Mister Hockey (Hellions Angels #1)(12)
But her best friend was off doing downward dogs in Baja and no use in the advice department until she returned at summer’s end.
Breezy had no choice but to push the protesting howl aside. Jed West might have spoken at her library and patched her leaky roof, but he was also a hockey god. Surely he had better things to do. Return to Mount Olympus and melt the snowcap with his superhuman hotness. Or enjoy a threesome with nubile goddesses. Or do whatever it is that gods do when not slumming with mere mortals.
“I’m serious. You’re doing me the favor. Look, that rain’s coming down harder by the minute.”
For a god, he seemed in no hurry to escape back to his exalted realm. And he did have a point. The eaves were overflowing outside the corner window with Niagara-like force.
“Honestly it was no big deal. I like odd jobs.” His encouraging smile gave her enough lift to float to the front door. It was almost like he enjoyed being in her orbit, that he was . . . interested.
Which was crazy.
Crazier than crazy.
Almost as crazy that at some point during the past thirty minutes, Jed had begun morphing from some abstract celebrity fantasy to an actual flesh and blood man. A guy who did fix-it jobs and made her laugh even as she drooled over the sinewy muscles in his forearms.
The growing heat between her legs pulsed.
But it wasn’t until she’d turned the front doorknob and stared at her mom and Granny Dee huddled under an umbrella stamped with the red pitchfork, the Hellions logo, that it felt like she was in danger of losing her mind.
“Shit!” She slapped a hand over her mouth and braced the doorframe to steady herself. Her legs had gone wobbly, as if the bones evaporated.
Mom sized up her leggings with a dismayed frown. They had an ongoing disagreement on whether or not they were pants. As per usual, Mom’s makeup and outfit were perfect and she looked impossibly beautiful. It wasn’t uncommon for strangers to mistake her for Diane Lane when out in public. “Guess that’s one way to greet guests.”
“S-sorry,” she stammered as they barreled into her living room. Her stomach tumbled in a sickening lurch because right now, right this very second, Jed West was dismantling her bed.
And in the bewildered excitement of his proximity, she’d spaced out about the sex toys stowed under the mattress.
The magic wand.
The rabbit.
The weird-shaped purple one that oscillated.
The personal lubricant.
Despite Mom’s disapproval, shit didn’t come close to conveying the horror circulating through her bloodstream, turning her veins to acid. This was a screwup of epic proportions, even for her.
“What’s the matter, Bumper Butt?” Granny Dee briskly untied her plastic rain bonnet, finger combing her fire-engine red curls back into place. “Sorry to waltz in unannounced, but you know how much I wanted a peek at your new place.” She turned ninety in a few weeks, but moved like a woman in her sixties, as she bustled around the room, making approving noises over the curtain choices and knick-knacks on display.
Breezy ground two fists into her eyes with enough force to see stars. Think. Think. Two of the biggest hockey fanatics in the Denver metro area were pacing the room’s perimeter while fifteen feet away a certifiable Hottie McHotterson was in her bedroom discovering her secret trove of sex toys.
And to think she’d actually believed the day’s low point was ripping the ass out of her superhero suit.
What were her current options? Fake a seizure?
No. She gave her head an inward shake. Too dramatic. Plus, the last thing she needed to compound this situation were paramedics and a fire truck. A fake faint would be better. She could blame the episode on dehydration. Mom was always nagging her to drink more.
But in the end, she was too freaked out to manage anything other than the awful truth. At least the PG version.
She waved them close. “Jed West is here.” She moved her lips like a ventriloquist, trying to keep her voice modulated as low as possible.
“What’s that?” Her mom ignored her gesture, peering at the windows. She moved in short, graceful bursts with the energy of a hummingbird. Breezy always felt like a lumbering walrus in comparison.
“Oh, honey,” Mom made a tut-tut sound. “Look at this grime. Didn’t you promise that you were going to clean the tracks the last time I was here? How many times do I have to tell you that it only takes a sprinkle of baking soda and vinegar. Let it sit for five minutes and the gunk will wipe right off—”
“Enough with the tracks. Huddle up and listen.” Screw her mom’s anal clean freak obsessions. “Jed West is here,” she breathed.
“Huh?” Granny Dee stuck a hand behind her ear. “God hates a mumbler.”
A hard thud emanated from the bedroom. No doubt the queen-size mattress getting turned on its side. Stars danced on the edge of her vision.
Mom’s eyes widened behind her tortoiseshell frames as she blew back her bangs. “Who’s back there?”
“I’m worried about her coloring.” Granny Dee pinched Breezy’s cheeks. “It’s this lousy weather. Where do you keep the whiskey? A nice hot toddy will warm you up.”
Breezy strained her ears but silence reigned from the bedroom. At least Jed hadn’t bolted out of the room, arms windmilling in horror at her sexual depravity. Maybe they’d be adults about this. After all, masturbating was a normal part of life, a common to-do item on the ol’ weekly routine.