Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Athena, Two Months Later

"You know," I say as I watch my man shrug into a suit jacket that should be sin personified, "you never did tell me why you call me cupcake."

He grins as he straightens his tie. "No," I say, "I didn't."

I prop my hands beneath my chin, holding still as Cookie crawls up my back, nuzzling at my hair. "Meow," he croons, settling in for his mid-mid- mid afternoon nap.

"Are you going to?" I prompt when he doesn't go on.

His grin widens as he comes to the bed and puts on his shoes. "I wasn't planning on it."

I swat at him, disturbing Cookie, who gives me a baleful look before curling up against my side.

"Meow," he warns.

"Cam," I warn.

He leans down and kisses my temple. "You're beautiful," he says simply.

Those two words never fail to send my heart skittering and today is no exception. "Honey," I whisper.

"That's the truth"—he cups my jaw, slants his mouth over mine for a long, drugging kiss—" and the explanation."

He stands and starts gathering his stuff for the game, and I'm so in the haze of his pleasurable distraction that it takes me a minute to process his words. "What do you mean, it's the explanation?"

His lips twitch as he slings his messenger bag over his shoulder then holds his hand out. "I mean what I said."

I lace my fingers through his, let him draw me from the room.

And along the hall.

And down the stairs.

And…

Into the kitchen.

"Don't you have to go to the game?" I ask when he all but drags me to the fridge. Cam has a routine on game days and I know this isn't his snack time.

"Yup," he says, dropping my hand as he tugs open the door, reaches in, pulls out a small blue bakery box emblazoned with Molly's on the front, and sets it in my hands.

"Um…" I whisper.

He carefully opens the lid.

My heart catches—and my stomach growls—at the sight of the cupcakes we picked up earlier today. It's the first game of the season and the Eagles are playing at home.

I'm watching. Cam is going to kick ass.

And then we're going to celebrate by eating cupcakes and killing orcs.

"Aren't we saving these for later?" I ask quietly.

"We were," he says, reaching in and pulling out the cupcake I'd picked—a beautiful chocolate with vanilla buttercream concoction. A delicate swirl of frosting, glittering sprinkles, the barest touch of gold leaf.

It's gorgeous.

I couldn't take my eyes off it.

And Cam noticed—because of course he did—buying it and four others for us?—

"Hey!"

But he's already moving to the counter, snagging a plate, reaching for a knife.

"What are you?—?"

"You're beautiful," he says, pointing to the dessert. "Exquisite, just like these cupcakes from Molly's." His mouth turns up. "I remember the first time I saw one, it reminded me of you—stunning, untouchable, and yet I couldn't stop myself from taking it home and making it mine."

"Cam," I murmur, heart skipping a beat.

"But I couldn't see the whole picture just from looking at the outside. I was distracted by the beauty, the sparkles, the perfectly piped frosting." He lifts the knife and cuts carefully through the cupcake. "I was preoccupied by what I saw, baby. By what I thought I felt, and it wasn't until I was able to see beyond all of that?—"

He pulls the two sides apart and I gasp.

"—and glimpse the beauty inside, that I truly understood, that I truly saw."

My heart is pounding. "Honey," I whisper, eyes burning, tears gathering.

Because—

"You were always that cupcake, something beautiful I thought I knew, but?—"

He reaches into the layers of cake and filling and jam, and pulls out something that has my pulse skittering through my veins.

"—the inside is so much more awe-inspiring. You, baby. You're awe-inspiring and mine and I don't ever want to let you go. You're strong and capable and smart. Funny and sweet and mine. You're my protector, my partner, my future."

I'm crying now but can't seem to stop.

Not when I've never felt more loved, more seen.

More me.

"And so," he says, holding up the ring he extracted. "With all of that being said, my beautiful cupcake, the woman who owns my heart and soul, will you marry me?"

I move to him, tears dripping down my cheeks, love for this man filling me to bursting, and know that I'm the luckiest woman on the planet as I say,

"Only if you throw in the Sex Cave."

Because I'm me.

But he gets that.

So, his mouth curves.

And his arms band around me.

And he leans close to whisper in my ear,

"Done."

And it turns out that nobody cares all that much if you show up late to opening night…

Especially when you show off the big ass diamond on your ring finger.

And your brand new hot hockey hunk of a fiancé.

Hudson

I'm fucked I realize as I stare up at the tiny spitfire of a woman.

Who's lecturing me.

In a lilting voice that I can't help but get lost in the melody of.

"…and I really need you to take some time to focus on this new system," she saying, gesturing at an iPad. "I know it's new and it's tough to make these changes, but this will make it much easier for us to mobilize your speed and strength."

She pauses.

And I realize that I'm staring.

That I'm so caught up in the beauty of her, I haven't processed she's expecting an answer.

"Got it," I manage to rasp out.

She nods then rounds the desk and moves to the door of her office, pulling it open so I can see the hallway beyond.

Her office.

The new head coach of the Eagles, Diana Connors.

The first female head coach in the league.

And the object of my fantasies since she first showed up at training camp.

"I'll see you out on the ice," she says in that quiet, sure, melodic voice.

And…

I'm staring again.

Committing every freckle, every eyelash to memory.

Obsessed.

She clears her throat, brow furrowing. "Hudson?" she asks quietly. "Is everything okay?"

I nod. "Sorry," I mutter, shoving to my feet, and moving to the door, feeling like a fucking lumbering giant as I get close to her. "Just tired," I add by way of explanation. "I'll be good by practice though."

Her expression smooths. "Okay, Huddy," she says. "I'll let you get dressed."

That does something to me.

No, not something.

Her soft voice calling me my nickname wraps invisible fingers around my cock and strokes.

Stupid.

I bob my head at her and start to step into the hall.

"Huddy?"

I stop, glance over my shoulder.

She opens her mouth.

But I never do hear her question…

Because that moment, the world starts violently shaking.

Thank you for reading! I hope you loved Athena and Cam's love story as much as I enjoyed writing it! The next full-length book in the Eagles Hockey series is LUCKY LACES . I thought I had my whole life figured out…and then the world started shaking.

CLICK HERE TO READ LUCKY LACES NOW

And in the meantime, don't miss more Eagles hockey with the novella, LOADED LACES . Every wonder what happens when you're in the locker room and ask a sexy hockey player a loaded question? Well…I'm about to find out.

CLICK HERE TO READ LOADED LACES NOW

Want a sneak peek into Jean-Michel's book, BOTTLES AND BLADES . He's ruthless and goes after what he wants. And he's decided…That's me.

Read on below!

CLICK HERE TO READ BOTTLES AND BLADES NOW

Tiff

"Your total is $23.26," the cashier says, tapping on the register's keyboard, the computer screen above it changing as rapidly as her fingers move.

Clickity-click. Clickity-click. Clickity-click.

She pauses, glances up.

But not at me.

At the man she's currently checking out, the man just in front of me. The man who reacts after a brief moment, jerking as though jarred from his thoughts and reaching into his pocket.

He's wearing a pair of jeans stained with so much dirt that I pity his washing machine, and his tee isn't much better, filthy and sweat-covered, plastered against a broad, well-muscled chest.

His forearms and hands are stained with something dark.

Clearly coming from some sort of hard, physical work, and on a day like today, summer clinging to the edges of a sunny spring afternoon, I envy him.

Not that I don't love my job—I'm a nanny, and my charge is awesome, and I love that it gives me the freedom to pursue my degree.

But sometimes I wouldn't mind playing hooky and getting out on one of the many trails around us on this side of the Bay, all rolling green hills and old-growth oaks and spring wildflowers.

"Sir?"

I blink, realize that while I've been daydreaming about poppies and blue lupines, the man in front of me has been searching his pockets.

And coming up empty.

"Your total is $23.26," the cashier repeats, a little sharper now.

"Right," the man says, patting his pockets in turn. "Just give me a second. I know my wallet?—"

"If you can't pay, I'm going to have to ask you step aside and let the others behind you have their turn." Her tone is brusque and cold and?—

Filled with disdain.

It slices through me, even though it's not directed at me.

Because I've lived that life.

Because even today, I calculated my own spread on the conveyor belt, sitting behind the plastic divider, to a precise degree. I know that I have exactly the amount in my account to cover my food for the week.

Food and tuition. Medical debts and gas.

All of my expenses carefully worked out.

The man keeps searching. "I know I have?—"

Someone sighs behind me—a sharp irritated sound that zips through the air, stinging as it flies by me.

The man looks up, mid pocket-pat, and I almost gasp at the startling blue of his eyes.

They're as bright as the cloudless sky outside the store and filled with embarrassment that has my heart squeezing.

"If you'll just give me a moment," he murmurs, eyes narrowing as they drift behind me, presumably toward the impatient sigher and the line that's growing by the moment. "I have?—"

The cashier starts tapping on her keyboard again, this time angrily. "I'll have to cancel the transaction, sir."

It's the condescension in her tone that unsticks me.

I double tap the side of my cell, take a step toward the man with the dirt marring his strong chin, clinging to the salt and pepper beard on his jaw, his cheeks. I slip between his strong, obviously hardworking body and the payment kiosk, avoiding those bright blue eyes as I say, "I've got it."

That brilliant cerulean gaze comes to mine. "No, that's?—"

But I'm already waving my phone at the machine, and it doesn't so much as have to make contact to solve this problem.

Bleep-beep.

And it's done.

"There," I say softly, giving him a small smile. "Enjoy your meal."

His expression…

Well, I'm not sure I can discern the flurry of emotions—annoyance and surprise and embarrassment and…

Gratitude.

"Thank you," he says softly, snagging the sandwich, soda, and bag of chips from the counter.

"No worries," I reply, turning back to the cashier, taking the receipt she passes over.

He waits there for a moment, big body still, eyes on me, so I turn and hold it out to him.

"Did you need this?" I ask, careful to not get lost in his eyes, careful to not notice how handsome he is, all strong muscles and brutal features and those gorgeous blue irises.

"No," he says.

But doesn't move.

Just stares at me like I'm a puzzle to be solved.

And well…no puzzle here.

Just a woman who's barely holding her life together.

"Right, okay." I nibble at the corner of my mouth. "You have a good day."

Another hesitation from the big man next to me.

"You're all paid, sir," the cashier snaps as she starts scanning my items. "You can go now."

I see him stiffen out of the corner of my eye, but he doesn't snap back, and…he doesn't linger.

Just gives a slight nod and walks away.

Some part of me is disappointed.

The rest…is relieved.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep ? —

"Wait," I tell the cashier, as she reaches for the bottle of wine. It's a discount brand, but I'll have to do without it after that $23.26. "I'll pass on the wine," I say softly.

Her eyes come to mine and she rolls hers, silently setting it to the side before reaching for the next item.

A block of cheese.

"And that too," I murmur, doing some mental math. "And the bread," I add when she puts that aside, starts to scan.

More eye rolls, but my math proves to be on point because by the time she finishes scanning—minus the cheese and bread and wine—I have enough left in my account to cover everything else.

I click the button on the side of my phone.

Do another wave of my cell, hear that bleep-beep.

And ignore the surly cashier as I bag my items, gather up my receipt, and head out of the store.

I'm putting my bags into my trunk when I feel a presence behind me.

I close the lid, spin around, and?—

See the man from the store standing there, eyes flashing, body big and broad and giving more than a few Daddy vibes.

My heart skips a beat.

Warmth blooms in my belly.

Lower.

He's too old for me.

But my mind is running away with itself anyway.

"Can I help you—?" I begin.

"Come with me," he mutters.

Before I can protest, he wraps his fingers around my arm.

And drags me away from my car.