Well, that’s a change of topic if I’ve ever seen one. I thought he might be angry at my suggestion or stalk off and go to bed, but this? This is definitely him deflecting, and who am I to tell him no? Hell no. Not with a tongue like Hunter’s.
I scoot up on his table, my bare ass feeling the chill of the wood beneath me, lean back on one of my hands, and spread my thighs.
That sigh. That smile. I’m thinking that sex might tire him out, relax him, and get him to sleep.
“You need some inspiration, huh?” I murmur as our eyes hold and I slide my finger down between my slit. A moan falls from my lips as my eyes close. My head falls back when I rub the pad of my finger on my clit and down to find myself already wet for him.
His groan matches how I feel sitting here, bared to him and so very aroused.
“Inspiration?” he asks, his eyelids falling heavy with desire as one hand reaches out and squeezes the tops of my thigh.
“Mm-hmm.” The lazy friction mixed with his hands on me and his eyes a reflection of his own desire, is extremely arousing. Even more so is feeling comfortable to do this in front of him, the vulnerability of it only making it seem so much more.
“First little victories and now inspiration?” His smile widens.
“At your service,” I murmur and sink my teeth into my bottom lip. “Inspiration comes in so many different places.”
“Like here?” he asks, and I suck in a breath when Hunter’s thumbs slide up and down the side of my sex. It’s a hint of touch, but I feel it in every nerve all the way to my toes. “Or here?” His fingers push my hand out of the way and part me so the cool night air hits my most intimate parts.
Hunter looks up at me, a devilish grin on his lips and unmistakable desire in his eyes. They hold mine on the slow descent of his head between my thighs. “I’m thinking right here is an even better place.”
And when his mouth touches me, when the warmth of his lips close over my clit, and then the heat of his tongue slides down its path to my core, when his fingers join the mix in an all-out sensual assault, all I can do is brace myself on the table behind me and let him find all the inspiration he needs.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
DEKKER
HUNTER DANCES DOWN THE ICE like a man clawing his way out of hell.
The clock counting down to the end of the game reads thirty seconds.
He weaves around one defender, then the next.
Twenty seconds.
He chases down the opposition, the forward heading straight for the goal unopposed by any teammate.
Ten seconds.
He swings his stick back for the shot toward the open net. Katz had tripped getting back to defend his goal and this is do or die. The opposition scores, and we’re into overtime. They don’t, and the Jacks go to the finals.
Five seconds.
Hunter dives across the ice the same time the puck flies. His body blocks it—a visible punch to his abdomen when it hits.
The buzzer sounds and LumberJacks Arena goes insane. The noise, the music, the cheering—they’re like a symphony of chaos that has never sounded more beautiful.
But even better is the sight of Hunter being picked up by his teammates and celebrated. Tears blur my eyes and my heart soars into a dimension I never knew was possible.
It takes a second for me to catch on to what the crowd is chanting. It starts low and then becomes the heartbeat of the arena. Mad-dox. Mad-dox.
I think it takes even longer for the team on the ice to hear it because when they do, they slowly lower him to his feet, and one by one, they skate back a step and let Hunter have the limelight he hates.
But something about the moment is so poignant to me. To see Hunter standing center ice looking around with an incredulity on his face I could never put words to, hearing it. Taking it in.
He turns to each corner of the arena and puts his hand over his heart to let the fans know it’s them that make it worth it for him. It’s them who help motivate.
When he turns my way, the distance is great, but our eyes meet, and the slightest nod as he pats his hand over his heart is all I need to know. The feelings we’ve never addressed, the words we’ve never spoken, the future we’ve never discussed, don’t matter.
Because that right there tells me how he feels about me.
And there’s no question that I feel the same in return.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
HUNTER
“I’M NOT HAVING THIS ARGUMENT with you again, Mom. He will be there for the first game and God willing the last game when we win if not every game in between. The arrangements have been made. You’ve seen them and his doctors have approved them.”
“It’s very gracious of you, but—”
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but I will move heaven and earth for Jonah to be there. I have the means and I will do whatever it takes to make it happen.”
“His health though. You don’t understand—”
“But I do. I understand that you want to keep him within your bubble until the day he dies and while he’s still alive that way, he’s not fucking living.”
“Don’t you take that tone—”
“We had this dream since we were kids. Since we were teenagers, and we’d sneak out late at night and break into the rink and skate in the dark. We’d laugh and drink some of the beers we’d stolen from Dad’s fridge in the garage and dream about the first time he’d get to play for the Stanley Cup.”
“But he’s not playing.”
“Yes, he is,” I shout, the emotion smothering my reason and respect. “We are one and the goddamn same. Don’t you see that? I’m his legs because he can’t walk. I’m his mouth because he can’t speak. I’m his goddamn heart, and I can feel it beating still, so don’t try to kill it because you’re afraid of germs. Let him fucking live. Let him come see the dream he had, but that I promised I’d finish for him.”
“Well,” she says in the prissiest of tones. I’ve upset her. “I’ll have to talk to your father.”
“Don’t you dare rob Jonah of this.” When she remains silent, I continue. “The medical team will be there at nine to evaluate and prepare him for a safe transport.” Steps that are way above and beyond what he needs but I know if I do this, she can’t say no. “There are three tickets at the box office for you guys.”
But when I hang up and toss my cell on the middle of the bed, I know not to hold my breath that my father will show.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
DEKKER
“I’M SORRY. I WALKED IN. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
Hunter turns to my voice in his bedroom doorway and there’s justifiable sadness in his expression that hurts me.
“It’s just par for the fucking course,” he mutters and laces his fingers behind his neck and exhales loudly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But I do.”
“I’m used to it.” He shakes his head and forces a smile I know is masking his pain. “We still ordering food?”
“If you want.” I pat my back pocket where I thought my phone was.
“Use mine,” he says, pointing to the bed.