I roll my eyes. “What Robbie istryingto say,” I correct, offering the tattooed defenseman a pointed look, “is that no one is going to be mean to you. You’ve gotnothingto worry about.”
“You’re gonna love school, Lucky Duck. I promise,” Happy whispers, pressing a kiss to her cheek as everyone around thetable watches on with little smiles, none more so than the three hulking hockey players, making the already endearing moment that little bit sweeter.
After dinner, the guys are in the living room with Lucky, sitting on the floor and watching on, completely immersed as she shows them her Barbie Dream House, explaining every last detail.
Fran, Emily, Millie, are I are perched around the island counter, sharing a bottle of wine, the girls grilling me about my official relationship status with Happy. It’s so fucking high school, but I actually kind of love it.
“You guys are so perfect together!” Fran exclaims. “And Lucky? Oh my God.” She clutches a hand to her chest. “Sheadoresyou, Hannah. You can see it every time she looks at you.”
Emily and Millie nod.
I smile, glancing back toward the living room where Lucky is now showing the guys individual Barbie outfits. “Yeah, she’s kind of everything.”
“Does your dad know?” Emily asks.
“Not yet.”
“How do you think he’ll take it?” Fran winces.
I can’t help but smirk. “Everyone thinks of my dad as this big, scary NHL coach. And, I’ll admit, it’s a part he plays well, but he’s actually nothing like that in real life. Believe it or not, my dad is a total softie.”
Millie guffaws. “Coach Draper, a softie?”
I nod. “He is. In fact…” I look back at Lucky again, at where Happy is now on his knees next to her, holding up her Barbie Jeep like a showcase girl onThe Price is Right, while Lucky demonstrates to Logan, Dallas, and Robbie how the vehicle works. “My father and Happy are a lot alike in so many ways.”
“I think someone might be in love, girls.”
I bristle at the mention of the L word, spearing Fran with a glower she ignores.
“I’ve seen that same exact look on these two,” Fran says, pointing to Emily and then Millie. “You can’t fool me.” She shakes her head, taking a sip of her wine, a smug look in her smiling eyes as she watches me over her glass.
I roll my eyes, refuting her claim, but I don’t miss the little tug from the deepest, darkest corner of my chest that seems to trip my heart into skipping a beat or two at the mention of possibly being in love. I know I’m not. Not yet, at least. But the thought that maybe that’s where this is leading doesn’t terrify me the way I always assumed it would. And I don’t even know what to think about that.
By the time everyone leaves, it’s almost midnight. Jonny put Lucky to bed earlier, despite her surprising reluctance to want to go upstairs. Out of everyone, she formed the closest bond with Robbie, which was more than a little confusing. I expected Dallas. But when she said goodnight to everyone, she gave Robbie an extra long hug. Something Robbie tried to play off all nonchalantly yet failed when he had to quickly turn around and wipe his eyes, clearing the obvious emotion from the back of his throat.
Now the house is tidy and dimly lit, silent as I stand wrapped in Happy’s arms. I don’t want to leave. I’d love to stay and sleep in his arms in his bed and wake up next to him in the morning. But I need to go home to Toasty because I love him, and I really don’t want him to piss on my fiddle leaf fig. Again.
“I’m proud of you,” I say, tipping my head back and resting my chin on his chest, gazing up at him.
“Thanks, Baby Draper.” He bites back a smile. “Now I just have to figure out how to tell your dad, and everyone else at the team, and then the media.”
“I can help you with the media,” I assure him. “Maybe we could do something at SNN. Or nothing at all. It’s entirely up to you and what you want. It’s your story, Happy. Yours and Lucky’s.”
He nods contemplatively.
“But you should start with my father first. You’d be surprised by how supportive he is. He’s a girl dad, too, remember.” I hold my hands out at the side, jazz fingers and all.
“How could I forget.” Happy chuckles, his hands snaking from my waist, down over my hips and around to my ass where he squeezes me playfully through my jeans.
“Hey, now. Don’t start something you can’t finish,” I warn him teasingly. “I have to get home to Toast.”
“Oh, I can finish.” Happy chuckles lowly. “You should know that by now.”
I roll my eyes, patting him on the chest and looking down at his crotch with a whispered, “Down, boy.”
Happy throws his head back on an exaggerated groan. “Buzzkill.”
Snaking my hand around the back of his head, I crane up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his in what was supposed to be a chaste, sweet, goodnight kiss. But, of course, Happy Slater doesn’t do things by halves. Ducking down, he grasps my ass and hikes me up off my feet so I’m forced to wrap my legs around his waist, his tongue sliding between my lips and tangling with mine. Breathless yet again from the simple act of kissing, I moan into his mouth, holding on tight as he claims me, our kiss turning frenzied in a mash of lips, teeth, and tongues, the obvious bulge of his cock pressing against me. And sure, my fiddle leaf fig can handle a little dog pee, but I can’t neglect my baby, so I pull back from Happy’s demanding mouth, looking at him through a hazy, heavy-lidded gaze.
