Chapter 9

Coleson

I watch as McDavid wheezes, her face turning red as she coughs and chokes on the bite she just put into her mouth. My eyes widen as I get out of the booth, knocking into the rack, sending the potpie flying. Plates crash to the floor, but I ignore them to help McDavid. I pull her out of the booth as she clutches her throat, and shit, my wife is going to die before I can even convince her to be my wife.

I lift her to her feet with ease. She weighs nothing as I turn her and press her back to my front. Her head comes to the middle of my chest, so I have to bend down farther to wrap my arms around her middle. I thrust my clasped fists hard into her middle, and I guess it’s too hard, causing her tits to pop out the top of her dress.

Jesus fucking Christ above, are you kidding me?

But she’s still choking.

I want to protect her modesty, but I have to save her. I press again, her breasts bouncing with each thrust I give her, until finally, the piece of cake—which seems to be mainly the walnuts I added—that was lodged in her windpipe flies across the room to land on the table. Relief floods me as McDavid slumps against my chest. She gasps in air, and the motion reminds me how close she is. Her ass is curved against my middle from where I’ve surrounded her, and when I look down over her head, her pretty pink nipples are on display. I look away, breathing just as hard as she is.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m alive,” she groans. “Oh my God, don’t look. My boobs are out.”

“Not looking.” Which isn’t a lie since I’m not looking right now.

“I’m sure you got an eyeful.”

I ignore her comment. “You sure you’re good?”

“Yeah,” she says, moving out of my arms and adjusting her dress. I try not to react to the loss of her warmth as she turns to look at me. Her makeup is streaked down her face, and I can’t stop myself from swiping my thumbs over her cheeks. Her cheeks are so full, warm, and soft. I don’t want to stop touching her, but when she goes still at the touch, her watery gaze locking with mine, I pause.

“Sorry. Your makeup is all over the place.”

I move back a bit, stepping on the broken dish of the potpie. I steady myself when I almost slip, and then I crouch down to clean everything up. When she crouches too, I look over at her. “I’ve got this. Get a drink.” She waves me off, but I stop her, grabbing her wrist until she meets my gaze. “McDavid, get a drink.”

She hesitates only for a moment before she slides back into the booth, doing what I asked. I pile everything back onto the tray and then fix the rack so I can place it all on top. This is going great. As I slide back into the booth, her voice is low, shy, as she says, “Sorry about that.”

I shake my head, hating that she’s apologizing. “Hey, no worries. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Maybe I should go?”

I give her a look. “Why?”

“Because I choked on a piece of cake!”

“It had nuts in it.”

Her face is bright red. “You saw my boobs.”

“That’s hardly a hardship for me,” I tease, sending her a smirk. She glares and I grin. “I promise, I only looked for a moment.”

“A moment too long. I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

We share a long look, and thankfully, the blush starts to fade. “Yeah, I’d rather not die when you’re offering me your coffeehouse.”

I laugh at that, nodding slowly. I look up to find her watching me. “So, you’re interested?”

“I think that’s well known,” she says, pursing her lips at me. “I’ve only asked you to train me for over a year.”

“It comes with a hefty commitment.”

She presses her lips together. “I’m aware, and I’m sure we can come to a fair price. I hate to see you sell since it’s your dad’s and all, but I’ll care for it. I won’t even change the name.”

I can’t help but laugh. Her excitement falters as she sets me with a look. “The coffeehouse isn’t for sale, McDavid.”

Her brows pull in, her cheeks filling with the sweetest pink that is distracting as fuck. “Then what are you talking about?” she asks, a little edge to her voice. That edge makes me think she may have a bit of bite in her. A little sass. But with how pretty and sweet she is, I highly doubt it. For some reason, I’m nervous. I don’t want to be rejected; no one does. Surely my offer will convince her to help me out.

“Let me start from the beginning.” She eyes me warily but waits for me to go on. I appreciate her patience, and soon, the words come to me. “I have a chance to play in the NHL.”

She tilts her head. “I thought you already played hockey?”

“The Knoxville Bears are an American Hockey League team. I have a chance to play for the National Hockey League, which is the highest of honors.”

She seems impressed, her brows rising as she nods. “Oh, duh. I knew there was a difference, just didn’t know the terminology.”

I pick up my fork, picking at the cake in front of us. “I’ve always wanted to be a hockey player, but I never had the opportunity. I tried out for the Bears on a whim, and when I made it, I couldn’t believe it. Then my coach put it in my head that I could make the NHL, and now, I want it. I want it badly.” I look up to find her watching me, and I really don’t want to admit the next part, but I know I have to.

When she gives me a small, encouraging smile, it catches me off guard. “I’m sure you will. I’ve seen you play. You’re good.”

My mouth actually drops open at that. I hadn’t expected her to say that. “You’ve seen me play?”

She nods. “I go to the games with Louisa, my sister, to watch her fiancé play.”

That’s right. Ciaran Carter is engaged to her sister. Though, he probably won’t be playing for the Bears anymore; he should make the Nashville Assassins’ roster this season. “I didn’t realize you went.”

“Yeah, I’m the one with an overpriced glass of wine and a huge pretzel and cheese.” She grins as she takes another forkful of cake and then meets my gaze. “Be on standby—or better yet, don’t say anything to make me choke.”

I want her to choke on my cock. Jesus, what’s wrong with me?

I watch as she takes another bite and then smiles in triumph when she eats it without needing the Heimlich. “You survived.”

“I did, but I’m going in for more. Be alert,” she teases, and I flash her a grin. Around the bite she eats, she says, “Continue, please.”

Fuck, that word. It’s so breathy, so soft, and I adore how she says it. I don’t know why, and I really shouldn’t be thinking of her choking on my cock as she whimpers please. But of course, my unsatisfied self is. I mentally push that image to my spank bank and focus on what is at hand. Our goals. Yes, goals. “Um, well, I kinda fucked up my image.”

Her brows furrow at my honesty. “How so?”

“I slept around a lot, drank more than that, and gambled even more. The real kicker was me getting caught in the closet with a teammate’s wife.”

Her mouth makes a little O, but she recovers quickly, a grimace filling her sweet face. I hate admitting this shit to her. I know I look like a jackass, but I have to be completely transparent with her. “Well, that was a bad choice.”

“Very bad, and there are no excuses. I fucked up, and now I’m working to fix it.”

“Because of the NHL?” she asks, and I feel like she’s looking right into my soul.

“Yeah,” I say slowly. “It doesn’t matter how good I play, if I’m an embarrassment to the team and out there trying to wet my dick with anything with tits, they won’t want me.”

“Understandable. But I doubt you’re that bad.”

Now I’m the one grimacing, feeling like the slush of ice that ends up in the barrel during TV time-outs. I don’t want to tell her that I was. I want to lie. I want to make myself sound like marriage material, but the truth is, I’m not.

“I was, but I’ve been good for the last six months. I’ve cleaned up my act, but it hasn’t been enough.”

“It hasn’t?” I look away at her question.

The weight of my transgressions is suffocating as I stare down at the cake. “No. Fans, coaches, and staff still don’t like me. Don’t see me as a respectable, worthy player. I lived my life in the shadows because no one believed in me. And now that I have a coach who believes in me, I want to meet this goal.”

Her hand covers mine, bringing my gaze to hers. McDavid’s eyes are full of kindness and compassion. They leave me fighting for my next breath. “I am sorry that people have made you feel that way. I know you’ll make it. You can do it.”

“If you help me,” I say, and her brows draw in once more.

“Me? What can I do?”

She starts to bring her fork to her mouth, and I stop her. She narrows her eyes at me, and I quickly say, “Wait to take that bite.”

“Why?”

“I’d rather you don’t choke on another piece of cake when I ask you to be my wife.”

Her jaw drops, her eyes widen, and her face flushes as she gawks at me.

I really do need to work on my delivery.