Page 97 of Let Me Love You
“I think you’re an amazing mom to Jax.” He lifts his head from the pillow, kissing my cheek. His mouth slides down, and he nibbles my jaw playfully. “And I think you’re gonna be an amazing mom to the rest of our kids too.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. Wanna know what else I think?” he repeats.
“What?”
“I think we should try. Right here. Right now. To make a baby.”
Warmth seeps into every corner of my soul as I bite my bottom lip, attempting to keep my emotions in check. “Oh, you do?”
“Mm-hmm.” His hand slides down my waist, toying with the waistband of the boxers I’d stolen from him.
“You do know I’m on the pill, right?”
“All right,” he pushes me onto my back and rolls on top of me. His grasp is tight around my wrists as he shoves them above my head, pinning me in place. “We’ll call this one a practice round.” Then he leans forward and kisses the shit out of me, leaving me a squirming mess beneath him.
And damn, it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt.
36
ASHLYN
It’s the first preseason game, and the Lions killed it.
After the press conference, the players lined up in a giant room and are now taking photos with fans, signing posters, and smiling for the cameras currently lighting up the place.
After saying goodbye to Becca, Colt’s mom, Blake and I found a quiet spot in the back of the room and are hiding out, waiting for the guys to finish so we can go home and celebrate their first win, even if it doesn’t officially count. Jaxon’s with Eleanor tonight. Which is good. He’d probably hate all the noise. I promised Colt I’d bring him to the next home game so Jaxon can watch his daddy on the ice.
Thankfully, Eleanor didn’t bat an eye when I suggested it and even admitted she has a date with her doorman, so it works out.
Things have been going smoothly since our talk, and we’ve even found a routine that works for all of us. Colt’s an amazing father, and I’ve never been more proud to call him mine. I catch myself staring at him from across the room, chatting with a ten-year-old in a Lions jersey.
Seriously. There’s something sexy about seeing your man in a room full of people, each of them vying for his attention while knowing you’re the one who owns it.
It helps to have his name stamped across the jersey I’m wearing and his number painted on my cheek. Blake convinced me to try it out, and I’m not gonna lie. I don’t hate face paint. I’m also not hating the death looks from the puck bunnies like I normally do.
I dunno. Maybe it’s because we’ve already been through the wringer this year, but if anything, the target on my back is growing on me, and I can handle it. The heat. The angry looks. The hushed voices anytime I walk by. Because they’re jealous. And honestly? I can’t blame them. I’d be jealous, too, if I couldn’t claim Colt as my own.
Kate and Macklin left after the game, and Mia’s around here somewhere. I search the room for her but return my attention to Colt when I don’t spot her anywhere. His hair is still damp from the shower, but the little boy he’d been talking to is missing, replaced with a leggy blonde in a tiny mini skirt and a crop top. She must be freezing, though it doesn’t look like she’s complaining. Nope. She’s too busy groping Colt’s bicep.
My muscles tense as I watch Colt’s nostrils flare. He says something to her, but it’s too loud in the room to hear him. He’s smiling at her, but it’s fake. I can see it in his eyes and the tightness in his muscles. The way he’s throttling the sharpie in his hand as he scrawls his name onto the poster with a picture of the team printed across the front of it.
I stand up slowly and walk closer, catching his mouth moving as I make out the words,stop touching me. His stern look is glued to her hand on his bicep, but she only laughs, the sound tinkling through the air as I head toward them.
“Careful!” Blake calls, and I toss her a quick smile over my shoulder as I make my way through the sea of people.
“I have a girlfriend,” Colt informs her. He hasn’t seen me yet. He’s too distracted by the handsy fan in front of him. While his smile is still present, his jaw tics as he waits for her to let him go. Besides, the smile isn’t for her. It’s for the cameras. He can’t make another scene. Not after the SeaBird incident. And I have a feeling the girl knows it.
“Oh, come on,” the bunny pleads, her tone syrupy sweet. “Your girlfriend knows she’s dating a hockey player.” She lets go of his bicep and drags her hands along the lapel of his suit, making me see red as she takes the poster from his fisted hand. “Enjoying your options is part of the appeal of being a player, isn’t it?”
Colt looks pissed, but he doesn’t jerk away. He steps back, giving himself some room as cameras flash around him and the rest of the team. The girl’s clueless. Or determined. I can’t decide which. But it doesn't matter. She’s like all the rest of them. Attention whores who feel like they can paw at Colt Thorne because they know if he pushes them away, he’ll be eaten alive by the media. Again. If he was a woman, and a man was touching her when she didn’t want him to, the person would be ripped apart. Instead, people are laughing. Taking photos and posing for pictures with the other teammates like she isn’t crossing a line right in front of them. My nose wrinkles as I watch the interaction, waiting for someone to intervene. But no one does.
Seriously. Sometimes the double standard is mind-boggling.
I close the last few feet between us, keeping my pace steady and controlled in hopes of not showing the paparazzi exactly how much I’m fuming.
When Colt’s within reach, I loop my arm through his and interrupt, “Excuse me.”