“That right there!” I all but jump. “You never watch hockey, it’s not your sport, but you watched tonight’s game? That’s suspect.”
“It was on the TV while I worked through some contracts.” His chuckle fills the line. “And, sweetie, I watch all sports.”
I chew the inside of my cheek as I listen to him turn the water on and then off, now wondering if my thoughts ran away with me earlier. “You’re up to something.” I know it.
“How about you be up to telling me what’s going on there?”
“Nothing to report,” I say, willing to give him a reprieve momentarily, because I do want to talk to him about Hunter.
“But your silence says you have thoughts.”
“I do.” I nod. “I think he’s definitely burned out and can’t see the forest for the trees.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, there’s a catalyst that’s causing it.”
“Like?”
“Getting to the playoffs? His future with the Jacks? Something,” I murmur more to myself than to him.
“So what are you going to do?”
I lean my hip against the back of the couch and eye the sandwich I brought back for a very late dinner and think for a second. “Make him fall back in love with the game somehow. He’s too important to the franchise and maybe he’s feeling the pressure.”
“That’s what I would do.”
Is it stupid that such simple affirmation from my dad still makes me grin ear to ear?
“Now to figure out what to do.”
“You’ll sort it out. You always do,” he says. “It’s getting late—”
“Not so soon, Kincade. Nice try. Now about you picking me to go after Hunter.” I purse my lips and wait for an answer.
“I promise you, it’s because I know you’re the right one to handle him.”
My mind flashes to the other night. To my hand wrapped around his cock and my tongue slipping through his lips. To how bad I screwed things up and how much Hunter called me on it.
My cheeks fill with heat as I fumble over what to say to my dad. “I’m not one hundred percent sure I believe you.”
His laughter fills the line. “Good. Then it’ll keep you on your toes. Night, Dekk.” Without another word, he hangs up on me.
All I can do is laugh into my empty hotel room and shake my head. The worst thing about my dad is also probably the best thing about my dad. I can never stay mad at him.
I’m spending too much time with my thoughts.
Way too much time.
But the one lingering thought remains as I eat my sandwich. If Lennox saw how I felt about Hunter when I rarely acknowledged that we were together, wouldn’t my dad have too?
That’s the million-dollar question.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DEKKER
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DEKKER
“WHEN YOU ASKED ME TO take a ride with you, should I have known you were planning on kidnapping me?” Hunter asks from his place beside me in the passenger seat. “Or is this your attempt to finish what you started the other night?”
As much as I want to make a witty comment, I just flip the blinker and smile.
It took me half the morning to figure out how to make Hunter realize he was burned out. Even trickier is showing him without mentioning the words.
Athletes are superstitious. They don’t shave if they’re winning. They don’t step on lines when they walk on the field. They wear the same, but washed (hopefully), undergarments if they had a great game in them. And they never speak aloud certain terms: no-hitter, perfect game, burnout, etcetera.
So I had my work cut out for me to show and not tell.
Even more so, I don’t know if Hunter even knows he’s burned out so if I did tell him, I’m assuming he’ll fight me on it.
And fighting me is exactly what I don’t want.
When I asked him to take a ride with me, I’d already made the promise to myself that no matter what he did or said to antagonize or irritate me, I was going to smile and let it go.
We could get along outside of the bedroom.
I was determined to prove that to myself on a personal level and to him on a professional one.
That’s the only way I have any chance of convincing him I know what’s best for him and once he knows that, trusting me as an agent would fall into line.
Heading east on Wheelock Street, I glance his way. “I never said how far the ride was going to be.”
“Good thing it’s an off day or else I’d be missing my game,” he mutters, but there’s humor in his voice as the lights of the college come into view on our left and the arena is just coming into our sights on our right. It’s dark outside, but co-eds mingle on the sidewalk and common areas as the streetlights cast their glow around them.
“When in Hanover, right?”
“When in Hanover, what? Kidnap a hockey player and take them to . . . where in the hell are we exactly?” he asks.
“Dartmouth. We’re at Dartmouth College to be exact.”
I see the jolt of his body. “Okay.” He draws the word out as I pull into a packed parking lot and get lucky and find a space right off the bat. “I was never good at school, Kincade. You’re making me get all itchy just thinking about having to sit in a classroom.”
“What? You hate having someone tell you what to do and how to do it? That’s a shocker.” I shift the gear into park. “Here, wear this.” I reach into the back seat and toss a baseball cap at him and wait for his response.
“No way!” He shakes his head and throws the LA Kings hat off his lap like it’s a hot potato. “Are you crazy?” His laughter fills the cab and I pause and take it in. It’s not a sound I hear often from him. “I can’t wear that.”
“Why not? You’d be supporting the NHL.” I pick it up and try to put it on his head.
“No,” he cries and grabs my wrists as I struggle with him playfully. “I will not be a traitor. I will not.”
“I’m going to take a picture and post it all over social media.”
“Never,” he shouts as he begins tickling me to distract me from my efforts. I squeal as I fall awkwardly across the center console so that my chest is on top of his.
Breaths panting and lips inches from each other in the small space, our eyes meet and hold as the protests die on our lips.
“Dekker.” My name is a quiet assault to my ears even after all the shouting. In those two syllables, I hear so many things. Are they real or am I making them up?
Kiss me.
The thought is in my head as I struggle to slow my thoughts. As I fight the urge to lean in and taste him.
But his lips are right there. His body is warm and inviting beneath my hands pressed to his chest. And the memory of just how good we can be together is front and center in my mind.
His eyes flicker to my lips and then back to my eyes.
A horn blares in the aisle behind us and we both jump back like two kids caught necking in the school lot.
“Saved by the bell,” he murmurs into the silence of the cab as he turns the Kings hat over in his hand. I sit with my back against the door and watch his fingers play over the embroidery.