Page 70 of Worth the Risk
“I believe I said favorite mom, not favorite girl.”
“Ahh. Touché, my sweet boy. Go have lunch with your favorite girl, then,” Mom says with a wink.
Turning to Hannah, I grab her hand and bring it to my lips. “What do you say? May I have lunch with my favorite girl?”
Hannah absolutely beams. “As long as you tell me what cocco means.”
“Our parents have Italian nicknames for all of us. They’ve called me Cocco for as long as I can remember. It means sweetie. Although just a few minutes ago she also called me a sweet stupid boy, so she likes to add terms of endearment in English too.”
“I’ll try to refrain from referring to you as a sweet and stupid boy,” Hannah giggles.
“I will allow it if you change ‘boy’ to ‘man.’ Actually, as long as you say I’m your man, I don’t care what you call me,” I tell her as I slide an arm around her and pull her against me.
“Mine?” she whispers.
“Yours.”
“Are you sure you’re willing to take this risk right now? We can hold off, wait until the season ends or something,” Hannah murmurs. After retrieving all of the files from the floor, I quickly kiss her lips.
“I told you a while ago that you were worth the risk, Hannah. And I have never been more certain about anything in my life. The only regret I’ll have right now is if I don’t take the risk with you.”
“Then let’s get some lunch so you can get back into town for your game,” Hannah says with a smile.
As we walk toward the dining room, I stop. “Hey, Han?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I spend the night again tonight?” I ask her tentatively.
“I’d love to have a Luca sleepover again,” she responds with a light giggle.
Music to my ears.
Hannah
“You piece of shit!” I shout at the television. “You miserable son of a bitch!”
Claire laughs from the couch as I pace the length of the room. Luca has been on the bench all night, the team is down by six goals, and Woodward has the audacity to look pleased with the entire debacle.
“I don’t really understand hockey, but why are we yelling right now?” Claire asks as she flips through a magazine nonchalantly.
“Because that asshole thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow!”
“I’m sorry … what now?”
“Huh?”
“Hannah. I don’t speak Southern. What the hell did you just say?”
“What? Oh. Essentially I said Coach Woodward is a cocky jerk who thinks he knows everything.”
“Ahh. He does look like he’s peacocking quite a bit. What do you think he’s saying to Luca?” she asks, and I narrow my gaze as I attempt to read his lips. While I don’t know exactly what he’s saying, I can gauge Luca’s reaction to know it wasn’t anything good.
I’m also not surprised when Luca somehow stands as he’s finally called to go on the ice, and his stick whips out to hook Woodward’s knee, sending Woodward to a heap on the floor. Claire gasps, but I cackle. Asshole had it coming.
“Is Luca going to get in trouble for that?” Claire asks, her mouth agape in shock.
“I don’t know. But seeing the look of satisfaction on his face, I don’t think he cares much,” I shrug. Luca has been on one hell of a tear since Boston. I think he’s had more penalty minutes than regular playing minutes.