Chapter 22

chapter 22

EMMALINE

He stumbles into my arms, babbling about how good I smell, reunions, Jolie, my brother isn’t his favorite, and a million other things like his mind is dumping every thought he’s had.

“How many drinks did you have?” I ask, knowing he shouldn’t be drinking with a concussion and the pain medication the Jets doctor gave him. I’ve been around the game long enough to know the players do their best to hide concussions from the medical and coaching staff. He holds up two fingers.

Holding in the giggle threatening in my throat, I continue to watch Bryce fumble around the hotel furniture. For someone with such incredible skills and balance on the ice, it’s ironic to see him struggle with simple movements. It’s a gentle reminder that even though he’s a top-tier athlete, he’s a regular person.

“Let’s get you in bed. ”

“Don’t say the B word. All I can think about is being with you, sucking your wet little nub between my lips.”

“What’s the B word?” I ask because I didn’t say bitch .

“Bed.” He chuckles.

Two hundred plus pounds of dead weight lays against my body as I slowly get him to his bedroom and roll him out of my arms and onto the bed.

Protesting, Bryce stammers, “No, I want to say good night to Jolie,” Bryce protests.

“She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.” I take off his shoes. “It’s been a long day.” I unbutton his dress shirt.

“Aww, you want me even though there’s no sparks.” He’s slurring his words. “There were sparks. So many sparks.”

Minutes later, I have him in his tight red boxer briefs, and his monster ridge is well defined. He tugs me, and my body ends up on top of his.

“Be honest, Rusti. Together, we’re an active volcano.”

“Bryce…”

But his lips are on mine before I can finish. It’s not hungry or desperate—it’s sweet, yet sexy. One large hand tangles in my hair, and the other wraps around the small of my back as he kisses me without tongue.

“I want you. I want you to sleep with me,” he says into my mouth. “I promise not to do anything that you don’t want me to.”

That’s the problem—there’s nothing I wouldn’t let him do.

Pushing up from him, I roll over onto my side. “If you’ll drink some water, I’ll sleep beside you. But no hanky-panky. Got it? ”

As I’m scooting off the mattress, he smiles with his eyes closed. “You’re missing out.”

“I know, big guy.” Believe me, I know. There’s no sense in talking to him about us when he’s presenting the symptoms of a concussion.

I grab two bottles of water from the mini fridge in the kitchenette and take it to bed. “Sit up and drink.” His abdomen muscles contract as he lifts. As he drinks, water droplets get caught in the smattering of light-brown chest hair. I find myself licking my lips.

Bryce Wynward isn’t an option anymore. I can’t screw my brother over, and tonight’s fight is a reminder. If that would have been Roman, instead of Reed, he’d be off the team. I can’t let Bryce be another man in my life who screws up Roman’s career.

His arm falls wide across the king-size bed. “Come on.”

When I get in, he snuggles me into his body. As I run my fingers through his chest hair, he delicately tugs at strands of my hair. Leaning in for a sweet kiss, I sigh in contentment. But as I look up, he’s already fast asleep, and I’m so comfortable in his arms, I don’t retreat to my own bed. I stay enveloped by his warm, strong arms.

Awakened by the flush of a toilet, I realize he’s not in the bed. The sheets beside me are cold, so he’s been up for a while. I turn over, burying my nose in his pillow, letting his musky cologne fill my senses.

A door creaks open, and I sit up. When he comes back, he says, “Just checking on Jolie.”

“How do you feel?” I ask as the bathroom light sheds shadows over his physique.

“Better.” One word—better. He’s back to being grumpy. His ass is on the edge of the bed, back to me and elbows on his knees. “She said Cannon’s name.”

I swivel my legs to the side with one hand on his shoulder. “What? When?”

“The night of our date.”

The pads of my fingers run over his back. “Bryce, look at me.” He glances over his shoulder, and I pull on the same shoulder, so he shifts to me. “That’s completely normal. Children don’t see other children as a threat.”

“I’m not a threat. I’m her dad.”

It pains me to see the defeat in his physique and in his eyes, feeling like a stranger to his own daughter. This man is the very definition of confident.

And sexy.

Did I mention sexy?

“It’s a huge step in the right direction. Cannon doesn’t expect anything from her. You know how it hurt you when I told Roman that there were no sparks between me and my date.”

His head hangs into his chest as he nods.

“Well, that ticked you off because it wasn’t what you expected. You thought I would say it was wonderful, hot, and fun. But… I didn’t want Roman to know. Cannon doesn’t put any pressure on her, so she said his name.”

“It was hot and fun.” A puff of hair escapes between his perfect plum lips. “So, I’m pressuring you.”

“I was covering for us to Roman. It was never my intention of hurting your feelings. Besides, I wouldn’t describe it as sparks–they were nuclear explosions. But do you understand about Jolie? She sees in your eyes how much you want her to talk, hears it in your strained voice, and feels it in her heart. But Bryce, she loves you, or she wouldn’t have wanted one of your jerseys. All I did was show her and say, ‘Look, this one is just like your daddy’s.’ And she smiled and jumped up and down in her new shoes.”

An earth-shaking smile takes over his face and softens his square model-like jaw. “She did?”

“She was so excited. You know her expressions now, so just don’t plead with her to speak. I think she needs a playdate with you. When we get home, can you take her to the park or to one of those trampoline places?”

“Trampolines are banned from my contract.”

“Seriously?” I ask.

“Brooke did say something about a hayride in the burbs. It may be close to your house.”

“She’d love that. Just the two of you.”

His eyes fall. “She’ll want you there.”

“Take her Sunday when we get back. I have a list a mile long of house projects. Then on Monday, I’ll come over, and you two can tell me all about it. Now, let’s go back to sleep.”

I pull him down on the bed, and he pulls my back into his chest. “What would we do without you?” Bryce asks rhetorically. And with every breath he ghosts over my skin, the further I fall into a deep sleep.

The next time I wake up, it’s because Jolie is jumping on the bed, giggling. I pop up and out of Bryce’s embrace.

“Hey, sweetheart, where’s your bear?” he asks.

At first, Jolie’s eyes widen, but then she keeps jumping between us in her gown and hair strewn all over the place. Bryce grabs her around the waist, and she squeals in delight. He pops up and flies her like an airplane all over the penthouse. He keeps saying, “Wee” when she’s high and “Shew” when he dips her low.

“Take it easy,” I say, knowing he has a concussion. “You don’t want to get dizzy.”

He pulls her little body on his chest, and they’re eye to eye. What he says next is etched into my heart forever.

“Jolie, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anybody. And I know you love me too. And if you never speak to me, it’s okay.” He squeezes her and drops a kiss on her cheek.

Fumbling to find my phone on the bedside table, I finally snap some photos as she kisses him back on the cheek and a few more as his expression grows. His eyes are shut tightly with a grin you could see from space.

The doorbell to the suite rings. Bryce pulls on a tight gold V-neck shirt and answers the door. The waiter rolls in two carts and sets up breakfast in the dining area. As he takes off the silver domes, he asks Jolie, “Do you love pancakes or crepes?”

She points to the pancakes.

“Good choice. They’re delicious. There’s fresh fruit to top it off,” I offer my two cents on the subject.

He asks Jolie, “Do you know how to make a pancake funny face?”

She shakes her head no, but this is exactly what I meant last night. Bryce listened and instinctively adjusted to the role of father—perfectly.

“Make eyes, nose, mouth, and ears out of whatever else is on the table. It just has to be edible.”

She scrunches up her forehead, and he corrects himself in kid speak. “You have to be able to eat whatever you put on the pancake. I’ll race you and see who can make the funniest pancake face first. Emmaline, can you time us?”

“Sure.” I take my phone and turn on the stopwatch. “Ready, go.”

Jolie grabs the bacon, placing it at the bottom, strawberry for the nose, eggs for the hair. She looks around, squirreling her mouth until she decides on blueberries. One by one, she makes a circle of blue for the eyes, studying her dad the whole time. Orange slices for the ears. Then, she puts syrup under the mouth and up to the ears. She lifts her arms in victory.

“Are you already done?” Bryce asks. She grins and points to him. “Is this me?” She rewards him with an excited head bob. “Wow, I think you’re going to be an artist. You know we have the same blue eyes.”

Two blinks.

“We have the same color hair.”

Two blinks.

“But these ears… they’re not mine. They’re too big to be my ears. These are Emmaline’s ears,” he jokes, and the belly laugh that comes from them gnaws at my core.

My ovaries are bursting open as Jolie leans over and crawls in Bryce’s lap.

I want to be with Bryce, but I can’t ruin Roman’s career.

Maybe if I ease Roman into it, he won’t go off.

Jolie eats while sitting in her dad’s lap and when she’s finished Bryce kisses her again. “Sticky kisses.” She touches her little hand to her cheek, then looks at her hand. “Okay, sweetheart, it’s time to take a bath. Daddy needs to take a shower before my game. Emmaline will run your water.”

The smile I give him must look like a cartoon cat when he’s about to steal the cheese. God, I’m sinking—deep. Under the spell of Bryce Wynward.

We go into the bathroom on the other side of the penthouse near mine and Jolie’s rooms. Making sure the temperature is just right before Jolie gets in, I let her play with her little Paw Patrol action figures while I hear Bryce’s shower running.

When she’s clean and dressed, she grabs her tablet and lies on her bed while I get my stuff together. I come out with wet hair covered with a deep purple robe.

“Our bathroom is missing the hair dryer. Do you have one in here?” I ask Bryce.

“Yeah,” he scratches out. His gaze is hooked on me.

He takes it out of the velvet bag and plugs it in. He’s staring at me or the reflection of me.

“I’ve tried to replace you since I was a rookie. It never worked.” He fondles my wet hair. “I searched out redheads, hoping it would be you when they spun around. Every other redhead made me sick to my stomach, so I stuck with fake blondes with eyelashes too long for their face. I’m not pressuring you, but I know what I want. What I’ve wanted for the past eight years—you.”

“Bryce, if Roman finds out we’re dating, he’ll go crazy and end up starting a fight with you. Then his career will be over. I can’t do that to him. Not after Penelope and Grant.”

“You’re not giving him much credit. I’m sure he wants you to be happy.”

He leans down and kisses under my ear. I close my eyes, relishing his lips on my skin, the understated cologne he’s wearing, and his hands holding me in place.