Bruiser (Seattle Sharks 7)

Shea barely spared him a glance before looking back at me, her fair skin blushing deep pink. “Porter—it’s not that I don’t like you.”

“Damn,” Lukas muttered.

“Hudson,” I corrected her. “If you’re going to tell me I’m unfit to mentor your kid, at least use my name.” Because I wanted to hear it from her lips, even just once.

“Mr. Porter,” she said with her I-mean-business voice. “I’m so sorry, but with your lifestyle and career obligations, it’s just not fair for you to mentor Elliott.”

“Isn’t that for me to decide?”

Her blush deepened. “With all due respect, she’s my daughter. It’s for me to decide.”

“Fair enough. But I have the time for Elliott. I like her. She’s smart and honest.”

She fidgeted with her glasses, pushing them up her nose. “Yes. I know. And opinionated,” she threw a look over her shoulder at Elliott, who had folded her arms across her chest again.

“I think that’s why I like her,” I said honestly.

She wavered, I saw it in her eyes. Then she lifted her chin in the air. “It’s just...not appropriate.”

“Mom!”

“I’m sorry, Elliott. It’s not. Grab your bag. I’m taking you home.”

Elliott shot me a pleading glance.

“Nothing I can do about it. Your mom is the boss.”

“Even in your building,” Lukas laughed.

I glared over at him. “Not funny.”

“Your building?” Shea asked.

“According to one of the volunteers out there, it’s his building,” Lukas answered.

“No, it belongs to the Dorsal Club, just like the door says.”

“He bought it for us,” Clara answered, watching Elliott get her backpack from the hanging pegs at the back of the room. “Rescued us like a real knight in shining armor.”

“I’m not anyone’s knight,” I countered.

Shea’s forehead puckered.

“Mom, please?” Elliott asked again, her backpack slung over her shoulders.

Shea softened as she looked at her daughter, then at me through the corner of her eye. “I just...you can’t. I’m sorry, Elliott.” She turned fully toward me. “Mr. Porter. I’m so sorry.”

Without another word, she took Elliott’s hand and walked toward the conference room door. Elliott looked back at me, sadness coming off her in waves so strong I could almost feel them.

“You know why they really chose me over Ormond?” I asked her, needing to see her smile again.

“Why?” she asked, nearly at the door.

“I’m better.”

She grinned, and my heart lightened just a bit.

“And so humble,” she laughed.

Shea halted at the door, looking back at me.

“I don’t lie,” I said, looking her straight in the eye as I answered her daughter. “And I never present myself as something other than what I am. I’m sorry that’s not good enough for you.”

She blinked rapidly, then left, taking Elliott with her.

* * *

Three days later, I still hadn’t shaken the encounter, Elliott, or Shea’s rejection.

What the hell was so wrong with me that I couldn’t mentor her daughter? I at least deserved an explanation, and I was going to get one.

The drink I carried sloshed in the plastic cup as I made my way through the maze of cubicles in the social services office. The atmosphere was chaotic. Phones rang, file cabinets closed, children raced by, chased by a woman with a clipboard. A few babies cried, as did the parents who held them.

I looked the way the security guard had directed me and found a pop of color—Shea’s hair—standing out amongst the seemingly endless sea of gray.

“It’s going to be okay,” I heard her say as I approached her desk.

“You’re sure?” a woman asked, clutching a tissue and a blue folder.

“I am,” Shea assured her.

I stopped just outside the opening to her cubicle, turning my back to the doorway. Damn, I hadn’t given a single thought to what her day might be like, or what she even did on an average day. All I’d thought about was convincing her to let me mentor Elliott.

“These programs are going to give you that relief you need to get everything back on track,” Shea told the woman.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” the woman replied.

“You don’t have to,” Shea responded, her voice closer.

I turned, drawn like a magnet to any chance I had to see her.

“It’s my job, and one I’m more than happy to do. You just take care of Marie and Mark. That’s the best thank you I could get.”

The two women appeared in the hallway as Shea pulled her in for a hug.

Her eyebrows skyrocketed over her black glasses when she saw me standing there. I resisted the urge to shift my weight or run my fingers over my hair. I wasn't thirteen. This wasn’t junior high. I refused to let a pint-sized firecracker make me sweat.

Clammy hands did not equal sweat, damn it.

“I’ll see you next month, okay?” Shea asked.

“Absolutely. Thank you, Miss Shea.” The woman wiped away tears from big, brown eyes, and looked away from me, scurrying by, keeping to the far side of the hallway like I might bite her.

Or hit her.

I’d never hit a woman in my life, but she didn’t know that. And I was anything but little. I flattened myself against the thin wall of the cubicle to give her as much space as I could.

“Porter?” Shea asked, her voice thin and soft.

“Hudson,” I corrected her again.

She smoothed her hands over the curve of her denim-clad hips. “Right. What are you doing here?” Her light blue top brought out the slight bluish tinge to her gray eyes.

“I brought you bubble tea,” I said, offering her the large, black-dotted beverage I’d carried from three blocks over.

“You what?” Her eyes dropped to the tea and then rose to meet mine.

“I brought you...bubble tea,” I said again. Fuck, I was an NHL star who netted millions a year, and still awkward as fuck when it came to this woman.

Her mouth dropped open slightly, and my gaze dipped. Her lips were full and a delicious shade of pink without the tint of makeup. I could kiss her all day and not worry about getting smeared by cosmetics. Honestly, I’d kiss her all day even if she was slathered in red lipstick. Then I’d walk around downtown Seattle with her brand all over my face, wearing her approval—her permission—like a badge of honor.

If I ever let her out of my bed.

“I saw you drinking it at Connor’s barbecue, right? Honeydew?” I waited another few seconds as she gawked up at me. “Bubble tea.”

“Bubble tea,” she repeated.

“Don’t make me say it again. It’s a ridiculous name.”

Her lips quirked up, and her posture softened. “Okay, umm...come in? I have about twenty minutes until I have to head out to do a home visit.”

I followed her into her space and perched on the edge of her desk as I handed her the tea.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I can’t believe you remember what I was drinking.” She sat in her chair and put the straw to her lips, taking a sip.

“I’m good at things like that.” And every detail when it comes to you.

“Mmmm,” she half-moaned, and I clenched the side of the desk. “So good. Okay, Mr. Porter, you didn’t just stop by to bring me tea, so what’s up?”

“I want to mentor Elliott.”

“I thought this had been asked and answered.” Her soft tone diminished the bite in her words.

“I’m here for reconsideration.” I ran my fingers through my hair before I could stop myself from the nervous tell. “Look. You don’t like me. I don’t know why, and I really don’t have to. Elliott is your daughter, and you don’t have to explain your reasons—I have to prove myself. There’s a difference.”