Grinder (Seattle Sharks 1)

Oh God. Gage was right. The stakes were incredibly high if we crossed that line as much as I wanted to. What if it went south? How could I keep living in his house, raising his daughter, and watch him return to the sex-every-night routine he had?

“She’s just the nanny,” wife number two said, stopping my agonizing in its tracks. “Gage is still a free agent.” She winked at a pretty girl in bunny-getup, a red-head whose color definitely came from a bottle. She licked her lips, her eyes following Gage as he raced after a player on the ice.

The flare of jealousy that burned my insides was enough to make me turn around and keep my mouth shut. I’d wanted to claim him as mine—just like I had his mouth as he pressed me against the washing machine—but I didn’t know what the hell we were doing. He’d kissed me like he wanted to put his brand on me, and damn it the man clearly already had, but his words…

I sucked in a shaky breath, desperately wishing for some balance. It really didn’t matter what the wives or bunnies thought of me. What mattered is they didn’t spin their negative shit around Lettie. I kissed her cold cheek.

“Want to share some hot chocolate?” I asked. She bounced up and down in my lap but the conflict in her eyes was clear as she locked on to Gage. “We’ll be really fast, I promise.”

“Okay, let’s go quick!” She leaped to her booted feet and held my hand as we navigated down the stands.

Less than five minutes later, armed with one medium hot chocolate and one box of gummy bears because I couldn’t resist those begging blue eyes of hers that matched her daddy’s, we took new seats farther away from the women, a few rows closer to the ice in the family section.

We shared sips of the delicious warm liquid after it had cooled, and Lettie clapped for Gage every time he skated by. It was adorable, and I was relieved her ears were no longer subjected to any more of the gossip those women spouted worse than high school students. As much as I loved the game, and loved watching him play, I hated the cliquishness outside of it.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Lettie giggled, shouting at the top of her lungs when Gage body-checked another player into the wall. The player spun around and swung at Gage, who dodged the attempt, and quickly landed a retaliation punch of his own.

“McPherson! Two-minute penalty for unnecessary roughness!” The ref called out.

Gage’s hands shot in the air, clearly not agreeing with the bullshit call, but he skated into the box regardless. He ripped his helmet off, shaking out his sweaty hair, and shot us a quick glance.

Lettie waved so enthusiastically he couldn’t help but smile at her. Even in the midst of a pre-season opener, his first time back on the ice in an official capacity since being injured, and in the penalty box no less, the man still couldn’t resist his daughter.

My heart swelled at the love shining through his eyes. It turned me on nearly as much as watching him dominate on the ice, skating with speeds I’d never reach, hitting men with the force of a mack truck, utilizing his sheer strength in all the right ways. I shifted in my seat, my panties practically on fire, the ache wrenching between my thighs so strong it almost hurt.

I could almost taste him again, and the incident in the laundry room felt like the biggest tease in the history of teases.

His eyes locked onto mine and my breath caught in my throat. They switched from the pure love and adoration for his daughter to an uncontrollable, undeniable look of want.

My mouth watered and the air returned to my lungs as he slipped his helmet back on and darted back onto the ice. With each push of his skates, each strong glide, each opponent stopped, my ache for him amped up another degree.

Another opponent went down, and a vision of Gage pinning me against a wall, his hands free-roaming while mine were tied, flashed in my head. Gage shredded the ice in a fast stop to quickly change directions, and the image of riding him while I took control of the man who couldn’t be contained on the ice sent warm chills racing through my core.

A stick jabbed in just the right way at the absolute wrong time sent Gage to the ice with a sickening crack. I jumped to my feet, Lettie on my hip, as my heart stalled—all naughty fantasies evaporating. I held my breath.

Please get up. Get up. He’d landed on his shoulder, hard.

Oh God. What if he was hurt again? My lungs burned, my heart slamming against my ribs.

Seven agonizing seconds later, he got up, gripping his stick and skating faster than ever to catch up to the asshole who’d pulled the move.

He was okay.

The relief that uncurled the tension in my chest made a light bulb click on in my brain.

I wanted Gage. Not just on top of me or inside me...but by my side.

I wanted him at breakfast and at nighttime. On zoo trips and club trips. I wanted all of him.

Shit. I was falling for him.

The same kid who’d made mud pies with me in the back of his mother’s country home. The same kid who’d pulled on my braids, and threw lizards at me just to hear me scream. The one who’d taught me how to ride a horse and who visited me every day after I’d fallen off and broken my elbow when I was twelve. He’d brought me books and Oreos.

Holy hell. Maybe I’d been falling for him all along.

I looked down at Lettie, my heart overflowing with the realization because I’d already possessed so much love for her I didn’t know I could fit any more in there.

Gage skated by, lightning fast, and my stomach flipped.

I wanted to try with him, despite the risks.

But I’d have to convince him and convincing Gage to do anything he hadn’t already decided to do was harder than getting Lettie to eat green beans.

Lettie’s eyes were barely open as I strapped her into her car seat after the game. Gage tossed his gear into the back of the car before coming up behind me and peeking at her. She gave him a soft smile before her eyes shut completely.

Gage stood so close I could smell him—like the ice of the rink and the crisp clean scent of his body wash—and I turned toward him. “Played one hell of a game.

He pressed his lips together and nodded.

I reached up and lightly traced the muscle of his shoulder and collarbone, just above the fabric of his cotton shirt. “How does it feel?”

He clenched his eyes shut as I added some pressure behind my fingers.

“Good,” he said, his voice low and rough. He opened his eyes again, the blue in them on fire.