help. You deserve it.
Me: Are you my therapist now?
Isla: I’m multitasking.
I smile, shaking my head.
Isla: Anyway, did he get you that body pillow you wanted?
Me: He offered. I said no. I’m trying to set boundaries.
Isla: Boundaries are overrated. You should’ve let him be your body pillow.
My fingers hover over the keyboard as a ridiculous image flashes in my brain—Aleksi stretched out beside me, warm, solid, his hand resting protectively around me, like he did in Nevada.
God. I need help.
Then Aleksi sends a text.
Aleksi: I’m done working out and I just took a shower in the locker room. I can take you home whenever.
I shoot him a text quickly. “Great, I’ll be ready in five minutes as soon as my upload finishes.”
Then I click back into Isla’s text conversation.
Me: Aleksi as a bodypillow is a dangerous idea.
I sent my phone down as I select the recipient doctor I need mymy files to go to.
I see her text notification come up on my phone and smile at it.
Isla: It sounds like a great idea to me.
I pick my phone back up and enter the chat box..
Me: You have no idea how tempting it is. These hormones are making me so damn horny I’d give anything to sit on Aleksi’s cock again. The sex was incredible.
I hit send, grin halfway formed—then freeze.
The chat header doesn’t say Isla.It says Aleksi M?kelin.
“Oh my God.”
I stare in horror as the gray checkmark appears.
Then the second one.
Read.
The universe doesn’t give me time to breathe before the door to my office swings open.
He’s standing there—barefoot in a damp hair, towel slung low around his hips, droplets still clinging to his skin.
“You always have a free invitation to sit on my cock, Kendall,” he says, voice low, rough, as he stalks toward me. “All you have to do is ask.”
I think my brain actually short-circuits.
“That text wasn’t meant for you. It was supposed to go to Isla,” I manage, voice strangled.
“I think you're wrong. I think you finally sent it to the right person.” He takes a step forward, every inch of him glistening temptation. “Someone who can make that happen for you.”
“We can’t, sex will only complicate things, like it already has. It was just a fantasy, something I wasn’t going to act on.”
His mouth curves, equal parts smug and wicked. “Sex with me is a fantasy? Guess I’m not imagining things then.”
He keeps moving closer, slow and deliberate, until the air between us thickens to something neither of us can ignore.
“This is our place of work,” I blurt, because my brain’s last defense mechanism is professionalism.
“No one’s here but us. Besides, the broom closet has gotten a lot of use from the players and your friends,” he says softly.
And that’s the problem.
Because he’s standing there—dripping, beautiful, and completely unbothered by my mortification—and all I can think about is how easily he makes me feel safe.
And how badly I want to stop pretending I don’t want him.He takes one step closer, then another, until my back hits the edge of the exam table. My breath catches. The air between us feels hot, heavy—like the walls themselves are holding their breath.
“Aleksi,” I whisper, palms braced against the cold metal edge. “We can’t.”
His voice is low, steady. “We can if you want to.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is to me.”
He’s close enough that I can smell the faint mix of soap and his skin—clean, masculine, familiar. The towel around his waist shifts when he moves, a single drop of water sliding down his chest and disappearing against the hard lines of his stomach. And then I see it, he’s hard under that towel.
God help me. I bite down on my lip as I stare down at the towel raised from his erection.
“You look like you need someone to take care of you. I already told you Doc, I’ll give you anything you want.”
“I don’t need—” I stop, because the lie feels too heavy to finish.
His hand rises, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “You’re allowed to need things, Kendall.”
He says it so gently it almost breaks me.
The hormones, the exhaustion, the relentless tug of wanting him. It all blurs together until I can’t tell where logic ends and need begins. I don’t even realize I’ve leaned forward until his breath ghosts against my lips.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.
I don’t.
Instead, my hands fist in the damp fabric at his waist to pull him closer. The kiss is rough, clumsy, desperate—two people trying to remember how to breathe through the ache. He groans, deep and low, like I’ve just given him permission, finally.
The towel hits the floor.
His hands find my hips, my thighs, his touch careful but claiming all at once. He lifts up on my shirt and I respond, lifting my arms over my head, giving him permission.
It doesn’t take long before we’re both bare in my office, his hard cock bobbing between us. When he lifts me onto the table, the metal creaks, and I gasp, half laughter, half disbelief.
“This is so wrong,” I whisper, lips brushing his ear.
He smiles against my throat. “Then why does it feel so good?”
I can’t answer. I don’t want to.
His mouth trails lower, slow kisses along the edge of my jaw, my collarbone, down the front of my t-shirt until my thoughts scatter. My hands slide into his hair, tugging him closer, anchoring myself to the only thing that feels solid right now—him.
Every movement is careful and filled with need. He touches me like I’m breakable, like the baby between us is already his whole world.
“I don’t have a condom with me,” he says.“I think we’re past condoms at this point,” I tease.
“I haven’t been with anyone since you,” he tells me, and I already told him that I haven’t been with anyone else when I told him I was pregnant.
I nod, giving her permission to take me bare. And I want it. I want to feel Aleksi with nothing between us.
When he finally pushes inside me, the sound that leaves my throat isn’t words—it’s release. Relief. Need. His forehead drops to mine, his breath uneven.
“Still okay?” he asks, voice rough.
“Better than okay,” I whisper, arching into him.
He moves slowly, deliberately, like he’s memorizing me all over again. My fingers dig into his shoulders, the rhythm of his body syncing with the uneven beat of my heart. Each thrust pulls me further from the guilt.
And when it breaks—when everything inside me unravels—he catches me, holds me through it, mouth pressed to my temple, whispering something in Finnish that sounds like a promise.
For a long time, there’s just the sound of our breathing and the hum of the overhead lights. He brushes his thumb over my cheek, catching a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “You okay?”
I nod, throat tight. “Yeah. I just…” I trail off, because I don’t know how to explain it—the exhaustion, the release, the terrifying comfort of being held by him again.
He smiles softly. “Good. Because you can use my body anytime you want.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “This isn’t exactly going to help our case to keep our jobs.”
His eyes search mine, open and steady. “I’m serious though. You know that right? If you need anything at all, someone to make sure you eat, someone to bring you to the office so you’re not alone, or…someone to scratch your horny pregnancy itch, I want you to pick me. I want to be the one you call.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead, and for a moment I let myself lean into it, because pretending I don’t need him is getting harder by the minute.
I shake my head, still laughing, still breathless. “I still can’t believe we made a baby because of expired condoms.”
“Fate,” he says, dead serious.
“Idiocy.”
“Same thing,” he says with a grin, leaning in to kiss me again.
And maybe he’s right. Maybe it is fate, or idiocy, or some impossible mix of both. Because no matter how much I tell myself I shouldn’t want him, shouldn’t need him–every time he looks at me like this, I forget how to resist.
“I’ll get dressed,” he says quietly, grabbing my clothes off the floor and handing them over. “Then I can drive you home. Unless you want to come home with me tonight? I’ll order dinner in and we can watch a movie.”
I’m about to say yes before my brain catches up. “That’s probably not a good idea.”
He pauses as he wraps his towel back around his waist. “Why not?”
“Because we agreed to keep a low profile. It won’t look great if someone snaps a photo of the team doctor sneaking out of your building in the middle of the night.”
He studies me for a moment, like he’s weighing whether to push or not. Then his mouth curves into something soft—accepting, but sad. “Yeah. You’re right. I just had to take my shot.”
“It’s just… ever since I found out you’re pregnant, I keep walking into my apartment like I forgot something. I’ll stand there for a minute, keys still in the door, trying to figure out what’s missing. And it always hits me. It’s you. It’s you and the baby. That’s what’s missing.”
My heart stutters with his honesty.
“Aleksi…”
“I’m not saying it to make this complicated,” he adds quickly. “I know the rules. The team, the board, protecting Penelope, your license.”
The silence stretches between us.
I hate that part of me wants to tell him to take me home anyway. That part of me craves the safety he offers—the warmth of just being with him, the sound of his laugh, the way he makes me feel like I’m not alone in this.
But that’s not reality.
Reality is press photos and team sanctions and a medical board that would destroy me without blinking.
He protects me, and I protect him. That’s how this works.
“I can’t,” I say finally, voice soft but steady. “We can’t. Not yet.”
He nods once, jaw tight but understanding. “I know. Doesn’t mean I won’t keep trying.”
“Of course you will.” I can’t help smiling. “Persistent Finnish trait.”
“I’ll get dressed and meet you at my car.”
I nod and then he walks out of my office in only a towel.
But I already know that when he leaves, he’s taking a piece of me with him. No matter how much I resist it, this isn’t something I can deny anymore.