Chapter Twenty-Seven
Honor
I lift the camera lens up to the friends and family suite after the game goes into overtime and snap photos of the little girl being held up by her grandmother wearing matching Henderson jerseys.
Gemma is waving her arms in the air and knocking on the window as she looks down at her father and his team.
Her little hand goes a mile a minute trying to get their attention, smiling and laughing as a few of them lift their hands to wave back. Including, of course, Bodhi.
Karina clears her throat, making my cheeks flame as I lower my camera. “That’s the first one I’ve taken,” I defend, not wanting to be chided for doing something outside of my job.
“I know, but people are watching,” she says softly, gesturing to a few people in the crowd who have their cell phones pointed in my direction.
My nose scrunches. “I don’t see why they care,” I mutter, feeling uncomfortable. I choose to force my gaze toward what’s happening on the ice. Which, at the moment, is a whole lot of nothing.
In a matter of minutes, everybody’s attention will be on the players swarming the ice to get even one more point on their opponents. I’ve never cared that deeply about these games, but something in me is buzzing with adrenaline over the possible results.
“They’ve got this,” I say quietly, swallowing as I see the players start to come back out.
The crowd begins making noise as the teams get into formation. My eyes go to the scoreboard, and I swear I start sweating. As if it’s me out there—as if the pressure is mine alone.
“It sucks, doesn’t it?” Karina asks softly, putting a hand on my arm.
My eyes don’t move from the scoreboard. “What does?”
“Loving them enough to worry.”
I don’t say anything.
I don’t need to.
Her smile is sympathetic. “Get ready. It only gets worse. But it’s worth it for the right person.”
She gestures toward the rink when the clock starts again, and overtime begins.
I don’t have time to overthink what she says because I have to start working again. It helps distract me, but there’s a tingling in the back of my neck that tells me she’s right.
Bodhi makes the stress worth it.
And as the time counts down, and the players battle it out with pristine precision on the ice, I realize how badly I want this. To be here. To support Bodhi. To be part of the very thing he’s passionate about.
Ten seconds left.
Eight.
Bodhi manages to steal the puck and pass it to Akira Mendell, who rushes it past the defense and racks his stick back.
Five seconds.
Four.
Three.
With a wrist shot, the puck goes flying toward the goal.
One of the players tries to block it, but not in time.
It goes into the goal just as the clock hits zero, and the crowd is louder than the buzzer marking the end of the game. My ears ring from their cheers, and I can’t help but scream along with them.
I barely have time to lower my camera before I see a six-foot-four hockey player beelining directly for me.
New York wins.
But Bodhi doesn’t celebrate with his teammates as they congregate in the center of the ice.
He comes to me.
I squeal as he picks me up and drags me onto the ice, which has to be some sort of violation that he obviously doesn’t care about. He wraps my legs around his waist and squeezes me against his sweaty uniform, careful not to crush my camera.
“You won,” I tell him, giggling as he spins us around before nuzzling my nose into the crook of his neck and smelling the sweat coat his skin. “I’m so happy for you. But you should be with the guys right now.”
“I have exactly who I want right here,” he tells me, peeling his helmet off and kissing the shit out of me in the middle of the rink.
If I thought people went crazy before, it was nothing compared to what they sounded like when Bodhi claimed me in in front of them.
And despite not liking the attention, not wanting people’s eyes on me, I stop caring the second his mouth is on me. Because Bodhi loves me in bold, capital letters. He loves me at full volume. Without caution or care. He’s telling the world that I’m his. That he’s mine.
So, I thread my fingers through his damp hair and show the world that it’s mutual. When he pulls back enough to let us breath, I blurt, “Go out with me.”
He stares at me for at least a minute in silence before a slow smile spreads across his face.
His fingers tighten around where he holds me, massaging the flesh where my upper thigh meets my lower glute.
Truthfully, I’m impressed he can hold me like this.
I’m not exactly light, and he’s been playing a hell of a game that must make every muscle inside his body scream.
But the way he watches me says he wouldn’t have me any other place.
Someone skates up behind him, smacking the back of his shirt. “Don’t keep the girl waiting, Hoffman. Answer the question.”
I recognize Jesse Clarkson from the other matches we’ve played against him. He’s Pittsburgh’s captain and joined us for dinner when we went to their stadium in Pennsylvania not long ago. He’s quiet, but laidback, with a killer scar across his face that Bodhi said he got early in his hockey career.
The man holding me chuckles. “I’m taking her in, Clarkson. Give me a second.”
Clarkson clasps Bodhi’s shoulder. “Just wanted to say congrats and that I may be seeing you around more often. But we can talk about that another time. I’ll leave you to your girl.”
Something in Bodhi’s eyes flash as they meet Jesse’s gaze. Surprise? I can’t place it. He nods, holding one of his hands out to Clarkson to do a weird bro handshake. “Good game, man. Come by my house this Saturday if you’re free. It’s my little girl’s birthday party. We can talk there.”
Once Jesse skates away, he turns back to me and carefully sets me on my feet. “I’m pretty sure you can get fined for this,” I tell him. “I’m not wearing any of the proper gear to be on the ice.”
He shrugs. “I have the money.”
I roll my eyes. “Not the point.”
He grins. “So,” he says slowly. “You want to go out with me, huh?”
There’s a teasing tone in his voice. “I want to do a lot of things with you, Bodhi Hoffman. We’d definitely get fined if I told you what they were right here and now, though.”
Lust flares in his blue eyes. “Not fair, honey.”
I smile innocently. “I guess we’ll have to go out so we can further discuss those things I have in mind. Because I have a few.”
His lips curl into a half smile. “Is that so?”
All I do is nod, biting into my bottom lip.
“You’re trouble.”
“You like it.”
There’s no hesitation. “I do. I really do.”
“Hoffman!” someone yells. My father. “Get your ass over here and stop shmoozing my daughter. You’ve got interviews.”
I laugh. “You better go before he makes you do extra laps or conditioning at your next practice. We both know he will.”
Bodhi winces at the thought. “Are you coming to dinner with us? It’ll just be me and Gem. Helen has to go back home to make sure Joe isn’t doing more than he should, and I know Gemma would love to have you there.”
One of my eyebrows raises. “Depends. You’re not considering that our date, are you?”
He snorts. “Honey, I don’t take my kid on dates. I plan on being very thorough with you when we do go out just the two of us.”
Heat blasts my cheeks. “Is that a yes then?”
He kisses my cheek. “That’s a hell yes.”
I giggle. “Go. My dad is glaring at you right now with his coach face on.”
Bodhi flinches. “Shit. That’s not good.”
I wave him off. “I’ll meet you by the locker rooms. I love y—” I stop myself with a sucked in breath when I realize what I was about to blurt.
He stops, nearly tripping over his skates at the three words I’d nearly said. His eyes are wide as they stare back at me. “What?”
“I love…yogurt.” I close my eyes at the embarrassing sentence but decide to go with it. “We should get froyo for dessert.”
My voice is a notch higher than normal, giving away my nervousness.
Bodhi’s face softens, and his eyes do a quick scan over my stressed features. “I love yogurt too, honey.”
My heart reacts in a way I can only describe as galloping.
Because we’re not talking about yogurt.
*
Bodhi picks up Gemma from where she passed out on my lap playing dolls for the last hour and a half. According to her, my doll was an undercover cop fighting for the rights of all unicorns who want to be president. Hers was a queen, no other backstory.
When Bodhi asked if he could join us, she told him it was girls only and he wasn’t allowed to touch her toys.
But I could.
And I bet the feelings swelling in my chest were similar to the ones Bodhi felt in that moment.
It isn’t long before Bodhi comes back down and stops at the end of the couch. “She let you play with her favorite doll.”
There’s an odd look on his face—a sad one. Is he upset he couldn’t play with us? “I’m sure she’ll let you join next time. You can be the undercover cop—”
“No” he cuts me off, shaking his head and sitting on the edge of the couch. “She doesn’t let anybody touch those dolls. Not me. Not Joe. Not even Helen. Inez…” His voice sounds fragile. “Her mother gave her those, and she’s always been territorial over them. But she let you play with them.”
Oh. Oh. I reach over and touch the top of his hand. “Is that…okay? I don’t want to step on any toes or—”
Bodhi stops my concern with the most heated kiss of my life. It’s hot and hard and ends far too soon. “Are you kidding me, honey? It’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
The next kiss steals my breath away, barely giving me time to process it before my mouth is opening for him.
I scooch closer to find a better angle, using my palm to cup his jaw until I melt into him.
Then everything changes.
The pace.
Who’s in charge.
The electricity that fires between us.
One second, I’m taking lead, and the next I’m suddenly on my back on the floor with a six-foot-four professional hockey player settled between my legs.
“You have no idea,” he all but growls, “how much I want you. How much I need you, Honor. None.”