Wild for You (Hot Jocks #6)(23)

I’m safe. All locked in.

In less than a minute, my phone buzzes. Almost like he was about to text me himself.

I’m so sorry I just barged in like that earlier.

I chuckle, appreciating how sensitive he can be.

It’s your bathroom! Plus, I saw you in your underwear the night before, remember? Now we’re even.

My heart nearly jumps out of my throat when the message screen suddenly lights up with a call from Grant, and my phone vibrates aggressively in my hand. I pick up immediately, clearing my throat.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m not much of a texter. Is this okay?” His voice is somehow even lower and more gravelly over the phone.

“This is fine. What are you up to?” I ask, suddenly conscious of how my own voice sounds. A little too . . . excited?

“We just got done with team dinner. Some guys are heading to the bar, some to bed.”

“That’s good . . . and Jason isn’t there?”

“Right.”

Wow. They really did it. They really suspended him.

“Did anyone say anything about it?” I ask, twirling a lock of hair around my finger.

“No, no one that I could tell. I only really talked to Jordie at dinner, to be honest. But there’s no way anyone knows you’re staying at my place. I mean, I haven’t told anyone.”

“Thank you for that.” A warm smile spreads across my lips. It’s funny, but I don’t think I ever specifically asked Grant to keep it a secret. He just knew. Knew that I needed to be guarded, kept safe from the world. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I won’t be in your hair for much longer, I promise.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I never asked you to leave.”

My breath hitches, and I pray he doesn’t hear it. At least he can’t know how hot my cheeks are.

“Yeah,” I murmur, uncertain of what else to say. Something deep in my heart grows warmer by the second, to the point where I’m afraid I’ll boil over and say something dumb. Something emotional. Instead, I only say, “But I’m sure I’m cramping your style.”

“Not at all.” Grant’s voice is softer now, gentler. He’s aware of how much I hate to inconvenience him, but he’s determined not to make it a big deal. He would never kick me out, even though I’m sure he’d prefer the privacy. Exhibit A, the bathroom incident.

I scoff. “Grant, come on. I’m not an idiot. A single guy like you? Captain of the team? I’m sure you’ve got puck bunnies lined up around the block, vying for your attention.”

“Not really.” He chuckles, seemingly surprised by my use of hockey lingo.

I have ears, and Lord knows Jason used to love to tell me about all the puck bunnies he used to spend his nights with.

“I’m not much for the bar scene, or wherever that stuff happens.”

I laugh. Who is this man? I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen Grant with a significant other at an event . . . not that I was really looking before.

“Even so, I’m going to figure something else out. You’ll have your bachelor pad back in no time, I promise. It’ll be easier on both of us.”

I can hear a muffled sigh on the other end. “Ana, I’m not who you think I am. I’m not interested in . . .”

When the line grows quiet, my brow furrows and my lips turn down into a frown. Interested in what? Puck bunnies?

“Never mind,” he says. “What I meant to say is that it’s been really nice having you around these past few days.”

My eyebrows shoot up, and I croak, “Really?”

“You cook. You make good coffee. And you give really good massages,” he says, and I can hear his grin through the receiver. “Your dog is kind of a pain in the ass, but—”

“How dare you!” I gasp, involuntary laughter bubbling up from deep in my belly. “Hobbes loves you!” I turn to pet Hobbes, who sniffles next to me in his sleep. Undoubtedly dreaming about those horrible squirrels again, I’m sure.

“Does he?” Grant asks, making a low sound that vibrates through me. “Well, I guess he’s not that bad.”

“Gee, thanks. I’ll have to tell him how highly you think of him.” I snicker, running my fingers absentmindedly through the pup’s wheat-colored curls. “I guess I’m relieved that you don’t absolutely hate having us around . . . but I don’t buy it. You can clearly cook for yourself. And you have that team masseur for regular massages.”

“Thor?” Grant scoffs. “Thor is the fucking worst. I haven’t let him touch me for at least two seasons now.”

“That explains why you’re so tense all the time,” I say with a laugh. My cheeks are starting to get sore from smiling so much. I don’t remember the last time I laughed so freely.

Somehow, talking on the phone is so easy with Grant. He seems more comfortable, probably relieved that I can’t scrutinize every flicker of emotion he tries so hard to conceal behind that stoic exterior. I can’t say that I’m not also enjoying the strange anonymity of it all . . . lying here in bed, so cozy and warm. The low throbbing in my center hasn’t disappeared at all. Rather, it’s grown since I picked up the phone to hear that husky voice on the other end. I don’t know what in the world is happening to me, but I shut it down quickly.