Chapter 10
JORDAN
The morning after the wedding, I rise early to watch the sunrise. I’ve taken a handful of trips to Hawaii before, and that’s always been my favorite—sitting on a beach and watching the sun rise over the ocean.
I slept in the guest room. Last night, after calling our families, we lowered every shade in the house.
We came to the conclusion that anyone with a telephoto lens will think we want total privacy.
It’s not out of the ordinary for the Bennet family to close themselves off from media scrutiny on vacations.
I quickly make my bed so the housekeeper that will come later today isn’t suspicious, and then I head quietly down the hall.
Last night, when I mentioned my plan before we went to bed, Libby said she would get up with me, thinking that it might look strange if I’m chilling on the beach by myself the morning after our wedding night.
I’m not going to wake her, though. Surely Libby can easily explain a solo picture of me by saying she wanted to sleep in. She can probably even insinuate something about us being up all night that will take all the attention off me sitting on the beach by myself at six a.m.
As I pass the master bedroom, I hear the sound of a phone alarm.
I pause and then hear it being shut off.
A moment later, there’s shuffling in the bedroom.
I smile but pass the bedroom and hurry downstairs.
I’ll grab a couple of the premade protein smoothies that I had delivered with the groceries yesterday for us to sip.
I also gather a couple blankets that are stacked in a basket near the couch.
A few moments later, I hear Libby coming down the stairs.
She’s tired and distracted as she comes down, so I can watch her without it looking like I’m ogling her.
Her hair looks freshly brushed but pulled into a low ponytail.
She’s wearing leggings and an oversized Pumas sweatshirt.
It has a number twelve on the back and the last name McCombs—the Pumas’ legendary quarterback who retired a few years ago.
“McCombs, huh?” I say in a soft voice, handing her one of the blankets I’m holding.
She yawns and covers her mouth. “I had a huge crush on him when I was a teenager. He’ll always be my favorite Puma. Don’t tell Charlie and Will,” she says, speaking of her brothers-in-law.
I pretend to zip my lips, then lead the way out to the deck that faces the beach.
As I walk across it, I find Libby’s hand suddenly in mine and her head leaning against my shoulder.
I glance around. There’s no one to be seen at this early hour, but we’re in full view of all the houses nearby.
And, as if on cue, I spot a runner coming up the beach.
We make our way down the steps to the beach. My feet sink into the cool sand, and I flex my toes, enjoying the rough scrape of it. I would rather sit right in the sand, but Libby probably doesn’t.
“Should I grab us some chairs from the deck?” I offer.
She shakes her head. “No, sitting right on the beach is the best way to watch a Hawaiian sunrise,” she declares. She takes a couple more steps, tugging me as she goes since I’d stopped, and then plops down a few feet from where the waves are rolling up on the shore.
I drop next to her. “I have to agree.” I have the larger blanket, and even though Libby already has hers wrapped around her shoulders, I drape mine across us both and put my arm around her.
“This okay?” I murmur. It’s a phrase I’ll likely get used to over the next year, any time we step out in public together.
“Of course.” She yawns again and snuggles into my side.
“You didn’t have to get up.”
“I wanted to,” she insists.
I’m not sure if that’s true, but I won’t argue with her. We don’t have anything planned for today. We don’t have anything planned for most of the trip, except for a few outings to make sure we’re seen. Libby will be able to go right back to bed after the sunrise if she wants to.
We’re quiet in the dimness of the morning. A light breeze shifts some of Libby’s stray hairs against my cheek, and I look down to see her eyes closed. I stifle a chuckle. Sure, she wanted to.
A crab scuttles from a little hole near us, heading for the water.
I have to resist the urge to dive after it.
I brought Baylee and my parents to Kauai a few years ago, before I retired.
My dad and I got up to watch the sunrises every morning, even finding a beach to watch tortoises one of the mornings.
Baylee and Mom joined us a couple times, Mom scolding us for chasing after the crabs like we were little boys.
Light spreads across the sky where it touches the ocean, the barest of pinks right now.
“We should take a selfie,” Libby says, lifting her head from my shoulder. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
She hands her phone to me, since I have longer arms, and we spin around so the ocean is behind us. She leans her head back on my arm, and I tilt mine down to rest on top of hers before we both smile sleepily, and I snap several.
“Maybe I’ll just post that with some vague emojis,” she says when she pockets the phone.
“Your fans will go crazy.”
“Yours will be jealous.”
I scoff. “I’m not the kind of sports star the girls swoon over.”
Libby scoffs right back. “Most hockey players have missing teeth, Jordan. I’m sure you make all the hockey fangirls swoon.”
“Are you saying you think I’m hot?” I turn to her and feign surprise at such a thought.
“That sounds like flirting,” she says dryly.
“We are in public,” I excuse with a wink. I gesture to the runner, who’s crossing in front of us now. The woman nods a greeting and glances at Libby, squinting before she picks up her pace and hurries on.
“Is that hard?” I ask when the runner is well out of earshot. “When people always recognize you?”
She bumps me with her shoulder. “You tell me. Do you like it? She could have just as easily been gawking at you, hot stuff.”
“I knew it. You think I’m hot.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her.
She laughs, and the sound warms me despite my butt getting cold in the sand.
“Everyone thinks you’re hot.” She shakes her head and stretches her legs out in front of us, digging her toes into the sand.
“I thought it was cool when I was a teenager, for people to know who I was. For them to want to be me. I don’t mind it now—most people in real life are respectful, like that woman.
” She nods toward the direction the runner disappeared in.
“Probably thought I was your bodyguard.” I flex for her and enjoy the way pink dashes into her cheeks.
“Yeah, the way I was curled up into you really screams bodyguard vibes.” She tilts her head at me.
“Makes the story even more intriguing.” I grin. “I can see the comments now. Is Libby Bennet dating her bodyguard? Multiple question marks. Strings of shocked emojis.”
She laughs again, and I think I’ve found my kryptonite. Well, it’s possible everything Libby does is my kryptonite. I just married the woman because she asked nicely.
“Come on,” she says. “You must have dealt with some crazy hockey fangirls.”
“They’re called puck bunnies.”
“Puck bunnies?” she repeats, scrunching up her nose.
“Well, it’s kind of a mean nickname, and reserved only for the most … intense. Women who follow teams just to date the players. I’ve had a couple obsessed with me, but it’s nothing to your fame. I got more new followers when you posted a picture of us at lunch than I ever did for winning a game.”
“So are you ready for what’s coming?” Her voice drops, tentative. Like she thinks she tricked me into this part or that I didn’t understand.
I flex again. “I’m ready for anything, babe.”
She shakes her head, but her eyes are bright with amusement. Doing that for her after she was so stressed about everything with the wedding makes accomplishment swell in me.
We notice someone else farther up the beach sitting on a deck, so we snuggle back up and turn to the ocean.
The sky is slowing fading into oranges and pinks in colors that are never done justice in photos I take.
The roll, in and out, of the waves is a soothing soundtrack, and having Libby’s warmth next to me makes this the most perfect sunrise I’ve ever witnessed.
When the sun has cleared the horizon and the sky is light, Libby leans in and kisses my cheek. “I’m going back to bed,” she says.
I stand, pulling her up with me, and we hold hands as we walk back into the house.
The man on the deck a few houses down turns and watches every step.
I don’t point that out to Libby. Instead I watch her climb the stairs, and then head up to take a shower and head out for groceries to make her breakfast.
We spend the rest of our time in Hawaii mostly relaxing at the house and on the beach, always making sure to act lovey-dovey if we’re anywhere a camera could capture us.
We go out to dinner a couple times, but I usually cook because she seems to love it, and it’s clearly easier on her when we don’t have to act like we’re in love.
I’m quickly getting to the point where I’d do anything to make life easier for Libby Bennet.
Or was I already there a long time ago when I agreed to marry her so she could buy a hockey team?
Sure enough, by the time we get back to Houston, social media is exploding with reshares of a few pictures of us in Maui that have been posted, including the one Libby shared of us on the beach with three emojis: a sun, sunglasses, and a beach umbrella.
Libby Bennet dating former hockey star? is written across the most recent grainy picture of us I’ve come across on Instagram while I sit on the couch in Libby’s bougie apartment.
The picture was taken of us lounging on the beach by the house we rented.
Libby is reading a book, and I’m snoozing next to her.