26. Twenty Six - Rebel

twenty six - rebel

. . .

He shows me to the master bedroom before excusing himself, mentioning something about going to get some water.

To be honest, I wasn't really paying attention because I'm too enraptured by the room in front of me to think about anything else.

I love crazy interior designs, but minimalistic is the last thing I think of when I see his room. I expected things to be elaborate and boisterous like Tate. Something bold, something daring. Instead, I find big windows leading to the outside world, but a room with cozy vibes.

I find a room molded by the real Tate, shaped by the very workings on his mind. It's a look into the guy behind the star hockey goalie.

The potent scent of alpha and white chocolate tickles my senses and envelopes me as I move closer to the middle of the room. My focus is drawn to the pillowed bed, propped against the wall opposite from the door to his room. It's decorated in deep shades of blue and gray, a dark contrast to the light tan walls surrounding it.

Erotic photographs paint the walls with images that arouse the mind. A part of me wants to be jealous and demand to know who these body parts belong to, but a part of me doesn't want to know.

My eyes travel upward, noticing the lights that tingle and dangle from the high ceilings above me. A desk sits in the corner of the room, stacked high with papers, each sorted into separate piles. My curiosity peaked, I start heading towards the desk but get instantly distracted by the bookshelf residing beside it. Hiding yet another side of Tate I've yet to see. He has some of the greats sitting on those shelves; Hemingway, Dickinson, Fitzgerald.

The covers look like special editions or maybe first editions. Regardless, I don't dare touch them and mess anything up. Beside the greats, I see many, many books dedicated to the game of hockey. It's weird. I never saw Tate as a guy who reads to further his knowledge. He's always come across as a cocky know-it-all, but I guess that's not true, either.

I've seen a different side to him lately. Yes, he's overbearing at times, acting before thinking, but he's also kind and gentle when the time calls for it.

A knock on the door behind me calls my attention, and I turn, finding Tate leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, observing me with that cocky, sexy smirk tilting his lips to the sky.

"You really need to work on sneaking up on people."

"Who says I was trying to sneak?" he says with one perfectly shaped eyebrow lifted.

Waving my hand around, I smile over my shoulder at him. "This is not what I expected your room to look like."

He swaggers over to me, leaning down to place a sweet kiss to my bare shoulder. "And what did you expect?"

I shrug. "Something more, lots more, to be honest. I figured you'd have the biggest and best of everything, but it's so…" I can't find the right words to say, but he helps me out.

"Not me?"

I cringe, but nod. "Yeah."

"I never spent a ton of time here when I was single. Most of the time, I'm on the ice playing or I'm practicing or I'm hanging out with the guys. I only ever needed a place to rest my head at night. But… we can change whatever you want to in here."

"But it's your…"

A low growl slips out. "If you start to say this isn't your home one more time, I swear, I'll bend you over my knee right now and spank the truth into you."

"Okay."

He raises a defiant eyebrow. "Okay?"

I smile. "Okay."

"Okay, then."

"Can we stop saying okay now, it's just weird."

He smirks. "You got it."

I open my mouth to speak, but another yawn slips out in its place.

"All right, let's get you to bed." He walks over to his dresser and pulls out a spare shirt. I want to smile and act giddy that I'm finally getting to wear his shirt, but I won't be that vulnerable, not yet. "Bathrooms through there if you want to shower first, get all those leaves out of your hair."

My hands immediately lift to my head as embarrassment heats my face.

"Tate," I groan.

"What? You looking like a fierce forest warrior is really doing things for me right now." He grabs his junk, and I can't help but laugh. And there's my cocky hockey player again.

He hands me the shirt. "Get going. You look at me like that any longer, and I'll be joining you in the shower. So I suggest you go."

I don't take another second to think about it. I simply grab the offered shirt and head to the bathroom. His large palm smacks against my ass as I walk past, the sound reverberating through the large space, and I can't help but shake it, not turning around. A moan follows me into the bathroom, and I giggle at the effect I have on this huge alpha.