Page 6 of My One & Goalie
I slide over so Rachel can get to the backseat. She leans in and I can’t help but notice how perfect her ass is, nice and round.
“Coach, you have any kids?” Jett asks, pulling at my pants.
“Me? No. Definitely not.”
“How come?” Jett squints up at me with bright blue eyes.
“I play hockey. Doesn’t leave a lot of time to have a family.”
“Huh. How come you’re here now?” he asks, shuffling his feet.
“Like Coach Jackson said, I’m taking a little break. But I’ll be going back.”
“Oh. Why did you need a break?”
“Jett, stop asking Coach Kovac a million questions,” Rachel says, scooting out from the backseat. “Climb in and let’s get going. We’ve already held him up long enough.”
“It’s fine. I’m not in a rush.” I run my fingers through my hair to keep my hands busy. My fingertips itch to reach out and trace her cheek, my thumb gliding over the seam of her lips. But I’m definitely not in a position to do that right now, not with her kid clambering into the back of the car.
Rachel leans in and secures Jett’s seatbelt, then I slide the seat back and offer her my hand. She rests her palm in mine, and my heart pounds way harder than it should.
What the fuck, Kovac. It’s a hand.
But the way her eyes dance over my face, the tip of her tongue darting out to lick at her lower lip, has me all twisted up inside. Blood roars through me, every muscle tight and ready for action.
“Thanks.” Rachel gazes up at me as she tucks her legs inside.
“Sure. No problem.”
I close the door behind her and hustle around to the driver’s side, wondering how I can prolong the ride home.
CHAPTER 4
RACHEL
Ican’t believe my car died. Another expense I can’t afford.
Staring out the window, the streetlights streak by as I silently add up each cost from today. Skates, hockey club membership fees, equipment, a freaking new battery for the ancient SUV. Plus labor.
Shit. I really am going to have to get a second job. Maybe downsize to an even smaller apartment, which seems physically impossible. We’re already crammed into the two-bedroom we have right now and Jett’s only getting bigger.
“Keep going straight?” Xander glances over at me.
I nod, twisting the thin stack of rings on my index finger round and round. My insides jitter, and it’s not just from the anxiety of the broken-down car situation. The man next to me is wickedly handsome, his presence large and intimidating in the enclosed space of his Porsche.
Everything about him screams masculine energy—the sharp lines of his jaw, dark stubble peppering his face, the slight crook in his nose, no doubt sustained during a fight on the ice. The scent of leather mixes with his crisp, clean cologne, winding around me, and I’m intoxicated with him.
A total stranger.
A hot-as-sin professional hockey player, but still a stranger.
What am I thinking, accepting a ride?
My other option was sitting in a dark parking lot and waiting for Charles the asshole to show up.
This choice somehow feels safer.
“Mommy, I’m hungry,” Jett whines from the backseat and I grimace, remembering my plan to stop at the store on the way home to grab dinner.