11. Hudson

HUDSON

“Again,” I say.

“I’m never gonna get this shit,” Wren mutters.

I skate a circle to face him and point my stick at him. “Hey, language. Lose the attitude. Listen, you’re never gonna get the shit if you don’t keep practicing.”

“We’ve been at it for hours, and I haven’t made progress,” he says.

“Just because you can’t see the progress doesn’t mean there isn’t any. Now, again.”

I’m tough on him, but that’s because I fucking believe in him, and I just need the kid to believe in himself. I look at him and see more than just a fourteen-year-old kid. I see potential, and the only way to progress his potential is to keep at it. Over and over until he gets it.

I’ve only known the kid a short amount of time, but I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for him. Out of all the kids on my team, he’s the one that I’ve bonded with the most. Maybe because we’re both strong-willed and hotheaded, or maybe because I see so much of myself in him. Hence the reason why I’ve been practicing one-on-one with him for hours at least once a week.

Both Reed and Briggs are spending the week on vacation with their families before we head off to training camp, and Asher is tied up with his girl, so I’ve been giving all my extra time to Wren and this damn puck.

I slap the puck to him and watch as he drops, and the puck sails straight past his leg into the net.

He groans, tossing his stick down. “Fuck.”

“Language.”

I skate over to the net, using the bottom of my sweatshirt to wipe the sweat from my brow.

“Alright, your drop was good. Even. Quick. Here’s the problem. When you scoop your glove like that, you’re leaving too many holes for the puck to fly through. That’s what you’ve got to keep working at. Being a goalie isn’t just about blocking a puck. It’s about focus. You’ve got to mentally prepare for every time you step out onto that ice. When you’re only reacting to the game in front of you, then it’s impossible to be consistent. Your job is to envision every damn scenario that you can think of and how you’re going to keep that puck out of the net. It’s mental as much as it is physical.”

Wren nods, but I can see the disappointment in his eyes. I remember that feeling, and to this day, I fucking hate it.

“You’re good, Wren, but if you’d listen to what the hell I’m saying—” I tap my stick against his helmet and give him a wry grin. “—and practice until you feel like you’re gonna puke, you’ll be great. The kind of goalie they talk about years from now.”

“Thanks, Coach Hudson.”

“It’s nothing. We’ll get it. Me and you. I gotta get out of here—I have some stuff to do tonight. Your stepdad coming to get you today?”

Pulling the helmet off, he nods. “Yeah, he, uh, should be here soon.”

He reminds me of myself growing up. Sometimes, I’d be the last kid at practice because my parents were working late.

I didn’t grow up rich. My parents are blue-collar; my father worked in the electrical plant, and my mom’s a kindergarten teacher. Sometimes money was tight, and I’d have to reuse skates some years or miss out on a training camp because my parents couldn’t afford it. It’s why for my entire career, even more so than some, I’ve never taken for granted what hockey has done for me. I paid off my parents’ mortgage and bought my little sister a new car when she graduated from college. It was shit that I could’ve never imagined growing up, and it means everything to me.

It’s part of the reason why I’m here, coaching my team. I want to give back however I can. It’s also why I donate a huge chunk of my salary to organizations that support underprivileged youth. To schools.

And because I’ve been on both sides of the coin, I can see the fire in Wren’s eyes and see that just because he has whatever problems at home, it doesn’t mean he can’t be successful.

I’ve noticed that he’s always the last kid at practice, and when I asked him about it, he just said that his stepdad is on the way. Except he’s been over an hour late before, and it worries me that something else is going on at home that Wren isn’t telling me. Last year, his mother passed away from cancer.

Shit that I can’t imagine a kid at his age having to go through, and now his stepdad has custody of him.

I’m worrying because I’ve grown closer to him, and it’s hard not to be attached.

“Practice Tuesday?” I ask, tossing my stick down onto the bench next to my water bottle, which I scoop up.

“Yeah, I can see if I can get a ride. I could always take the bus.”

I pause bringing the water to my mouth. “Hell no. If you need a ride, call me.”

“Okay.”

“Rookies are headed to training camp Monday, and vets will follow the next Monday, so I won’t be here that week to coach, but I left Erin in charge, and he’s going to slap you shots.”

He eyes me with a smug grin. “You know, if you keep working with me one-on-one, people will think I’m your favorite.”

“I don’t have favorites. I told you that. I just… I think you need the practice.”

“Mhmmm.” He heads toward the locker room. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself. I mean, I’d be my favorite, too, if I was the coach. I’m the shit.”

That little shit. He starts to disappear into the locker room door, and I call, “Language!”

These kids are going to give me gray damn hair.

After grabbing my stuff, I check my phone and see that there’s a message from Caroline. She left early to study, and we agreed for me to pick her up tonight. Which is a good thing because lord fucking knows that if she were here, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate for shit, and Wren needed that today.

Caroline: How do you feel about biology?

Hudson: If it involves your body, then…

Caroline: Ha ha. Big test Monday. May need a rain check…

Oh, fuck no. She’s not getting out of this.

Hudson: If that’s your way of trying to cancel on me, try again. I want to see you.

Bring your textbook and I’ll help you… study.

Caroline: Something tells me your version of “studying” does not involve a textbook.

Hudson: Maybe not, but it definitely involves a lesson.

Caroline: As long as it counts toward my grade. *winky face*

Fuck.

Once I get home, I spend the rest of the day picking up my house and attempting to figure out how to cook. Turns out most people can’t learn how to do that in less than three hours. But I’m an overachiever, and maybe there’s a little part of me that wants to impress Caroline with a meal that I cooked.

I had to call my sister, and now she’s currently giving me ten versions of the third degree to find out why I’m taking a sudden interest in cooking.

“You can lie all you want and say that you’re meal prepping, but I know you have a date. Why else would you want to make spaghetti? That is not something you would eat, Hudson. You spend like twenty hours a week in the gym,” Hailey says.

“That’s a ridiculous exaggeration, and you know it. Plus… I like Italian food. I love that place up the road with the meatballs.”

She laughs. “Exactly. Takeout. Whatever, we’re discussing this more at family dinner Sunday. You will be there, right?”

To sit through an hour of interrogation from her and mom?

Can’t wait.

Thankfully, she drops the questions and guides me through making my mom’s homemade sauce, which I do actually happen to fucking love, even if I try to eat clean during the season.

There’s no way I can keep my body lean if I’m shoveling spaghetti and garlic bread into my mouth on the daily.

I leave the sauce on the stove on low when I leave to pick her up, thankful as fuck I didn’t have to fight her on not taking the damn Uber.

When I pull down sorority row, I see the house she lives at lit the fuck up all the way down the street. Apparently, there’s a party. Cars line the entire street, causing me to have to park down the road. I send her a quick text, and a few minutes later, she appears, opening the passenger door with a sweet smile.

Fuck, she’s so damn pretty.

She’s got her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, with a pair of black square frames on her face, her bag thrown over her shoulder. She’s got on a white tank top that’s tucked into the front of a pair of blue jean shorts and a thin pink cardigan over her shoulders.

She looks cute as fuck, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never been attracted to cute in my life, until I met her.

“Hey,” she breathes, sliding into the seat and shutting the door behind her.

I take her bag and put it into the back seat, and before she can say another word, I slide my hand along the back of her neck and pull her to me, my lips moving over hers in a sultry kiss. She whimpers against me, and I shudder.

One sound—that’s how much it could take to be my undoing.

I pull back, tearing my lips from hers, even though it’s the last fucking thing I want to do.

“I’ve been waiting all fucking day to do that.”

Her eyes are heavy-lidded, her gaze raking over me in a way that makes me want to do a hundred on the interstate just to get her home.

“Well, hello to you too, Romeo.”

The tiny smirk on her lips makes me grin, and I untangle my fist from her hair, then sit back in my seat. I reach out to drag my thumb along her lips. “Hey.”

I realize just how in over my head I am, yet here I am, pulling away from the curb of her fucking sorority house like I’ve not got a damn thing to lose.

* * *

“Wow,”Caroline whistles as her wide gaze rakes over the front of my house, “Gotta say, Romeo, I was not expecting you to live in such a… cute house. So domesticated.”

I hoist her bag higher on my shoulder and scoff. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you move out of your bachelor pad because all of your friends got married and had kids.”

“Makes sense. Playboy Playmaker—perpetual bachelor with a penchant for puck bunnies.” Her tone is light and teasing, but it strikes something inside of me I used to never give a shit about until recently. I hate that persona, and all I want is to leave that shit behind.

“C’mon, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

“Mmm. You know, I’ve heard that exact line before, and I ended up in a broom closet…”

I chuckle. “Oh? Make it a habit of dragging strangers into closets?”

She shrugs and feigns more interest in the stucco of my house than the conversation we’re having. “Sorry, Romeo, I don’t kiss and tell.”

Without another word, she leaves me standing in the driveway, shaking my fucking head at the mouth on her, and walks to the front door, calling over her shoulder, “Well? Are you coming?”

I join her on the porch and unlock the door, then hold it open for her, gesturing. “After you, Bubblegum.”

Amusement shines in her eyes as she slides past me into the foyer and takes in the house. I set her bag down on the last step of the stairs, watching as she looks up at the vaulted ceilings and some of the artwork on the wall.

Definitely not shit that I picked out—I left it up to my sister. All I wanted was privacy and a comfy-ass bed to come home to when I got off the road.

“Oh my god, that smells amazing,” she says, inhaling deeply before letting out a moan, “Please tell me that’s what’s for dinner because I am starving. I think I’ve had approximately two packs of ramen noodles and a Bang Energy drink in the past two days.”

“That’s not fucking healthy, Caroline. You’ve gotta eat. The body needs sustenance.”

Her gaze snaps to mine, narrowing slightly. “Is this like an old guy thing? Being so bossy and… authoritative? Jesus. I know I need to eat, daddy.”

I’m fucked for thinking that’s so hot, but I don’t give a single shit.

I never had an interest in the name until I heard it from her lips. Now, I think I’d like to try it on for size.

My hand itches by the second to spank the fuck out of her. Truly, it’s currently twitching by my side. But before I can have her, we need to discuss… ground rules. Or whatever the fuck because all I know is that the second I get her splayed out on my bed, I’m not coming up for goddamn air. There’s very much still the fact that no one can know about this and what would happen if they did find out.

“I’d lay off the nickname, Bubblegum, unless you want to be screaming it later.”

When her eyes widen slightly from calling her bluff, I smirk, then grab her hand and pull her toward the kitchen.

She immediately drops her purse onto the floor next to the barstool and slides onto the wooden stool while I check the sauce and fix us both a plate.

I’m surprised I didn’t somehow fuck it up, but it seems to taste okay. Hailey will have a field day with that fact.

“So, you cook?” she asks as I slide the plate across the bar, then grab a wine glass from the rack. Pretty sure this is the first time it’s ever been used.

“Not often. I’m on the road six months out of the year, and that doesn’t include camps or practice, and then I generally travel during the off-season, so I’m not home much. If I am, I usually order meal prep for the week from a nutrition place the team works with.”

She nods. “Makes sense. The muscles and all.”

“You been checkin’ me out, Bubblegum?” Her eyes roll, and I smirk. “White or red? I got both because I didn’t know what you preferred. And being underage and all, I figured you weren’t too picky.”

“Asshole.” She laughs at my teasing, then shrugs. “Uh, honestly? Neither. Beer.”

Hm. Well, fuck me, this girl continues to surprise me at every turn. Just like she has since the first day she started at the rink and I began to really get to know her.

Setting the glass down, I walk to the fridge and pull out two beers, then join her at the bar. I pop open her beer, then slide it toward her, my eyes fixed on her as her lips close around the forkful of spaghetti.

She moans, her eyes rolling back as she chews. “My god. This is so good. Or maybe I just haven’t had a meal that didn’t cost a dollar thirty in like a while, but I’m pretty sure it’s fucking delicious.”

I toss my head back and laugh. “I think that was the most backhanded compliment I’ve ever gotten, so, thanks? It’s my mom’s recipe. Just glad I didn’t fuck it up.”

“It’s amazing. You know, I think this is the first time anyone has ever cooked for me, aside from my mom back home.”

My gaze rakes over her profile as she speaks. The soft slope of her nose, her long, dark eyelashes fanning out on her cheeks when she blinks, the faint rosy pink on her cheeks.

“To be honest, this is one of the very few times I’ve cooked for myself. I was fully expecting to burn something or have to call my sister at the last minute.”

This time, it’s her laugh that floats through the room, soft and breathy. So fucking sweet. “Well, I appreciate the effort. It’s definitely noted.”

We eat dinner together in comfortable conversation, and then I give her a mini tour of the house, starting with the backyard. My favorite place in the entire house.

“This pool is incredible. I haven’t been swimming in so long,” she says dreamily, gazing out into the in-ground pool in my backyard. “It’s huge.”

It’s pretty fucking big for a residential pool, but the guy that owned the house before me was huge into swimming, so he invested heavily in the pool. It’s got a cascading waterfall, a twenty-foot slide, and a huge hot tub to the side, which helps when I’m sore and tight from practice.

“It’s one of the reasons I bought this house. I work out every morning in my basement gym, and when I’m on the road, I like to swim, so when I saw this house, I knew it was the one just because of this setup.”

Her gaze drags over the pool and slide, a flirtatious grin hanging on her lips. She reaches up and pulls the tie from her hair, letting it fall down her back, then flicks the button of her jean shorts free and drags the zipper down.

My eyebrows rise in surprise, but I remain quiet and watch as she shimmies out of the shorts and her panties, letting them hit the ground.

“You going to stand there, or are you going to join me?” she whispers, tugging at the hem of her shirt. She pulls it over her head and discards it, then reaches behind her and unclasps her bra. Her tits spill free, and then she stands in front of me completely naked, and my mouth runs dry. It’s the first time I’ve seen her completely naked not in the dark, and I was not fucking prepared.

Fucking Christ.

Her tits are heavy and full. The kind that would fill my large hands perfectly. Rosy pink nipples hardened into taut peaks that beg to be sucked. Her stomach is soft and sexy as it flares into wide hips. Hips that are perfect for my hands to grip while I pound into her. Thick thighs, an ass that makes my cock fucking leak just seeing it.

My eyes drift to the apex between her thighs, and I groan. She’s smooth and shaved, bringing back memories of how good she tasted on my tongue. It was dark in that closet, and I couldn’t properly admire her body.

But now?

I never want to fucking stop.

She’s the kind of perfection that only exists in my goddamn dreams, but what stands out even more is her confidence. She’s not shy. She owns every inch of her body, and there’s something so sexy about a woman who is unashamedly herself and gives no fucks what another person has to say about it.

“Caroline…” I trail off. I’m trying to be a gentleman, and she’s making it harder by the second, testing my restraint. “Put it back on. All of it.”

A giggle falls from her lips. “I’m not swimming with clothes on, Romeo. Nothing you haven’t seen before. Or touched…”

That’s the fucking point. I can’t stop thinking about my hands on those hips, sucking on the sensitive peaks of her nipples.

“Race you to the slide!” She squeals, then turns and dives directly into the deep end of the pool, giving me the perfect view of her delicious heart-shaped ass.

I get naked in five seconds flat and dive in behind her. The water is the perfect temperature, thanks to the heating element. It dawns on me as I resurface, sucking in a deep breath, that I’ve never actually skinny-dipped in this pool.

“God, the water feels amazing,” she breathes, wading up to me as we meet in the middle. “If this were my house, I’d never get out. Ever.”

“If this is all it took to impress you, I would’ve started with that instead of attempting to learn how to cook.”

She laughs. “Color me impressed, Romeo.”

I close the distance between us, my hands sliding around her waist and hauling her to me. “Yeah? Just think about what I can do with my cock.”