Chapter 4
FOUR
LIAM
I’ve taken shots to the ribs. Blocked pucks with my face. I’ve played with broken bones and teeth. But none of those things has affected me quite as much as the woman who is setting up cupcakes just a few feet away from me.
It’s ridiculous.
I’m not a teenager.
I’m a veteran Houston Lonestar.
Yet this woman has completely scrambled my brain. She’s not trying to get attention. She’s not throwing herself at me. She’s focused on her job, not dressed to be noticed. Soft brown hair, hazel eyes, curvy in all the right places.
She’s cute, but she’s also more than that. She’s the kind of woman you want to wake up next to on a Sunday morning, sleepily kiss before you slide inside her, and never want to let go.
Danger. Liam Fichtner. Danger.
“Fich,” Bouch calls from behind me. “You gonna come back here to me?” he asks.
I ignore him for another moment, just as the team event coordinator appears. I hear her cry out that the cupcakes look amazing. Ruby is moving around the table, concentrating on whatever she’s doing with the cakes, but I can’t see them because I can only see her.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“Cupcake Girl is hot,” he calls out, except he does it softly, which surprises me because he usually doesn’t give a shit if he embarrasses me in front of a woman. And I don’t care if I embarrass him in front of one, either. The women are plentiful for us, so it’s not a big deal.
But Cupcake Girl is different.
“Yeah,” I say. “She is.”
Forcing myself to turn away from her, I attempt to focus on the task at hand, which is helping Bouch with his shot. Except I can’t focus on helping Bouch because all I want to do is figure out how to help myself to Ruby.
“Attention,” a voice calls out over the loudspeakers. “We need the ice cleared for the vendors. All players, prepare for the event.”
That entire announcement is just a nice way to say get the fuck off the ice and get your ass to the locker room. We need to get dressed for all the people expected to spend their money and donate.
I hate this kind of shit.
I would much rather visit children’s hospitals or something that feels useful and helpful. This doesn’t feel that way at all. What I feel like is a doll dressed up and paraded around for a bunch of people who pay for the experience of feeling special.
Big whoop.
I’ve been around rich people all my life, and all I can say about them is they’re boring.
Every single one of them. And nine times out of ten, they’re assholes too.
I mean, of course, not everyone who has money is an asshole, but unfortunately, it’s a recurring theme and has been since the beginning of time.
I’d much rather figure out how to get Cupcake Girl's number.
Bouch and I skate off the ice and head toward the locker room in silence. Well, maybe he’s talking, but I’m too lost inside my own head to hear anything.
Tonight is one of those events where we have to ditch the jerseys and wear a suit and tie.
Just another reason why I fucking hate it.
The only reason I hurry to shower and change is for the chance to talk to Cupcake Girl again, maybe get her number, possibly know what a Sunday morning deep inside her body feels like.
Hey, a guy can have dreams.