Chapter 7
Gracie
One Week Later
I’m grumpy.
Not the usual grumpy before I’ve had my coffee. This is next level.
“For how long?” I ask.
“A week, maybe two. Depends on whether I come home between meetings. But if I can set one more in the middle, I’ll stay on the road.”
Kyler has thrown me my first curveball. Well, second, if you count Hunter living here and walking around shirtless—a minor daily distraction I try to avoid. I get up early for work, and he trains late and comes back after I’m safely ensconced in my room with a book.
We don’t really impact each other, and that’s fine with me because he still makes me nervous.
Part of it is his sheer strength and size, and the other part is my lady parts staging an all-out coup.
Talking them down is a little nightly ritual I’ve added in alongside teeth-whitening strips and an avocado moisturizing mask.
Kyler sprinkles granola on his yogurt parfait, which is topped with organic strawberries and spirulina powder. How he and I are from the same gene pool, I’ll never know.
I dig my box of frosted cornflakes out of the cabinet and shake it into a red ceramic bowl. Kyler raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. When I add whole milk, he opens his mouth and closes it again. Clearly, he values his life.
Filling a coffee cup for me and pushing it across the countertop, Kyler thumbs through messages on his phone for more information and shakes his head. “Not sure yet, but I’ll be in Spain at least a week. It’ll be good for you. You’ll have the place to yourself.”
“Not exactly.”
I squint at his incorrect information, and he waves a hand. “You mean Hunter? He’ll be at the training facility night and day. You’ll never see him. I promise he won’t cramp your style.”
“Ha. You say that as though I have style to cramp. We haven’t spent much time together lately, little brother, but an exciting night for me consists of a takeout cheeseburger and a national parks documentary on TV.”
Kyler bites his cheek, and I know he’s trying hard not to comment on my so-called life.
“It’s fine, you can say it.” I sigh. “It’s not like I don’t know I’m a homebody.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not that. It’s just…” He grimaces and waves a hand. “Never mind.”
“No way. Now you have to tell me.”
From the crease in his brow and his downturned mouth, he looks like he’s suffering, or like that green smoothie he made really tastes as bad as it looks. “You’re a catch, Gracie. You should act like it, is all.”
He kisses me on the cheek and hefts his backpack luggage over his shoulder.
I’m still stunned at the unexpected compliment from my normally stoic brother.
It’s why I don’t have time to make fun of all the pockets and gadgets on his bag before he goes out the door.
But I make a mental note to do it later.
Who needs so many eyeglass cases, carabiners, tool kits, and bandannas?
For a few minutes, I sip my coffee quietly in the kitchen that I’ll have to myself in the mornings for the next week. I need to leave for the Devils offices soon, but for now, I like the peace and quiet.
“Morning.” The deep baritone of Hunter’s voice shatters the silence like a wrecking ball.
And…there go the lady parts. My core aches, and my nipples stand at attention like Navy SEALs.
At least now I’m dressed for work and somewhat buried under a cardigan sweater. I’ve eaten a few spoonsful of my sugary cereal, so I can dart out of the house without having to make too much small talk.
“Good morning,” I mumble. Taking a sip of coffee, I swivel on the barstool and immediately spray the mouthful onto Hunter. In my defense, he’s standing there in a pair of low-slung navy sweatpants, and that’s it. Dammit.
He’s a walking anatomy lesson, his abs rippling and his chest looking like it was carved from marble.
Mortified, I leap from the barstool and grab a kitchen towel, but my attempt to mop up the spray only emphasizes how incredibly hard and sculpted those abs are. My mouth fills with saliva, and I swallow hard. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting…you.”
Hunter shoves a hand through his hair, which makes it stand up before flopping over his forehead. He looks younger than his twenty-eight years, and I suddenly feel much older than thirty-three. He lets out a deep sigh.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Just heard from my contractor. Even if everything goes smoothly with the insurance company, it’s going to be at least a year before I’ll have a house to move into.”
He looks so lost that I want to wrap him up in a blanket, tuck him into a corner of the couch, and make him hot chocolate.
Instead, I rush over to the coffee pot. Coffee fixes everything. Pouring the hot liquid into a yellow mug from some surf brand, I hand it to him wordlessly and go to the fridge for the coveted oat milk.
“Thanks,” he says, holding the cup in one hand and the carton of milk in the other, looking confused about what to do with them.
I take the milk out of his hand and pour a splash into the cup.
Darting around the kitchen, I return the milk to the refrigerator and mistakenly open three wrong drawers before I find a spoon.
Still standing frozen, he takes the spoon and drops it into his cup. As he absently stirs, the muscles of his tattooed forearms flex.
“Um, do you want to sit?” I ask.
He looks down and notices his feet rooted to the floor. “Sure.” His stride is so large that it only takes two steps before he reaches the barstools and drops into the one next to mine. I sweep around to the other side of the counter and look for something else to do.
Kyler’s kitchen is massive, with a skylight letting the sun glint off twenty stainless-steel appliances. There’s enough space between the butcher block island and the refrigerator for three people to do yoga. Fortunately, Kyler hasn’t unloaded the dishwasher, so that gives me a task.
“Did you sleep?” I ask.
“Not really,” Hunter says. I look up, and he takes a sip of his coffee, closing his eyes and exhaling the way I do after that first life-giving sip.
“Are you like me, need a cup of coffee before you want to interact with other people?” I see him staring into his cup, but he almost smiles.
“Not normally. I’m a morning guy. I’m…it’s a lot with the house.
And, you know, I’d pretty much accepted that I was in the transfer portal, so…
I guess I still haven’t reset my expectations.
Suppose I oughtta thank you for the next three years of my career.
You’re like my own personal Tinkerbell, flitting down to sprinkle fairy dust on my long list of penalties and somehow make them look good. ”
Seeing this strapping athlete, who’s so confident and fierce on the field, looking downright lost stirs something in me. I want to help him more than I want to run and hide from his audacious abs.
“I’m hardly a fairy. Data isn’t magic. It’s objective science.
” I put my cup down and walk over to the counter that separates us.
“You should not thank me for that. All I did was analyze the data, and it all pointed to you being the best possible option for the Devils defense. That was all you, not me.”
The hard line of his jaw softens, and he nods. “Well, all the same, I appreciate your data, Tink.”
Warmth floods my body. It’s not just the nickname, which is cute, but the fact that data is my love language. “That may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
He barks out a laugh. “Seriously? People should give you better compliments.”
“Nah, that one was next level.”
He nods. “Nice to know how to get on your good side.” Despite the shirtless glory in front of me, Hunter seems like a regular guy, not a stormy, impulsive star athlete.
Maybe I should know better than to judge a person’s personality off the field by what I see on it, but I haven’t met that many people who surprise me.
This man, with his fiery, impulsive decisions during a match and his golden retriever mellowness right now, is a puzzle. I don’t understand how he can be both ways with equal fervor, and I chastise myself for lack of insight.
I’m curious about him, and it sets off a little spark of joy in me because information is the lens through which I see the world.
I want to learn more about him and shore up the small details I already know about his interest in books and…wow, I really don’t know much else. I’ve been so distracted by my reactions to him physically that I’ve pushed my normal curiosity aside. It’s good to have it back.
At least, until I notice Hunter’s eyes travel south from my face. I follow his gaze to where my silk blouse is unbuttoned one too many and my bra is clearly visible, along with a healthy amount of cleavage, as I lean forward on the counter. Baby steps, apparently.
Feeling my cheeks heat, I stand quickly and move toward the sink, where I dump the rest of my coffee. “I need to get to work.”
He nods. “I’ll be around later. Maybe we can have dinner together or something one night this week. Catch up on old times.”
“Oh. Okay. I guess.” I shift from foot to foot, wondering if I should come up with an excuse to be busy every night this week. The problem is, I don’t know anyone in LA.
Hunter laughs. “Don’t want to freak you out or anything.”
“No, no, I’m not freaked out. I thought maybe you’d want to eat with your teammates or whatever.”
“I can eat with my teammates or whatever anytime. I thought one night I’d eat with you. Since we’re living together and all.”
My stomach flips, and a small thrill runs through my veins.
I’ve never lived with a guy. My brain knows we’re both in a temporary situation that has nothing to do with real cohabiting, but my body apparently doesn’t understand the difference.
I swallow hard and tell my body to get it together. And quick.
“Sure, Hunter. Dinner sounds good,” I say.
I tell myself it’s going to be okay, us “living together and all…”
Then I sprint from the room.