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For a four-way.
I groaned and threw myself back down, staring woefully at the ceiling.
I could lose everything over one night of poor judgment. And sure, it was the hottest night of my life so far. But if I had to leave my job, the repercussions would ripple through the rest of my world with devastating effects.
I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it was no use. I felt tears welling behind my eyes. With perfect timing, as usual, Jamie snorted awake and looked over at me.
“Hey,” he said in a voice clogged with sleep. He reached for me, and I let him pull me against his chest. I needed his comfort now more than ever. That old familiar self-doubt was rearing its head.
I was ridiculous and naive to think I could make this work. The one time in my life that I let my hair down and tried to live a little, I’d ruined everything What was wrong with me, that this was my version of living it up?
Jamie didn’t ask any questions, he just held me and rubbed my back in soothing little circles until I got myself under control. I took a deep breath and heaved a shuddering sigh.
“I guess Thacker took off,” I said when I could speak without sniffling. Jamie was quiet. “I fucked everything up.” I was whispering now because I could barely stand to say the words out loud. I’d been so confident, so fearless, twelve hours ago when I left the gala with all three men. Drunk on the foolish confidence that came with being treated like a sex goddess by your two gorgeous, obsessed boyfriends.
“We were all consenting adults last night, Hope,” Jamie said. I felt Rowan shift behind me and knew he was starting to wake up as well. I shook my head.
“I just don’t know—”
But before I could say anything else, I smelled it. Bacon frying. And was that sweet batter, browned butter? I sat bolt upright, eyes wide, and then I scrambled to the foot of the bed and ran into the kitchen, naked as the day I was born.
Thacker was standing at the stove, hair rumpled, back in his chef pants from the night before, and his white undershirt that clung to every ripple of muscle in his back. He glanced at me over his shoulder, looking like a boy caught misbehaving. He turned around, grabbing the rag that was draped over his shoulder and using it to dry his hands.
“Sorry, I woke up early and—”
I didn’t hear the rest. I was running, fresh tears streaming from the corners of my eyes as I jumped into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist. He caught me with a grunt.
“Hope, what’s wrong?” he asked. I didn’t answer him. I just kissed him. I hadn’t brushed my teeth, so I kept my lips closed, but the kiss still reverberated through my entire body.
Thacker spun around and sat me on the edge of the counter, a reenactment of the night before. He ran his fingers through my hair, tilting my face back, making me look at him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said in a soft, rough voice. His eyes were glimmering, too. “If you want me to leave, you’ll have to throw me out. Because I never want to be somewhere you’re not. Never again. Do you understand?” We were both crying hot, silent tears when his lips met mine again.
84.
Hope
I practically skipped into the Ice Hawks arena the next day. I was there to meet with Rowan for some “official business.” He wanted me to help him design an off-season meal plan for the guys to take home and do their best to follow until he had them back under his thumb for pre-season training in September.
“Good morning, princess,” Rowan said, looking up from his desk and flashing me that charming smile that made my heart skip a beat. I gave him a shy smile back as a swarm of butterflies exploded in my stomach. That was when I realized that Rowan and I hadn’t spent much time alone together. Somehow, even though we were in love with each other and we’d done all manner of unspeakable things together, being alone with our clothes on felt brand new.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
“I brought some meal plan mock-ups,” I said, dropping the folder on his desk. He picked it up and flipped through it.
“This looks simple enough,” he said as he read over a weekly log I’d prepared as an example.
“A toddler could make most of this stuff,” I said with a laugh. “And the food is tasty but deceptively nutritious. They’ll be getting the calories they need as well as the right balance of macros as long as they follow this plan. With exceptions for special occasions, celebrations, off days.”
Rowan was nodding along.
“If this works, it will be a godsend. Every year, training camp ends up being about running the extra weight off the players so they can get back into fighting shape. I’ve seen it my whole career. We’ll be way ahead of the game if we can jump right into fundamentals at the end of the summer. I’m going to offer personal training sessions as well, but I’ll be shocked if anyone shows up for that. Hopefully, their guilt will make them at least follow the meal plan.”
I watched him with a smile. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he scanned the contents of the folder. He looked dapper in his blue polo and crisp khaki slacks, but he looked even better on game days in his sharp designer suits, left over from his days in the show.
He caught me watching him and tossed the folder aside.
“Excellent work. I’ll have Branson cut you a check for the consultation.”
