I straighten, not missing the way Hudson’s eyes dart to my bare thighs before snapping to my face again. He swallows, and the slightest hint of a blush accents his cheeks.
“Of course not.” He clears his throat. “Just concerned for the way it would look.”
“Ellie doesn’t have a lot of friends,” I say. “I don’t think there would be many people concerned about her living circumstances outside the university itself when they verify she’s still eligible for the financial aid credit—which, now that you’re divorced, she can only receive if she’s living with you.” I shrug. “I think, in that capacity, the school would see it as you helping out your step-daughter.”
“I don’t see her as a step-daughter,” he grumbles.
“Does it matter? As long as the school looks at it that way, you can see her as a roommate,” I argue, though I’m curious about the insistence in his tone.
Hudson sighs, and I don’t miss the way his eyes track my figure once again before they raise to meet my own. If I’m not mistaken, I spot a bit of hunger in his gaze, and I’m never mistaken when it comes to a man’s—or woman’s—look of desire.
“Give me a night to think about it. I’ll call Ellie tomorrow,” he murmurs.
I lean forward, eliminating the hazed space between us as I land a pat to his cheek. He doesn’t even flinch when my palm touches his face, but I hear the audible inhale from his lips when our skin meets.
“Good.” His eyes don’t leave mine when I purr, “See you soon, Coach.”
CHAPTER TWO
HUDSON
Five Months Later
I never should’ve marriedCandace Harris.
I knew she was vain, self-centered, and egotistical from the moment I met her. I think what I liked about it was that she didn’t try to hide. I thought, if she could be exactly who she is out in the open, then there must not be any part of her she’d keep from me. I thought if I could accept her as she was, I’d never be hit with surprise or betrayal. I may not have necessarily liked my wife as a person, but at the very least, the marriage felt safe. I didn’t think it was possible for her to hurt me. Maybe because I didn’t really love her to begin with, and at first, she worshiped the ground I walked on, so if nothing else, I was comfortable.
Then, I found out she was fucking one of my players.
Candace is beautiful, and I leaned way too heavily on my attraction to her and what I thought was a blunt personality and ambitious mindset, when in reality, she’s arguably the most miserable human being I’ve ever met.
I married her way too quickly—on our third date, in fact. I met her a few months before Ellie graduated high school, when she was invited for an open skate with the Westgate Women’s Team. Candace had attended the practice to observe and tour the facility with Ellie, and we quite literally ran into each other in the hallway.
It was after Ellie committed to Westgate that I ran into Candace again at the rink and asked her on a date. A few weeks later, both the Westgate teams had an exhibition tournament in Vegas, so Candace tagged along to watch Ellie play, and on the final night, while all the kids went out together, she and I found ourselves shit-faced and in a Little White Chapel.
After it was all said and done, we figured we’d just stay married. We seemed to be hitting it off anyway. Our marriage was fine, but the chemistry fizzled out quickly, and living together wasn’t at all what I thought it’d be. I suppose she must’ve felt the same, and that’s how she ended up inviting my goalie into our bed.
There was nothing—not her marriage and not her daughter—that could stop her from chasing validation, from feeling the slightest momentary relief from her insecurities.
I don’t even want to think about the psychological triggers that drive one to have an affair with their daughter’s boyfriend—in fact, I don’t want to think about Candace fucking Harris ever again.
Except, as I carry another box of Ellie’s things up the narrow staircase of my townhouse, Candace feels like the ghost I’ll never escape.
It’s not that I don’t want Ellie here. She’s soft and kind—easy to talk to. Nothing at all like her mother. It’s just that…she deserves better. Better than my house, better than my dingy spare bedroom. She deserves better than her circumstances—her terrible mother and her awful ex-boyfriend and the father who had never been around to begin with.
She deserves better than the reality that brought her to my doorstep, and so while I don’t mind having her live here—I don’t mind it at all, honestly—I wish it wasn’t the case.
When I enter her bedroom at the top of the stairs, the afternoon sun is sitting outside the one window in the center of the room, casting all of it in golden light. Somehow, the bland and dreary space where I housed a treadmill and a futon has been transformed into something that can only be described as cozy and tranquil.
Pastel pink bedding and matching curtains adorn the bed and the window. The room smells like vanilla and warmth, with a desk set up and immaculately organized in the corner, nestled between ceiling-high bookshelves on either side, though they both remain bare. I now wonder if the exceptionally heavy box in my hands might contain some of her books.
Natalia stands on a step-stool next to the closet, stringing tiny lights over it, and I make a mental note to avoid staring too harshly at her ass. She has all the grace of the collegiate figure skater she is, and an athletic body type that would cause anyone to salivate—though I know it’s so fucking wrong of me to do so.
Then, there is Ellie. She’s delectable in a different way. For all her timid shyness off the ice, when she’s skating, she’s a fucking menace, easily the top women’s goalie in our conference. She’s strong and powerful—her body luscious and full. While Natalia is sharp, striking lines of beauty—the kind that gives you goosebumps and makes it difficult to look away—Ellie is soft and radiant. When she smiles at you, you feel it in your bones.
I feel it now as she lifts her head from where she sits on the floor unpacking boxes and flashes her teeth at me. “Thank you for bringing that up.”
“No problem, darlin’,” I say. “Is there anything else?”
