8. Luc

LUC

"Fuck." It's the only thing I can say when I get home and drop my weight onto the couch and stare at the ceiling. I don't know how to fix this.

I can"t believe I let that photographer get to me like that. And while I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping things between us, Coach's comments made me realize that Natalie probably thinks I"m some kind of asshole who"s ashamed to be seen with her.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

Which couldn"t be further from the truth. I don"t give a damn what anyone thinks. But the idea of our moment, our first kiss, being splashed across some trashy tabloid for everyone to dissect and analyze... it makes my blood boil. Because I know only too well what this world is like, and the moment I got a taste of her, I knew without a doubt that she was mine to protect. I didn't want her dealing with that level of scrutiny when I haven't even convinced her how absolutely perfect I think she is.

That's why I did it.

I wish I had her number so I could at least text and explain that to her. Instead, I"m left replaying the feel of her soft lips on mine and those lush curves pressed against me, knowing I have no way of fixing it. Maybe I should set up a social media account?

No! I fucking hate social media.

This is ridiculous.

Grabbing my cell, I pull up Emile's contact and start typing out a message, asking for his sister's number. But before I can press send, I pause. This is wrong. I shouldn't be asking a girl's brother for her number. It screams desperate. Not to mention the fact that he's my teammate, and this is inappropriate as fuck.

Shit. Maybe Coach is right. I need to stop thinking with a certain part of my anatomy and start using my damn head.

After a moment of internal debate, I delete the text and throw my phone across the couch. This is for the best. Right? Natalie doesn't want to talk to me, and maybe I need to respect that, follow Coach's advice and just keep my head in the game. I shouldn't be starting a relationship at the start of the most important season of my career. No matter how feisty and irresistible she might be…

"Fuck!"

I spend the next few days trying to push Natalie out of my mind. I throw myself into training, pushing my body to its limits. My chant is a constant. I can do this. It was just one kiss. I can let it go. And since we've clashed more than we've connected, I can convince myself that the sassy, curvy, altogether gorgeous chef, who makes me forget my own name, would just be a distraction from my career, anyway. I can do this.

The problem with self-denial is that it never lasts long. It's after a particularly grueling practice that I finally crack and storm off the ice mid-training. It's when I"m sitting in the locker room after the longest cold shower of my life that I overhear Emile talking to one of the other rookies.

"...yeah, the grand opening is this weekend. Nat"s been working her ass off to get everything ready."

My ears perk up at the mention of Natalie"s name. I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a grab a T-shirt, and before I can stop my feet, I"m walking over to them.

"Grand opening?" I ask, trying to sound casual as I pull the cotton over my head.

Emile looks up, wary since I've been nothing but a grouch these past few days, but he's like an overly enthusiastic puppy, so he doesn't hesitate to fill me in. "Yeah, my sister"s restaurant. She"s putting on one hell of a party. You should come by, man." He jabs me lightly in the side. "Nat would love to see you. Hell, I'm surprised she didn't invite you herself. You two were getting on like a house on fire last weekend."

"That was last weekend," I mumble, running a hand through my hair. "We've..." I trail off, realizing I have no idea how to finish that sentence. Honestly, I have no fucking idea what we are.

"Y'all gotta come," he says, oblivious to my discomfort.

I want to say no. I really do. Tell him I have plans, anything to get out of this. But instead, I hear myself saying, "Yeah, sure. I'll be there."

"Great!" Emile exclaims, clapping me on the shoulder. "You won"t regret it, Bouchard. Trust me, my sister"s got mad skills in the kitchen. And with the hours she's putting in to make this grand opening perfect, I think we're in for a treat."

"What kind of hours?" I find myself blurting, instantly concerned my girl is working herself too hard.

Emile laughs. "Dude, this is her dream. I think she's practically living at the restaurant right now. She won"t stop till it"s perfect."

I grit my teeth, my mood darkening at the thought of Natalie exhausting herself.

"Luc, you good?" Emile asks, a frown creasing his brow.

"Fine," I force out, "Just…tired. Practice is kicking my ass."

He laughs. "Tell me about it, but it"s all worth it, right? We"re gonna tear up the league this season, and after that, the Stanley Cup is ours."

I nod, but my mind isn't on hockey anymore. All I can think about is a certain curvy, feisty chef working herself to the bone.

When I head out of the locker room, my mind is racing.

"Dammit," I swear under my breath. "She"s your teammate"s sister, Luc. This is none of your damn business." But a big part of me knows I"m already too invested, and it"s only a matter of time before I'm heading to the grocery store with a plan in mind. I load up on ingredients—fresh shrimp, andouille sausage, okra, and all the spices I can find.

A few hours later, I"m standing outside the restaurant, a pot of gumbo in one hand and a white napkin in the other. I take a deep breath and knock.

It doesn't take long before the door swings open, revealing a tall, heavily tattooed man in a white chef"s coat. His eyes narrow as he takes in the sight of me.

"Can I help you?"

"I"m Luc Bouc?—"

"I know who you are," he says, with a wave of his hand. "I want to know why you're here."

"Oh, to see Natalie."

"She"s in the back." He steps aside, allowing me through.

Immediately, the aroma of spices and cooking food envelopes me. The last time I was here, this place was practically a construction zone. But now the restaurant has a cozy, welcoming vibe with exposed brick walls and warm lighting. I head straight for the kitchen, and there she is, hair piled on top of her head, cheeks flushed from the heat, and those hips moving to a Cajun beat.

She stops dancing and looks up as I walk in, her eyes widening when she sees me. I hold up the napkin as though it's a surrender flag and grin sheepishly.

"I come in peace." I lift the pot. "And bearing gumbo."

She stares at me for a moment, then bursts out laughing.

"You made gumbo?" she asks, walking over to me.

I shrug. "I figured it was only fair. You made me some as a peace offering, so I thought I"d return the favor."

She takes the pot from my hands, lifting the lid to take a sniff. Her eyes flutter closed and she hums appreciatively.

"This smells amazing, Luc," she says as she sets it on the countertop. "But you know you didn"t have to do this, right?"

"I know. But I wanted to." I take a step closer, lowering my voice. "Natalie, about the other night?—"

She holds up a hand, stopping me. "Luc, it"s OK. You don"t have to explain."

"But I want to. I need to." I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. "I fucked up, OK? I shouldn't have chased that guy down, and I need you to know that it wasn"t because I was embarrassed to be seen with you."

She raises an eyebrow. "It"s not?"

"No. I just... I didn"t want our moment cheapened by some sleazy tabloid. Those guys are vultures and…what happens between us... it"s private. It"s ours. And I didn"t want to share it with the whole world. Not yet, anyway. There are some things I want to keep to myself before my career shines a spotlight on it. Some things that are important. Mine."

"Yours?" Her expression softens when I nod. "That's actually really beautiful, Luc. And I understand. I didn't really react as well as I could have either, and I"m sorry for running off like I did. I just... I guess I let my own insecurities get the best of me."

I frown. "Insecurities? Natalie, you"re brilliant, and talented, and absolutely gorgeous. What could you possibly be insecure about?"

She blushes, ducking her head. "Well, for starters, I've seen the kinds of girls who hang around the locker room. They don't look anything like me. And I'm not saying that because I think there"s something wrong with them," she"s quick to add. "Or even with me. But even with all the work I've done to love myself as I am, I still have eyes. You don't see a lot of hockey stars with girls who look like me on their arms."

"I don"t give a damn about those girls—or what other players do. What I want...who I want, is standing here in front of me."

"Luc..."

Our eyes lock, and the air between us crackles. Natalie"s lips part, and I can"t help myself any longer. I lean in, my heart pounding as I close the distance between us. Her breath catches in her throat just as my lips brush hers in a tentative kiss.

I pull back, giving her a moment to decide, but she doesn"t push me away. Instead, she takes my face in her hands and pulls me back, deepening the kiss. Her curves mold against my harder planes as I wrap my arms around her, my hands slipping under her shirt to feel the warmth of her skin.

It"s like a dam has burst, and all the pent-up desire we"ve been suppressing comes rushing out. We"re flush against each other, tasting and exploring like we never want it to end.

When we finally pull apart, we"re both breathless, our foreheads resting together, laughter bubbling up between us. "Luc Bouchard," she whispers, her voice husky, "you sure know how to make a girl forget why she was mad in the first place."

I chuckle, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Let me take you home and I'll make sure you never remember."

Natalie giggles. "You"re a presumptuous one, Mr. Bouchard. What makes you think I"m ready to go home with you?"

"Because…" I grin, reaching for her hand and entwining our fingers together. "…you have a habit of dry humping my leg every time I kiss you."

Natalie scoffs and rolls her eyes, but the corners of her lips tug upward in a reluctant smile. "You are just as humpy as I am, Bouchard," she accuses, but her tone holds no real reprimand.

I shrug, the action light and teasing. "I'm not the one pretending I don't want to go home right now and sink my cock into you."

Her cheeks pink up. "Direct, huh?"

"I didn't become who I am by tip-toeing lightly."

"Oh, I"ve seen how you play on the ice, Captain Bouchard. Trust me, toeing the line isn"t exactly your style." She gives me a playful nudge, and I catch her around the waist, pulling her back against me.

"I guess you've been watching more than just your brother"s games," I remark, feeling like the king of the world at the thought of her eyes on me when I'm on the ice.

Natalie laughs. "Maybe I have," she admits. "Maybe I'm a closet fan who sleeps in an oversized Nighthawks jersey and secretly chants your name during every game."

I raise an eyebrow, amusement tugging at my mouth. "That jersey had better have my number on it or it's going in the incinerator."

Natalie smirks, her eyes glinting with challenge. "Well, maybe it does, and maybe it doesn"t. You"ll just have to find out for yourself, won"t you?"

I lean in close, our noses almost touching, the playful tension crackling between us like live wires. "Your place, DuPont. Now," I rasp, my breath mingling with hers, lips brushing in a whisper-thin promise. Her breath hitches, eyes widening just a fraction before she regains her composure with a lip-biting grin.

"Louis," Natalie calls out, shifting back a little when Louis immediately enters through the door.

"Yes, chef?" He seems a little contrite since he was obviously at the door, listening in.

Natalie shoots him a knowing smirk. "Do you think you can finish up here? Mr. Bouchard and I have some... uh, team strategies to discuss."

Louis"s lips twitch, holding back an amused grin as he nods. "Absolutely, chef. Take all the time you need."