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"Good to know. I'll make sure to tell him that if he calls." Noah leans over the counter, his eyes locking on mine. "But I'll still be here when you get off."
Dear God, my brother sent a madman to babysit me.
Chapter Two
Noah
Nash Whatley is an asshole beneath his nice guy exterior. He pretends he's a friend, but in actuality, he's a secret keeping, sister hiding bastard.
How did I not know his little sister was a goddess? Better yet, why didn't he warn me that I was about to walk right into my future?
Because he's an asshole, that's why.
As soon as I make it back to my truck, I send him a text telling him as much.
Me: You're an asshole.
I barely manage to start the truck before my phone rings.
"What did she do?" His growl echoes through the speakers.
"Hello to you, too." I smile, not surprised by his lack of greeting. Nash has no chill and no time to waste. He's been the same way for as long as I've known him. No one was surprised when he got called up to the NHL to take my place when their original replacement couldn't hack it. He's a beast with an iron will.
"What'd she do?" he repeats.
"It's what you did, fucker," I peer through the windshield at the coffee shop, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. She's fucking gorgeous. It's really no wonder he keeps her hidden when she looks like she does. Her auburn hair and green eyes are killer, especially paired with those dimples and her wicked curves. "You failed to tell me that she's pissed."
"I may have forgotten to mention that part," he mutters wearily. "I'm guessing she gave you nine kinds of hell?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle." I give up trying to see her through the tinted windows of the shop and put the truck in gear, pulling out onto the street. If I don't get my ass in gear, I'll be late to practice. "She seems to think you sent me to spy on her."
He doesn't say anything.
Well, shit.
"Fucking A, Nash," I groan. "Are you trying to piss her off and get me shivved?"
"She won't shiv you." He doesn't sound too certain about that.
"You asked me to look out for her, which I'm happy to do. But I draw the line at playing spy, man." There's no fucking way I'm reporting back to him. She's grown. If he wants to be in her business, that's his deal, not mine.
I need her to like me, not want to kill me on sight. Especially since she's going to have my babies and shit. We can't do that if she doesn't even like me, now can we? No, no, we can't.
Note to self: stop doing favors for people. It's how you wake up in Mexico with Get Pucked tattooed on your ass cheek.
That's exactly what happened last time I did our goalie, Atlas Jacks, a favor.
"I'm not asking you to spy on her," he finally says. "I just want to make sure she's all right." He blows out a breath. "She's up to something. She's been secretive as fuck lately."
"I've been in town five minutes." More like six weeks, but whatever. The point is, I haven't been here long enough to make enemies of the barista at the best coffee shop on the way to the arena. Especially the barista I'd like to fuck into next week. "Have you asked her what she's up to?"
"No. She won't tell me."
"How do you know if you haven't asked?"
"Do you have sisters?"
"Uh, fuck no." Thank God for small mercies. His sister is already giving me stress. I doubt sisters of my own would be any more cooperative.
