Chapter 20 Freya
FREYA
The dark look in Cole’s eyes haunted me all night.
I’d never felt so stupid.
It was only in that moment that I really registered that he’d never mentioned a single family member to me in the time we’d been working together.
I may be keeping some truths hidden, but I’ve been open and vocal about my parents.
Realizing that he’d never said a single word about a person other than his current teammates and their significant others was like a physical slap to the face.
Curiosity burned through me, but for once, I managed to keep my mouth shut.
You told him that you’d be there to support him, a little voice reminds me.
It might sound crazy and rash. But I meant it.
Everyone deserves to have someone show up for them and cheer them on, no matter how talented and successful they are.
My body is sluggish with exhaustion. It was late by the time I dragged Dad out of the arena and drove us home.
As I took my makeup off, I thought about Cole’s offer of crashing at his place. I can’t lie; it was appealing as hell. Obviously, I had to bring Dad back, but still.
Driving back into town this morning, those thoughts were still spinning around my head, along with a few others that shouldn’t have been there.
How hot does Cole look when he first wakes up? I bet he has that whole sexy, sleepy, tousled thing going on. During the day he’s a force to be reckoned with. He's huge and rough around the edges, but he’s given me a glimpse of the softness, and now I can’t help but crave more.
Movement deeper in the apartment drags me from my musings, and I focus on the omelets I’m making. I couldn’t decide on the filling, so I’m doing a mix.
“Smells incredible as always,” he says, his voice deep and raspy.
Shifting a little, I look over my shoulder to find him sauntering my way wearing a gray Vipers T-shirt, a pair of athletic shorts, and his hair still wet from the shower. Something tells me he smells way better than anything I could be cooking right now.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I tease as I slide half of the first omelet onto his plate. I cut it in half again, and pop a quarter onto my own. I might love an omelet, but there is no way I can eat as much as a professional hockey player can. I follow it up with the second and third options.
“Whoa,” Cole gasps when I slide his plate over.
“I couldn’t decide,” I explain. “So we have cheese and bacon, roasted pepper, and spinach,” I say, pointing to each one. “And a side of sauteed mushrooms.”
“Looks amazing.” He grabs his fork and immediately dives in. “Ohmygod.”
“Good?” I ask, preening that my food gives him that kind of reaction.
“So good.”
“Would you like a coffee?”
He freezes. “Oh shit. That’s my job. I was so hungry, and it smelled so good.” His fork clatters to the plate.
“It’s okay, I’ve got it.”
I feel his eyes on me as I walk toward his beloved coffee machine.
Nerves hit as I begin grinding the beans and place a mug under the spout.
Please don’t screw this up.
I make his Americano successfully.
“Look at that proud smile,” Cole teases as I take it over and place it beside the glass of fresh OJ I poured for him earlier.
“Stop it,” I warn.
“Now you need to do your cappuccino.”
“Uh…I can just add creamer to an Americano. I don’t need anything fancy.”
“Absolutely not,” he states as he pushes his stool back and stalks around the island until he’s standing beside me.
“Get the coffee going,” he instructs as he pulls the milk from the fridge and pours some into a jug. “You want to fill it about halfway.”
“Okay,” I say, watching as he moves it to the milk steamer. “Tilt it like this, and then press that button.” He points it out, but I don’t move.
“I thought you were making this coffee,” he teases.
“Oh, okay,” I say in a rush as I scramble forward.
As I take the jug, my fingers slide against his. My breath catches as warmth spreads up my arm. I feel like a teenager who’s just brushed against the boy she’s crushing on.
“That’s it,” he encourages as I start the steam.
I focus on the way the milk bubbles in the jug, desperately trying to forget the way the heat of his body burns down the side of mine.
“Tilt it a little more,” he says, reaching out and wrapping his giant hand around my smaller one.
“Okay,” I squeak.
He steps closer and brushes against my ass.
Ohmygod. Ohmygod.
“That’s it. See the way it’s beginning to foam?”
“Uh huh.”
“Okay, that should do it.” The moment he lifts his hand from mine, I suck in a deep breath. “Grab your mug, and then you want to bang the jug on the counter.”
“Bang the…okay,” I say, deciding it’s probably better just to do it and get this over with. The less opportunity he has to touch me, the better.
I do it and then wait.
“We’re going to pour it in, and then just before it’s full, we’ll do the decoration.”
“I don’t need that. It’ll taste the same.”
“True. But you deserve pretty things.”
Right. Okay.
“Shall we do it together?” he asks when I fail to begin pouring.
I should say no. I need to say no. But I can’t find it in me.
Once again, his hand covers mine, his front presses against my back, and I’m forced to watch as he lifts my arm and pours the milk.
“Once we’re there, then we…” He moves it about in a way I’m never going to be able to replicate while my head is spinning and my body is burning up like this. “And there you go. A perfect heart.”
I stare down at it while my own heart races so hard I’m sure I’m about to pass out.
“Thank you.”
“You think you can recreate it?”
“Uh…”
“I can show you again. You’ll have it in no time.”
He marches back to his breakfast and picks up eating as if he never stopped—and all the while I stand there as if my entire life just tilted on its axis.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asks a few seconds later when he finally looks up and realizes that I haven’t moved.
“Y-yeah. Starving.”
“It’s so good.”
I shuffle over and take my seat, leaving my appetite for a freshly made omelet a few feet away at the coffee machine.
I poke at my food while Cole demolishes his, cleaning the plate.
“There is not a day that goes by that I don't regret making you a part of my life sooner,” he says, patting what I can only imagine is a very muscular stomach.
“You’re sweet,” I mumble.
“Nope. Grateful is what I am. So what does the rest of the day hold for you?” he asks as he carries his plate and now-empty glass to the dishwasher.
“Meal planning. I want to get some things prepped and ready, and some things made and put in the freezer in case you ever need something and I’m not here.”
“Firstly, that means I’m potentially being allowed to use the microwave again. And secondly, you’re not going anywhere. You’re mine now.”
My eyes jump to his at that proclamation. I know he means it as his employee, but I can’t stop myself from reading into it. It’s how my brain works.
“Well, just in case of emergencies. I want to make sure you have easy access to decent food.”
“I appreciate that.”
With his ass resting back on the counter, he sips at his coffee.
“What about you? You don’t have to be at the arena until later, right?”
"Right. I’ve got a couple of appointments this morning, then I’ll head over there later.”
“And you just need breakfast tomorrow? Then lunch and dinner on Saturday?”
“You got it. Then pregame dinner Sunday.”
“All under control.”
He smiles at me from behind his coffee cup.
“Anything exciting planned while I’m gone?”
“It’s only one night.”
“Plenty of trouble can be had in one night,” he teases.
“Casey wants to go out out.”
“Out out,” he repeats, nodding.
“By the time she was old enough, I was gone. She has this thing about making up for lost time.”
“You don’t seem very excited about it.”
“Clubbing isn’t really my thing. I’d much prefer going to a nice restaurant or a cocktail bar.”
“I’m sure you’ll have an amazing time. Do you know where you’re going?”
I shake my head. “I’ve left her to plan it.”
“She’ll take good care of you.”
“Here’s hoping. I’m not sure I remember how to party,” I confess.
“Of course you do. Put on a sexy dress, have a couple of drinks, and I have no doubt it’ll come back to you. You lived in Vegas, remember? You’ve got this.”
I appreciate his faith in me; I really do.
“Are you staying with Casey, or did you want to come back here?”
“Cole,” I breathe.
“I’m serious. The guest room is sitting empty. I won’t even be here. It’ll be so much faster and cheaper.”
“Are you really sure?” I ask. “I know how much you value your space. I don’t want to intrude.”
“If I weren’t sure, I wouldn’t be offering. You’ll already be driving here to sort out lunch anyway, so you may as well save yourself the trip.”
I hold his eyes, searching for any hint of a lie. But I don’t find anything.
“Thank you, Cole. I really appreciate it.”
“No, problem. I’m gonna go and get ready.”
He places his mug in the dishwasher and then disappears down the hallway toward the bedrooms. His athletic shorts do crazy things for his ass, and despite knowing that I shouldn’t be staring, I can’t help myself. Handsy is hot all dressed up for a game, but Cole at home is on another level.
A little more relaxed now that I’m alone, I finally eat my breakfast.
I’m cleaning the kitchen when he returns, dressed in jeans and a fitted white T-shirt. Wherever he’s going, he’s going to have the attention of every woman within a mile radius.
A little jealousy flickers inside me, but I quickly banish it.
Cole is your boss.
Cole is your boss.
“Come with me,” he says, stopping my little chant.
“What?”
He chuckles. “I want to show you the guest room.”
“Oh, okay.”
I follow him like an obedient puppy.
“You haven’t been down here, have you?” he asks over his shoulder.
I can’t help but wonder if he’s digging to find out if I’ve been snooping. I’ve been left here alone most days. But no. Not once have I wandered past the living area.
“No. I’ve had no reason to.”
“This is my room,” he says, gesturing through an open door.
I peer inside, amazed by how tidy it is.
Like the rest of the apartment, it’s minimal with a huge bed covered in white sheets.
“Behind that wall is my bathroom.”
“Nice.”
“And this is the guest room, also complete with its own bathroom.”
“It’s beautiful. The bed looks comfy.”
“It’s the same as mine. No one has ever slept in it, though.”
“It definitely needs christening then,” I say without thought.
“Freya?” Cole says, turning to me while I stare at the thick carpet beneath my feet, wishing it would swallow me up.
“Yeah,” I mumble.
He reaches out, and I freeze when his warm fingers touch my chin and he tilts my head back.
“You’re more than welcome to stay here whenever you like. I just ask one thing.”
“Name it,” I whisper.
“No guys. If you’re dating, then…”
“Oh god, I’d never. You don’t need to worry about that.”
His eyes hold mine as I crane my neck to keep contact.
“Good,” he states. “I want you to feel at home here.”
“I-I do.”
He nods, drops his hand, and steps away.