Sincerely, The Puck Bunny (Totally Pucked #2)(53)

“You’re dressed up, did you have something important tonight?” I ask.

Glancing up, my gaze connects with Briggs’, and he nods, a proud smile spreading his lips. “I coach a youth hockey team, The Mighty Pucks, and tonight, we had our awards banquet.” He reaches into the pocket of his slacks then pulls out his phone and flips it around to show me.

It’s a photo of a group of kids with Briggs, all holding up trophies with lopsided grins. What stands out the most? The smile on Briggs’ face. You can tell how proud he is of them.

“Wow, they look like a great group of kids.”

He slides his phone back into his pocket and nods. “They’re great kids. I... uh, I used to get into a bit of trouble with the team, after the stuff that happened a few years ago.”

His brother.

He didn’t need to say it out loud for me to remember the pain that was etched into his words as he told me what happened.

I simply nod, and bring the wine glass up to my lips, taking a hefty sip. The sweet, tangy liquid tastes like heaven, and helps bite back the feeling of guilt.

"Anyway, I started coaching them because of a requirement from my coach, but honestly… those kids saved me. I owed it to them to stick around. I’ve been telling them about Olive for weeks now.” He glances down at Olive, who’s now fast asleep in his arms, and he smiles. A sweet, smile that’s reserved just for his baby girl.

“That’s really sweet of you, Briggs. To spend your free time coaching.”

I knew this because I reported on it, not that it got as many likes as something more scandalous that he did, but guilt eats at me as he tells me about his night. It makes me feel terrible, and even more afraid to tell him.

I’m being a coward.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, other than here, of course. With both of you.” His gaze meets mine, and his eyes seem to darken slightly. He doesn’t have to say it for me to understand the meaning behind his words.

“Should we talk? About what happened the other night?”

I find it extremely distracting to even think about anything other than Briggs standing in front of me in that tight, fitted button-down. He’s entirely too attractive for his own good. Another reason that I should protect my heart and stay away. I know the kind of man he is, or at least the way that the media portrays him.

“We should, but before we have that conversation, you should know that I meant every single word that I said the other night, and even if you don’t want the same thing, it’s not gonna change anything for me.”

“Can you put Olive down in her crib, then we can talk?”

Briggs nods and continues to rock Olive gently in his arms. I watch as he walks her to our shared bedroom, then his tall frame disappears inside.

I think I’m going to need another glass of wine for this conversation. While he’s putting Olive to bed, I set the table and unbox the takeout, then take a seat and sip on my wine…slowly, until he joins me in the kitchen sans the sports coat, with the sleeves of his button-down rolled up, showcasing the thick, veiny forearms that would make any woman’s mouth water.

“I figured we could eat while we, uh, discuss everything, if that’s okay with you?”

“I’m fine with whatever. I am actually starving; I haven’t eaten since around lunch.”

Gesturing to the food, I sweep my hand across. “Let’s eat.”

Together, we share a meal, and for the first time in a long time, there’s something heavy hanging in the air. I poke at the stuffed meatballs on my plate, gathering courage, then I look up at Briggs.

His jaw is strong and chiseled, much like his sharp cheekbones that hold the piercing steel eyes that catch my own.

“You can’t just... kiss me like that.” I mumble.

“Like what?”

I open my mouth to speak, then close it because this man… he knows exactly like what. “Like... that.”

The corners of his lips turn up into a grin, a smug one at that. “Like… what Maddison?”

He’s enjoying this entirely too much. My cheeks heat under his gaze, so much that I can feel the flush creeping down my neck.

“Like you did. We shouldn't do this, Briggs. It doesn’t matter what we want, not at the end of the day. What matters is Olive.”

He sets his fork down and uses the linen napkin to wipe his mouth before scooting his chair out and putting his napkin onto his mostly-empty plate. Saying nothing, he closes the distance between us.

"Come here,” he says hoarsely, circling his large hand on my wrist. Maybe it’s the raw desire in his eyes, or the commanding tone that’s hoarse and raspy that causes me to let my fork clatter against the plate and my chair to scrape against the cheap tile as I stand slowly, facing him.

Briggs pulls me toward him gently, until I collide with his hard body, then he slides his hands up my jaw delicately, as if I’ll shatter beneath his touch. It disarms me in ways I wasn’t expecting. I can feel my resolve lessening each second his hands are on me.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

I swallow down the thick lump of emotion that’s unexpectedly formed in my throat.

“I’m showing you. I could stand here all day, until I’m blue in the face, and tell you how I feel. Doesn’t matter, Mads. I have to show you.”