“Wonderful. Come on in then.”
He poured his glass, refilled mine and then climbed into the hot tub, slowly sinking down. I almost wept at the loss of all that carved perfection.
Tension turned as hot as the water and the sun beating down on us, and I found myself unable to look directly at him. Would he think my flushed cheeks was purely due to the hot tub?
Would he know where my thoughts had drifted?
Joey was a pretty smart guy, instinctual on the ice. Would that translate to life as well?
“Your smile is disarming.”
“Disarming?”
“Yeah. You come across as a pretty straight-laced guy but that smile tells me there’s a side to you few get to see.”
“Does it?” His finger and thumb picked at a chunk of my hair, tucking it behind my ear and trailing that fingertip down the edge of my jaw. “What kind of side?”
Dark. He had a dark side. No, Joey wasn’t dark. He was, “wild.”
I’d said that to him. And those dark eyes of his practically burned my retinas it was so heated.
“You told me my backward hat made me a ten.”
“What?”
My chest heaved beneath the water, pushing the swell of my breasts over the bubbles and I clung to my wineglass.
Oh sweet heavens. I’d said all of that to him.
I’d practically thrown myself at him.
“My hat.” He chuckled, wineglass in front of his mouth that I was pretty certain wore that same damn disarming smile I accused him of having. Hell if I was wrong though. That smile said he was wicked in ways I’d probably never considered.
I bit my lip to hold in my groan, perhaps a needy whimper, and blinked.
“That’s right.” I laughed. “You had that hat pulled low over your eyes and when I won, you spun it around.”
“You told me I was a ten.”
He wasn’t a ten. Thirty-six on a scale of ten. Joey’s physique alone blew other men out of the water. Add in his personality and charm and otherworldly morals and he was in a ballpark of his own.
And I’d said all that right before…
“I lied,” I said, blurted rather.
“What?” His head jerked in surprise. “You mean I’m not a ten?”
Oh hell, I’d discuss the merits of where he ranked on the scale if it kept him from thinking of that conversation.
I rolled my eyes playfully. “Don’t be self-deprecating. You know you’re hot.”
His hand went to his chest, barely visible over the bubbles as he sat across from me in the tub that could easily hold twelve. Even then, if I stretched my legs, I could probably brush his, run my foot up his calf. How high could I get before he stopped me?
Would he stop me?
“You wound me.”
“Please,” I spurted. “I’m sure your ego is large enough to withstand it. And yeah, with your hat on backward you’re definitely a ten. But that’s kryptonite to any girl. A backward hat automatically ups your appeal by several levels.”
“So without it, I’m—”
This had to stop. If he was searching, hunting for how I truly felt about him, I couldn’t do it.
I brought the wineglass to my lips and smirked. “A four.”
His head fell back, mouth open, and the most jubilant laugh burst into the air.
Hot damn. My husband was hotter than the sun kind of hot.
If only he thought the same thing about me.
Joey’s laughter was so enjoyable, I was still focusing on him, his mouth, and the sparkling humor in his dark eyes when it wiped clean. With a nakedness that stole my breath, something I doubted he’d ever let me see and something I hadn’t been prepared to give him, he ran his tongue over his lips and said, “There may have been a time my ego could have withstood anything, but that’s not so anymore.”
“Joey—”
That nakedness slammed shut with a blink, lips quirking at the corners like he was just now finishing his laugh. “So go easy on me, would you?”
“I will.” This was one promise to him I could keep.
Perhaps after all this mess was over, I’d have found a new friend, even if I was starting to realize why I’d wanted to marry him in the first place.
Joey Taylor was the kind of guy a girl could fall in love with in moments, and I was starting to fear I’d been stupid enough to do just that.
10
Joey
I woke to the startling brightness of the sun shining through curtains I must not have closed the night before and the desperate need for hydration.
Two nights in a row of overindulgence after months of rarely drinking, alcohol bans at hotels during the playoffs, and I wasn’t just hungover, I was pretty certain my body now only contained one percent of water.
“Shit,” I groaned, and pushed out of bed. Fortunately, as I quickly rehashed through last night’s events, it was clear nothing ridiculous happened I’d have to again answer for.
“Hell.” I laughed, catching sight of my face in the mirror that looked as dehydrated and hungover as I suspected, and chuckled. “It wasn’t like we could do anything worse.”
No, instead, Gabby and I sat in the hot tub, flirted—at least I did—teased—she did it better—and talked about the day and how we’d spin the story based on Miles’s suggestion. After we climbed out, I ordered pizza, another cheat meal I indulged in infrequently during the season. I gave myself one month of freedom from food and the constant daily stress of workouts after our season ended. Usually, anyway. With playoffs lasting so long I might have to cut that back to two or three weeks. Regardless, I pushed it all to the side last night. I gorged on carbs and greasy cheese, opened a second bottle of wine, and once Gabby began hiding her yawns behind laughter and the backs of her hands, suggested we head to bed.
In all, it was mundane, typical conversations—outside planning on how to effectively lie to millions of people.
None of it forgotten. Hell, I remembered all of it with such precise clarity even thinking about it had my dick hardening.
I wanted my wife. She smelled like heaven. She was witty, capable of making me laugh after I’d spent years struggling to do the same. Conversations, whether it was life or hockey or family—outside her mom—came so easily, with her quick wit and sarcasm and teasing looks she tried to hide behind her attraction to me. I could spend a lifetime speaking and laughing with her and never grow bored. The moment I expected her to go easy on me, like I’d requested, she had no problem challenging me. Small things, but meaningful ones too.
“Why did you buy such a large house?” she’d asked. I’d answered. I needed open air and room. I spent so much time on the road, crammed into hotels and airplanes and buses, I wanted to come home to something that was warm and inviting and something that wouldn’t leave me crawling the walls before I hit the road again.
“What will you do after you retire, assuming you’re not forced out due to injury?” Hopefully by then I had kids to coach like my dad. She’d given me a soft smile I’d wanted to capture in a photo so I could look at it always. Was it my devotion to the sport and love of the game or the mention of kids? I hadn’t been brave enough to ask.