Skater (Seattle Sharks 6)

“Yeah, it’s a claiming thing, right?” her voice took on a sharper edge. “Like you own her because your name is on her back?”

I bit back my first instinct, which was to engage. Attack. Snap back like we usually did to each other.

“No,” I said slowly. “Because growing up, that name meant trash. Unwanted. And there I was, an NHL player, and there she was, with her own last name on a jersey that said it was worth something. I was worth something. Our name was worth something. It wasn’t my first game, I’d already seen bunnies wearing the jersey, but Hannah...she’s the only person I’ve ever seen wear my number who I knew would choose me over everyone else in that rink. She wasn’t wearing it because I was a hockey player, or because she was mine, but because I was hers. There’s a difference, Ivy.”

Her lips parted, and she looked at me like she’d never seen me before. Like I was a stranger, some anomaly that had appeared randomly.

“Oh,” was all she said.

“What?” I asked, dropping my voice to match the mood of the moment.

“Nothing. You just...you surprise me. Every time I think I have you pegged, you throw me for a loop.”

Her eyes dropped to my lips.

Before I could even process my instant, overwhelming need to kiss her, she pointed to the box I still held between us.

“Present?” Her smile was shaky.

“Oh. Right. Shit. Now it feels stupid. You know what? Never mind.” Now it felt loaded. Like I was saying something I really wasn’t. Like I was crossing lines we hadn’t even drawn because we’d never needed boundaries as much as we needed a no man’s land.

“Oh no, I want it.” She reached for the box.

“No, really, it’s nothing,” I pulled it back.

“You can’t take back a present!” She exclaimed with a yank.

“I haven’t given it to you, so it’s not taking it back,” I reminded her with a tug.

“Stop acting five-years old and give me my present!” She gripped the box so tight it crumpled on her end.

“Now who is acting five?” I shot back.

“Ugh!” she complained, and I let her have it when she pulled.

She stumbled backward, and I caught her by the elbows before she could crash into the desk.

“For fuck’s sake, be careful!”

“For fuck’s sake, stop being so aggravating!” She huffed, blowing a stray strand of blonde hair from over her eyes.

God, even pissed, she was beautiful. Maybe even moreso.

“Fine. Have it!”

“Fine! I will!” She ripped the box open and stared at the contents. “It’s a jersey.”

I couldn’t read her face at this angle. Couldn’t see if she was astonished or bored. With Ivy, that tone could mean anything.

“Yep.” And now I felt stupid. The woman was rich in her own right. Her dad was a damned NHL coach, and I’d handed her a fucking jersey.

She put the box on the desk and removed the gift, holding it up and reminding me that it would dwarf her. Maybe not as badly as Hannah, but still. Ivy wasn’t exactly over six feet and a couple hundred pounds.

“It’s your jersey.”

“Yep.”

Jesus, this was getting awkward. “Look, I just saw that you always wear different jerseys to the games, except when you were always wearing—”’

She shot me a look that warned me against finishing that sentence.

Crosby’s.

“Anyway, I hadn’t seen you wear mine, and thought maybe you didn’t have one, so just in case you ever want to do a matching thing with Hannah like you did with your hair today or whatever.” I ran my hands over my hair and begged my mouth to shut up so my brain could catch up.

And if she looked at me like that for any longer, I was going to find out exactly how she tasted.

“Ivy, you coming?” Pepper asked, breaking the spell.

“Yeah, just one second!” Ivy answered. As if she sensed the moment was getting too real, she gave me a dazzling, flirty smile. “You know, I do actually own one of your jerseys.”

“You do?” My voice inched toward cracking as she stepped forward, invading my personal space in every possible way.

“Yep. I use it all the time.”

She used it? To get herself off? To sleep in? To curl up and watch tv with my name on her back? Shit, I was going to come without ever having kissed her.

“You do?”

“Yep,” she responded. She rose on her toes and brushed her lips across my cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I was just about to tell her why that one was special when she retreated.

At the door, she turned around, a laugh on her lips. “After all, I need something to dry my car with after I wash it.”

She left me standing there, speechless as always.

Chapter 6

Ivy

“And this one has a pool and waterfall combo with a glass enclosure to ensure privacy,” the realtor said as she walked ahead of us into the home. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes on Connor. “I remember that was on your must-have list.”

He nodded, eyes scanning the interior of the fifth home we’d toured today. I’d been shocked when he’d asked me to tag along, but not when he’d told me he was doing this for Hannah. With the shift in his life, he knew he had to buckle up and be what Hannah needed—not that he hadn’t been before—but buying a stable home instead of his pure bachelor sex pad was the first step.

“You see things I don’t when it comes to Hannah. What she needs.” He’d said on the phone when he’d asked. I knew he was referring to the continuous gifts I showered on Hannah—clothes and hair-ties and bows. Warm socks for the rink and special treats on Saturdays. Sure, she didn’t technically need all those things—in reality, all she needed was for her uncle to love her no matter what, to be there for her, be her stability in a world that kept tilting—but he already was that. Or at least he was trying. It had to be hard going from the occasional provider who was a celebrity athlete on his solo nights to never having another solo night again in the span of a blink.

Which is what had softened me enough to agree to help him.

Because for Hannah, there wasn’t a whole lot I wouldn’t do, and that was one thing Connor and I had in common.

“And,” the realtor went on as we came to pause in the great room. She pointed toward the staircase. “This one has a spa tub big enough for two.” She gave Connor and me a wink. “Important for newlyweds, you know.”

Connor choked on air.

I managed a sweet laugh as I placed my hand delicately on his chest. “Does the master have a separate shower with bench seating?” I asked. “Because that is crucial for us, right honey?” I batted my lashes at Connor, totally loving how gaped at me.

Loosen up a little, Bridgerton.

The guy had a constant stick up his ass, and I was more than ready to see him lose it, even for a few moments.

“Right…uh…love,” he said, the words rushed and forced from his tongue. I knew from our intense convo last night that the man had never told another woman—besides Hannah—he loved her.

With his track record of bed-hopping, I had doubted it anyway.

Well,

we had that in common then, too.

“It does!” The realtor said, fishing out her cell and tapping across the screen.

“Can my wife and I have a few minutes to look around?” Connor asked, shifting to slide his arm around my shoulders. Warm chills raked across my skin, little electric bursts that popped when he rubbed circles along my bare skin where my tanktop ended.

“Of course,” she said, flashing us another wink as she headed toward the front porch that wrapped around the house. “I’ll be out here if you have any questions. Take your time!” She hollered as she closed the door behind her.

Connor didn’t immediately drop his arm, and I didn’t immediately step out of his embrace. Instead, we stood in a charged silence where neither of us looked at the other. We simply surveyed the great room before us—rich hardwood floors, custom built-ins on the focal wall, soaring vaulted ceilings.

“Hannah’s unicorn picture book collection would fit perfectly there,” I said finally breaking the silence and pointing toward the built-ins. “And,” I continued, trying like hell to ignore how nice it felt to have a warm body so close to mine as he continued to hold me against his side. “You could do a couch chaise combo there,” I said. “And a study nook over here.” I motioned toward the other side of the room that was nothing but wide-open space and gorgeous bay windows.

I drew my gaze back to him, finally working up the courage to meet his eyes—those stunning, dark, deep eyes. They were locked on mine, the hard lines softer as he stared at me wide-eyed.

“What?” I asked, almost a whisper.

He blinked a few times as if the word had popped some bubble around him, and he took a step back. Then another, leaving the space where he’d been cold.

“Nothing,” he said, chuckling. “That was funny.” He motioned toward the front door where the realtor likely waited. “That she thought that we were…” he pointed between us. “We were…”

“Fucking?”

He jolted before arching a brow at me, his eyes dropping to my lips for a few seconds too long. “That mouth of yours.”

A warm shiver trailed the length of my body.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I never speak like that around Hannah.”