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"For her, I’d have gone against my own family. She comes first. Better get that into your thick skulls."
Finn and Caspian exchange glances, then Caspian holds out a hand. "You owe me."
Finn groans, then steps back, before pulling out a bill and stuffing it in Caspian’s outstretched palm. Instantly, Rick pulls me into him and tucks me under his arm.
Of course, I melt into his side. Tingles course up and down my body. That was…
"Arright—" Caspian holds up his other fist, and Finn bumps it. Caspian turns to Rick with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Keep this up, Rickster, and I’ll be singing all the way to the bank."
"Fuck the both of you. And why are you still here? Aren’t you late for practice?"
"So are you," Finn points out.
"Couldn’t miss the chance to get under your skin, and I have to say, it was disappointingly easy." Caspian laughs.
"I’m going to hand you your arses in practice." Rick’s voice is mild, but under my cheek, his heart is pumping so hard, he might as well be having a cardiac event.
I manage to lean my head back a little—because the man’s holding me so tightly, I can just about draw a breath. "You okay?"
"Why wouldn’t I be?" he asks without looking at me. "Out!" He glares at the two other men, then nods toward the door.
"We asked the bus to wait for us. You could thank us for that, by the way," Caspian murmurs.
"Also, we may have stretched the truth a bit. We have just enough time to get to the rink in time if you make it out in the next five minutes," Finn drawls.
"Get the fuck out you guys, or—"
"Bye Gio," Caspian calls out.
"That’s fucking Mac to you," Rick growls.
"Bye G—" Finn says in a sing-song voice.
Without releasing me, Rick reaches over, grabs a wooden ladle and lobs it at him. It misses Finn, who ducked, and is already at the door. His laughter reaches us as he heads toward the front door.
"Jesus, you’re in a violent mood," I scold him. "You could have hurt, Finn."
"Nah, I’m a crack shot." He looks into my eyes and it’s like I’m being struck by the intensity of his eyes for the first time. Those cerulean blues of his hold a world of pain and secrets, and am I ever going to get to know him enough to find out what’s playing out in his mind?
He holds my gaze for a few seconds more, then his own softens. He tucks a strand of errant hair behind my ear. "I wouldn’t have hit him unless I wanted to, which I did, but I wasn’t going to. Also, arshole’s too fast. He has to be, to be the goalie. His reflexes are still as sharp as when he played in the NHL. The bastard hasn’t lost any of his agility—"
"Unlike you?" I search his features.
He looks rested, but his cheekbones are more prominent than when I first met him.
"Oh, I’m fast, but Finn’s always been the slippery one on ice. He’s fast, flexible, and has very quick reaction times, not to mention, his hand-eye coordination is incomparable. If anything, he’s faster than when he played at the NHL."
"But the two of you never played together, am I right?’
"He joined the NHL after I left."
"Whydidyou leave?"
He blows out a breath. "Let’s park that discussion for now, shall we?"
"But you’ll tell me?" I persist.
"I will, I promise," his voice grows lower in tone, all rumbly and growly, and my pussy instantly dampens.
