Awk-Weird (Ice Knights, #2)(53)

Now that mental image of him in his full professional-athlete-in-the-prime-of-his-life glory was all it took to send her brain into la-la land, and she stuffed her entire not-a-euphemism cupcake into her mouth at once without even thinking about the consequences. And this would be? Oh, the little things, like not being able to chew with her mouth closed and the coughing fit that came with having one barely chewed chunk go straight down her windpipe.

Very sexy.

Totally classy.

Without a doubt, 100 percent on brand for awk-weird Tess.

“Are you okay?” he asked, rushing to her side.

“Fine,” she said, but even she could barely understand her answer because of the coughing and her hand over her mouth to keep the rest of it from flying everywhere because wouldn’t spitting pieces of chocolate cupcake just be the sprinkles on the frosting?

Cole spun her around so she faced the sink. “Just spit the damn thing out before you choke on your pride.” He thumped her on the back.

Chunks of cupcake landed in the sink and she sucked in a huge breath, lifting her arms into the air to open her lungs as much as possible.

“I’m okay,” she managed to croak out, her throat raw and her cheeks burning from embarrassment.

Holding her gently by the upper arms, he gave her a searching look, as if he had to make sure for himself that she was okay. “Are you alright?”

Oh, how the tables had turned. “I’m not the one who went ass over end and landed on the ice tonight. I’ll be fine.”

“It looked worse than it was.” His hands slid down her arms, his touch leaving a trail of awareness in its wake, and stopped at her hands, his fingers intertwining with hers.

“Really?” Tess tried squeezing his fingers, taking comfort in the touch after what had happened during the game. “Because even if it was only half as bad, it was fucking horrifying.”

Cole pulled her in close so her cheek was pressed against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a reassuring rhythm. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, the quick brush of his lips so soft that the lingering sense of anticipation made her entire body sizzle.

“I cleared the concussion protocol,” he said. “And besides a few new bruises and sore spots—not on my head—it’s all good.”

“It scared me.” Almost as much as admitting that bit of vulnerability to him.

He brushed another kiss across the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Show me how bad it is,” she said, pulling back because she needed the distance between them or she was afraid she’d give in to the feelings of maybe-this-time swirling around her like the scent of her favorite flowers. “I need to know what this baby is in for.” And what she was, but she left that part unsaid.

He would have been within his rights to tell her to fuck straight off, but he didn’t. Instead he took a step back and started to unbutton his shirt, making quick work of it, and opened it to reveal a narrow slice of his bare chest.

“Not a mark on me,” he said, but his gaze didn’t meet hers.

That wasn’t how this could be. As a kid, she’d been able to pretend, to use her fact-filled brain to create distance, but she couldn’t do that anymore. The baby would need more from her than that—the baby deserved a mom who would fight for him or her even when it was hard, even when it was uncomfortable.

She fixed her attention on Cole’s face, looking him straight in the eye. “You said you had new bruises.”

He sighed and shrugged off his shirt, revealing an ugly bruise starting to form on the left side of his chest. The size of a softball, it was already just about every color of the rainbow. Ignoring that part of her brain warning her of the danger, she reached out and brushed her fingertips across it. The moment she touched him, the air around them changed, grew heavier, became thick with possibility.

Was it pregnancy hormones? Pheromones? The absolutely natural reaction to being around someone so attractive that her panties had laughed at the idea of staying on?

Probably yes to all three, but none of it changed the fact that she wanted this man and had since the first time she’d set eyes on him at Lucy’s rehearsal party. They hadn’t gotten weddinged like she’d told him, she’d given in to the magic hopefulness inherent in those romantic events to believe that there could be someone who’d see her as more than an obligation or a temporary unwanted guest in their lives. She’d allowed herself to believe, if only for a few hours, that she could be wanted.

She lowered her hand, her fingers tingling as if she’d gotten some small electric shock. “Are you scared out there on the ice?”

“The other guys have my back.” He stepped closer, picked up her hand, and put it back on his chest. “They do their job and I do mine, even if I’ll be doing it from the second line now.”

The frustrated fury in his tone twisted her up inside. And the look on his face? This was a man watching his dream, his plans for the rest of his life, try to walk away from him. It was agonizing for her; for him it had to be hell. But maybe she could help him forget, for tonight, what the world was like outside his front door.

“I’m sorry.” She took a step closer so they were millimeters from whole-body touching—not because she needed to but because she had to.

Anticipation crackled in the air between them in that fraction of a second, some unexplainable understanding that he was going to kiss her or she was going to kiss him—either way, it was about to go down, and there would be no stopping it once it started.