26. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
26
The second Elliot mentions Rory’s out in the hall, it's like someone's flipped a switch inside me—and now all I can think about is her body and my lips all over it.
The buzz from the win is still there but fades into the background. All the post-game chatter, the high-fives—it all becomes white noise because my ass becomes tunnel-visioned the moment Rory enters my headspace.
I’m still decked out in my sweaty gear, jersey sticking to me like a second skin, pads and all. But I don't care about that, and it doesn't even cross my mind to shed the layers. All that matters is her, seeing her and pressing her against the nearest wall to have some way with her.
I make my way out of the locker room, my strides eating up the distance. I can hardly keep the grin off my face. My heart's doing its post-victory lap as I round the corner, and there she is.
Just standing there, a smile blooming on her face that lights up the whole damn hallway.
And in my fucking jersey again.
That shit will never get old.
And my cock will never get the memo to stop standing to attention every time she’s wearing it.
"Hey," is all I manage, my voice a little rough around the edges.
We close the gap in a few quick steps, and then I pull her in and sandwich her against the wall.
“You know what this does to me, Snowflake,” I mutter over her lips. “I can’t take it.”
“Did you want me to start wearing Cyrus’s? He said he’d give me one—”
“I will kill him if he gives you one,” I ground out. “He knows better.”
She smiles with both her eyes and lips. “I think that’s against the law.”
The sound of my teammates spills out from behind me, still in the locker room fucking around, but it fades away when she's this close. Her presence is more potent than any crowd in any game I've ever played.
“I’ll figure something out.” I lean in to finally kiss her when her palm lands on my chest and wards me off.
“You knew about my father.”
Kind of.
It was a surprise when Coach Sellers strode into the locker room behind me. His eyes immediately cut to me, and I thought it was some sick joke.
But when it was announced that he was the new assistant coach, I almost shit my pants.
“Not until today,” I reply. “I think he’s going to try to have me killed.”
“I think our relationship took another turn,” she emits almost comically. “I think we’re screwed.”
“I’m hoping it’s not that bad. He does have to remain somewhat professional—”
“Wells,” a male voice carps out from behind me, setting my body rigid, but I don’t move from my spot.
Sounds familiar.
Sounds like Coach Sellers.
“Aren’t you supposed to be cooling down?”
The fuck?
Craning my head over my shoulder, and sure as shit, there he is. He's all decked out in black and gold with a New Brunswick hat on as if he’s been on the team forever.
Upper management here didn’t waste any time giving him Wolverine’s gear.
“Just saying hello to my girl, Coach,” I convey quickly.
His eyes remain on me; I assume he wants to see his daughter.
With a silent sigh, I move away and give him access to Rory.
“Hey, Dad.”
Coach Sellers doesn't waste a beat, stepping forward with the kind of command that instantly reminds me why my heart had an impromptu meeting with my throat earlier.
"Wells," he begins, and even now, with his title as 'Dad' within earshot, there's no mistaking the coach in him. "Next time, try showering before hugging the fan base. This isn't a peewee league."
Despite the comment, I can’t help but think of how he’s new here and already throwing around his power. My gut reaction is to throw a defense and tell him she doesn't mind—hell, Rory wouldn’t mind me taking her against this wall right now, but that would only speed up my death sentence.
And he's wearing that hat, that jacket, and he's not just her dad now; he's part of the team. My team.
"Understood, Coach," I reply, my tone carefully neutral because rocking the boat is the last thing I want when he's holding the oars to the following weeks of the season.
"Dad, you're overdoing it.”
Coach Sellers's gaze flicks to Rory, and there's a softening there that I don't believe anyone else would have caught. But having been on the ice, where subtleties mean the difference between victory and defeat, I see it. “Am I? The team's image is as important as its performance.”
“Babe, remember New Brunswick doesn’t allow any press back here until all the players are ready. The last thing they need is a naked ass on camera.” I remind her.
“Is that so?” His focus slices to me. “Is that because of you?”
Surprisingly no.
“Byron, actually,” I reply. “Last year was mine. But it was a full frontal—” Rory’s hand pops me in the gut, alluding to me not to finish that sentence. I chuckle under my breath, trying not to be too amused by the situation. "I'll keep a towel on hand for next time, Coach, promise."
“Keep it on when you have dinner with me and my daughter,” he deadpans, then looks back to Rory. “Tomorrow?”
“You have a game tomorrow,” she reminds him.
“Wells can wake up before noon to eat, can’t he?”
I lift an eyebrow in mock offense, the corner of my lips threatening to betray me with a smile. "I can manage that, Coach."
He doesn't smile, but the edge in his eyes seems to dull. "Good," he says, tilting his head toward Rory. Then he adds, "We'll have a talk. A proper one."
“Which won’t turn into a grill session,” she inserts flatly.
"No promises," he states before he dismisses himself with a nod.
Turning to Rory, I let out a half-joking, resigned sigh. "Looks like your dad just scheduled my wake-up call."
“Looks like I might need to have another talk with him about what he thought he was stepping into.”
“He’ll be good here.”
Her light green eyes flick up at me. “Not for you. He’ll have you so worn out, you won’t remember who I am.”
“He isn’t the first coach I’ve had that’s tried to tame me, Snowflake. I’ll keep him busy.”
Rory doesn’t look convinced, and I take that opportunity to place a long and sensual kiss on her mouth to make her forget about anything that might cause her worry.
“Just welcome me to the family,” I mutter. “And all will be good, baby.”
“He’s a crazy person.”
“Who loves you. Just like me.” I pull her close for another quick hug. “Don’t sweat it, I’m good.”
“Are you sure?” she mumbled into my chest.
“Positive.” I kiss the top of her head. “Let me get out of this shit, and I’ll take you out.”
“Where?”
I send her an exasperated look. “Food. Where else? You’re always hungry.”
Her lips curl into a wide grin, and I shake my head before getting back into the locker room to make quick work of my gear.
Then, I get to have my snack.
Her.
“What was that bet again?”
I stop dead in my tracks, almost forgetting the whole ordeal in length since her father—one of my new coaches, fuck me—tried to cock block.
Turning around, I can’t help the lift in my lips because this…this is frantic and crazy and everything in between.
There's a gnawing in my gut that's been there since the last buzzer, but it's not nerves—it's more like a hunch that's been eating at me. The kind that makes you do insane things, like betting your future on a game. Since I already put that Post-it note in front of her tonight, that was just the warm-up. Now, I'm thinking of upping the ante in a way that will either be the slickest move of my life or the most spectacular fail I’ve ever endured.
"So, I got another idea," I start, my voice low as I eat up some distance between us again. "This bet's a step up from the last one."
Her eyebrows lift, curiosity piqued. "Do I need to sit down for this?"
I shake my head, lips curving into a half-cocky, half-nervous smirk. "Hear me out, Snowflake. If I—no, when I win the first round of the playoffs, you become my fiancée."
The words hang in the night air, bold and brash like how I play on the ice. I'm not one for hesitating. I never have been, and this feels right. The risk is huge, but so's the win, and I can't help but know it's worth it.
Her face is unreadable for a moment, and I swear I can hear my heartbeat over the distant chatter of the guys in the locker room. But then, that slow-spreading smile tells me Rory gets the game. And she’s wearing my jersey, so I’ve already laid claim all over her sweet ass.
“Are you looking for another reason for my father to hate you?”
“He won’t,” I retort softly. “I’m a fuckin’ catch.”
“You’re a pain in his ass, and you’ll continue to be since I keep showing up at games.”
“I play my best when you’re here. He’ll see that.”
"You're serious?" There's a hint of laughter in her voice; disbelief mixed with the kind of thrill you get right before a puck drop.
"As a heart attack," I reply, my tone dropping an octave.
I watch her mull it over, and the suspense is excruciating. Then, she steps forward, and I practically pant for her answer.
"Judson Wells, do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”
“Hopefully you,” I emit honestly. “Over and over again for the rest of our lives.”
“You haven’t even sat down with my father yet. You might not want to join this family.”
“I would’ve had a meal with him before the playoffs. And I got him for a while to show him I’m not some asshole that is here for headlines.”
“Playoffs are next week.”
“Yep.”
She props a hand on her hip. “Are you going to ask him for my hand?”
My nose wrinkles at the thought.
It’s not ideal—for me.
However, I get it. She just got her dad to quit a team he’s been on for over a decade, and they’re mending that argument. Another secret or reckless move—as he would see it—will get her right back in hot water with him.
“I’ll ask if you agree.” I shake my head. “No, I’m still gonna ask.”
Rory tries her best to hide her smirk but fails. “Wells, I want him to like you.”
“He will.”
“And, when he does, you want us to spring an engagement on him? We haven’t been dating a year—”
“Do you need a year?”
“No.” She gives me a small smile, and there’s that. I get everything she’s saying; I’m just impatient as hell to slap my last name on her for real, for real. “Three months. Give him some time to warm up to you.”
“Two.”
“Two and a half.”
“Two months and two weeks, my final offer.”
Rory gives me an exasperated smile but nods. “Alright, fine.” She rolls her eyes then. “Negotiating my engagement, let’s not tell our grandkids.”
“I think it’s a bomb idea. You’re the one who won’t let me do it now.”
“I’m trying to save your life.”
I reach out for her and pull her flush against my chest. “Sorry to say, I could take your dad. However, I get it. I’ll wait.”
“Thank you,” she mutters, rising on her tiptoes to kiss my lips. Leave it to me to lick at them and amp it up for a few seconds because I can’t help my damn self.
This woman is intoxicating as she is beautiful. And I’m only a man, after all.
Then she slaps my ass.
“Go on and get dressed. You promised food.”
“Mhm.” I steal another kiss and force myself to back away from her before I really make Coach Sellers have it out for me. “Be out in ten.”
“Sounds good.”
Taking a few steps back, I keep her gaze when I say, “How about two months and one week?”
“Go,” she cries out with a chuckle as she covers her mouth.
I wink at her and head back into the locker room to get my gear off before quickly showering. Looks like I've got even more reason to win her father over now. The two months and two weeks that I was just awarded is where I’m going to make that man love me.
Guaranteed.