Down and Dirty (Hot Jocks #5)(51)

“I’d say you had a real good morning.” Justin snickers, clapping his teammate on the back.

Landon just keeps walking, his shoulders pushed proudly back as we strut, hand in hand, past our friends and down the sidewalk toward the hotel restaurant.

“Holy stamina, Lovey!” Elise calls after us.

“Hey now.” Justin scolds her, then jumps right back in with the whooping and hollering.

Landon looks over his shoulder at our adoring fans, shaking his head. “Fuck off,” he says with a laugh. But he doesn’t stop smiling for even a second.

His world? Officially rocked.





18




* * *





Now What?





Landon



It’s been three weeks since Owen and Becca’s wedding, and Aubree and I have spent almost every night together—either at her place or mine. We’ve shared meals and conversation, and had a lot of sex. Sometimes I initiate it, and sometimes it’s her. But it’s always really, really hot.

We’ve grown closer, talked about every topic from work to goals to childhood memories to favorite vacation spots, you name it. I like coming home to her at night, like eating dinner with her and talking about our days. I love having her in my bed. And as good as things have been between us, I can’t help but feel like we’re overdue for an actual chat about our future and where we stand.

Because the only thing we haven’t talked about?

Us.

And the worry about that has settled over me like a weighted blanket. I’ve fallen for her. I can’t picture my future without her, or maybe I just don’t want to.

Owen and Becca have just returned from their honeymoon in Greece, and he’s been bombarding the guys on the team with text messages and photos from their trip. So, when my phone chimes in the other room, I expect it to be another dozen or so pics of idyllic little white buildings perched above turquoise water.

“We get it, dude. Greece was incredible. Blah, blah, blah,” I mutter as I make my way into the kitchen to retrieve my cell phone from the counter.

But the notification isn’t for a text from Owen. It’s a voice mail from Coach Dodd.

Thirty minutes later, I’m lingering in the doorway to his office. He spots me and waves me inside.

“Thanks for coming over on short notice. I prefer to do these things in person. We’re a family, ya know?” Coach says, eyeing me from over the rims of his wire-framed glasses once I enter his top-floor office.

“Sure, no problem.” I still don’t know why I’m here. His voice mail was cryptic.

“Sit down.”

I lower myself into the black leather chair in front of his desk, and wipe my sweating palms on the front of my pants.

He lets out a deep exhale and removes his glasses, tucking them into the front pocket of his shirt. “So, I have news, kid.”

I nod, taking a deep breath. Part of me knew this conversation was coming. Call it a gut instinct or something, but I knew my time with the Ice Hawks couldn’t last, as much as I wanted it to. I have no idea if I’m being sent down to the affiliate team or what his news is, but the expression on his face and his somber tone say enough. It’s not good news.

“As of this morning, we’ve placed you on waivers. The other teams in the league have twenty-four hours to either make a claim and pick you up, or you’ll be moving down.”

I open my mouth to respond, but realize I have no fucking clue what to say. It means my days as a Seattle Ice Hawk are over, at least for now. My time playing with the team I love, in the city that’s become my home, with the guys who have become my best friends, is done. It stings much more than I thought it would.

But Coach goes right on like he didn’t just change my entire world. “It’s just business. You’ve done well for yourself, and I know you have a future in the league. Try not to sweat it, okay?”

“I, um . . .” I clear my throat. “Thanks for the opportunity.” It sounds like something you’re supposed to say, and I add, “I’ve loved being a part of this organization.” That part is true.

He holds up one hand. “I know. It’s a lot to take in, and probably unexpected, but there’s something else.”

Apparently, when word to the league went out that my contract was up for grabs, he got a call right away. From a coach he’s friends with, and somewhere he thinks I’d be very happy, but he doesn’t want to say where just yet. He goes over the fine print on how this all works, but I barely hear a thing.

“Any thoughts?” he asks.

“I need to speak to my wife.”

“Oh, so you are married. The rumors were true then?” His mouth lifts with an amused expression.

“You . . . heard?” I scratch my temple.

Coach Dodd nods. “Of course I heard. I just maintain a very strict don’t ask, don’t tell policy when it comes to my players’ personal lives.”

I nod. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“But this marriage . . . I take it it’s not the Vegas-quickie-ceremony joke I heard it made out to be?”

I shift, uncomfortably. “No, sir. It’s the real deal.”

“Is she pregnant?”

God, he’s about as subtle as a bull in a china shop. “No.” At least, not that I know of, but we have been having a lot of sex, and I wouldn’t hate it if she was.