Bruiser (Seattle Sharks 7)

“We could go get married,” he said, rolling off the bed and slipping into his navy-blue boxer-briefs in one smooth motion.

I side-eyed him, trying to maintain the glare as he tugged on a pair of black athletic pants that hung low across his hips.

Damn him, who has v-lines like that? It should be a crime how delicious the man looked.

“Not funny,” I said.

He shrugged. “Not joking.”

I gaped at him, then laughed a bit hysterically.

For a few heartbeats, he simply stared me down, his eyes trailing the length of my body, his tongue darting out to wet his lips like he could still taste me there.

A ripple of awareness pricked my senses, and it had nothing to do with the way Hudson was looking at me. No, it had everything to do with the soft, barely perceptible thuds I heard coming up the stairs.

I yelped, jumping slightly before I bolted out the door and into the remaining guestroom across the hall. I yanked back the perfectly made covers on the bed, diving under them seconds before the door creaked open.

The breath in my lungs was tight, but I tried to control it, tried to make it seem like I’d slowly, easily, just woken up too.

“I saw the note Hudson left on my door. Are you okay? Is there food?” Elliott rubbed one of her eyes as she flung herself on the bed, her auburn hair a chaotic mess on one side of her face and smooth as silk on the other.

Hudson left her a note? Ugh. He really was perfect.

“Good morning to you too,” I said, happy my voice was even.

God, is this what it felt like when people talked about getting caught by their parents? I’d never experienced it myself since my family decided they’d wanted nothing to do with me the second I’d seen those two pink lines on the pregnancy test, but still.

Elliott wiggled her way up the bed, rolling lazily to her stomach so she could look up at me. “Morning,” she said and eyed my cheek that I knew without looking in a mirror had bruised worse overnight. “Does it hurt?”

I waved her off, tugging her closer until she leaned against me. “Not much,” I said, and I knew the small pain I was in was nothing compared to what it could’ve been. Hudson had taken such care with me last night—in more ways than healing. The giant of a man had been gentle and precise in cleaning me up, in calling the doctor, and it had been so damn nice to give control over to someone else for a change.

And now that we’d crossed that line…

A soft knock on the door.

“Come in!” Elliott hollered.

Hudson opened the door and leaned against the frame. Every hard line of his chest and abdomen was visible through the tight white T-shirt he wore and I wondered how that somehow made him sexier than when it was off.

“How are you?” he asked like he hadn’t asked me ten minutes ago.

“Good,” I said. “Thank you.”

He nodded, his lips pressed together. There was something in those blue eyes—hope or nerves or uncertainty. I couldn’t decide which was more dominant, and I didn’t want to. After last night, after everything that had happened, I simply wanted to stretch this warmth, this happiness as far as I could.

I nudged Elliott. “Since it’s Saturday, we should show Hudson what we love about the city, don’t you think?”

Elliott lit up. “Totally.”

“We are so close to it,” I said, eyeing Hudson. “If you’re free today?”

A small flicker of a smile danced on those lips, the same lips that had teased and drawn moans from my mouth last night.

“I don’t have practice today.”

Something tight loosened in my chest. “Think you can handle Seattle with the two of us?”

“I have no doubt,” he said and tapped the door as he turned down the hallway.

“Go get dressed,” I urged Elliott who excitedly raced off the bed.

She left in such a flurry that she hadn’t even come close to noticing that nothing but Hudson’s shirt and the covers had clothed my body.

* * *

Salt and brine tinted the slight breeze that was cool from the ocean. The pier had been lightly crowded with people bustling this way and that, but Pike’s Market was still slow this early in the afternoon.

We’d spent the day exploring the pier, admiring the waves that crashed against it, and the little shops that lined it.

“A fish market?” Hudson said, stopping as we neared the area in Pike’s Market where the fishmongers ruled.

“Yes.” I smiled.

“This is one of your favorite places in the city?”

“It’s so cool, Porter,” Elliott said, practically bouncing in her sneakers. Her eyes trailing the variety of ice-packed bins with fresh fish atop each one, their scales glittering in the sunlight that peeked through the canopy. “You have to catch one!”

“Catch one?” His brow furrowed. “I think that ship has sailed.”

I bit back a laugh.

Elliott tugged on his hand, and he let her tow him toward the bustling center of the fish market, where small crowds gathered to watch and sometimes participate in the art of fish throwing and catching.

“No,” she said, a happy groan. “You catch it when they throw it to you.” She pointed to where men in white aprons were actively tossing fish this way and that.

He surveyed the area, the men, the bins of fish, the small crowd. Calculating every detail, cataloging it like it was second nature. Like he couldn’t walk into a place without checking the odds of…of what? A run-in with the paparazzi? Or an environment that would be potentially dangerous? Was the protection instinct so ingrained within him that he didn’t even realize he did it?

“It really is a must,” I said, my fingers gently touching his forearm before I drew my hand back.

“I don’t know—”

“Come on,” Elliott cut him off, that begging tone already in the works. “It’ll be so fun.” She flashed him the look. The one complete with puppy eyes and hopes and dreams and all the things strong enough to break a person down. I’d had years of experience with that look, and even I sometimes couldn’t say no when she donned it.

“For you,” he said, tapping her nose gently. “I will subject myself to fish guts. Only for you.”

Warmth radiated from the center of my chest, shooting out in rays that touched the tip of my head and all the way down to my toes.

This man.

He didn’t even realize how amazing he was.

How incredible and gentle and spectacular he was.

The way he was with Elliott would’ve been enough to earn him a spot in my very limited circle of people I trusted, but the way he treated me, too?

He was quickly becoming more than a trusted friend, more than a lover. Something real and tangible and slightly terrifying.

I watched him laugh—really, truly laugh with Elliott as she cheered him on when the monger threw a big-ass tuna at him. Watched him brace his knees as he tried to hold on to the slimy mass. Watched him nearly drop it before he managed to toss it in the bin next to him.

Watched him bring out a joy in Elliott that was only capable from someone other than me. Someone who was rapidly becoming essential in both our lives, and as I basked in the fun and freedom and sheer blissfulness of this day…I hoped like hell we could hold on to it.

Chapter 11

Hudson

“This thing is fucking killing me,” I muttered to myself, tugging at the claustrophobic bow tie that completed my tux as the limo rounded the corner to Shea’s apartment building.

I couldn’t wait to see her. We’d been on the road for four days for pre-season games, and every cell in my body craved the simple sight of her.

My phone buzzed, and I swiped it open as I took it from the inside pocket of my jacket, hungry for any contact with Shea even though I was only minutes away.

The text message glared up at me.

Natalie: Who is she?

A screenshot from a tabloid accompanied it. The pic

ture was of me, arms full of slippery fish, laughing with Shea, our eyes locked. The affection between us was palpable.

The headline was bold: Who is the pretty little fish swimming with this Shark?

“Fuck,” I mumbled. I found the tabloid online as we pulled up to Shea’s building, quickly scanning through to make sure it didn’t mention her name. They also hadn’t published a picture of Elliott or alluded to her presence, but I was pissed all the same.

Natalie: I’m serious, Hud. Who the hell is she? Does she know you’re taken?

My thumb hovered over the respond button.

But what was the point? The shit that had gone down with Natalie had driven me from Ontario, but everything had worked out in a way I could only be thankful for.

And no, I’d never responded when she reached out, but I’d still left the path open. Why? What the fuck was I holding on to when everything I’d ever wanted was here?

“Mr. Porter, we’ve arrived,” the chauffeur said through the partition.

“Thank you,” I answered.

A sense of peace came over me as I hit the reply button.

Hudson: Be happy, Natalie. Find someone to love. Real love. I know I have.

I hit send, and opened the door to find Shea already coming through the glass door of her building.

“Holy fuck,” I said before I could stop myself.

Shea walked forward, her head held high, looking like she’d stepped off a runway. Her curves were wrapped in a black dress that showed off her killer figure while still being the classiest, strapless number I’d ever seen.

Her collarbone needed to be bitten. Desperately. Especially since her hair was up and twisted and curled, and left that smooth expanse of skin bare. I wanted to drench her in jewelry, but there was something even sexier about how simple her little gold studs were.

In truth, the woman didn’t need a single piece of glitter to make her shine.