Are they mind readers as well? I don’t like it.
“He upstairs?”
The three men nod.
“He’s had a few to drink.” There’s a subtle note of caution in Scott’s voice that makes me want to kiss his face. Not in a sexual way, but I like that I’m surrounded by guys who care.
“Granted it’s been a couple hours.” He winks at me. “Informed consent.”
“I’d be more concerned with me killing him. If he started something and passed out...” I whistle. “Yeah. I’d murder him in his sleep.”
“Who’s getting murdered?” Rico Palffy and Mikko Lindell walk into the room shoveling ice cream into their mouths from over-filled bowls.
“Need help with the body?” Mikko’s grin suggests he’s not actually joking.
I wave off the offer. “So chivalrous. But I’m pretty sure there’s a no-murdering-your-hockey-brothers rule in the vows.”
Mikko’s face falls. “Well. If you ever need help with a body.” He pats Rico's chest. “We’ve got you.”
It’s the first time I’ve met someone from Finland, but from what I know of the country, they aren’t all unhinged. It makes sense that Mikko is a goalie. He and Ares get along well together.
“Pitstop.”
My body freezes as Tate’s voice carries across the room. The way he growls my name makes my nipples pucker.
It’s been three weeks since his injury. The dissolvable stitches in his mouth were set to disappear at two weeks, but the wiring stays in for another three. And he’s off the ice for at least five more.
I wonder if he’s going to continue to sink further into depression over the next eight weeks, three until his jaw is unwired and a further month or so until he’s allowed back on the ice, or if we can find a way for him to pick himself up and claw his way back.
“Satan, so good of you to join us.”
I walk past his teammates toward the kitchen.
“Where are you going?”
I hook a thumb toward the doorway. “I have smoothies to make. Didn’t you hear? I can name my price in these walls. Your friends will pay anything to get my goodies.”
Someone behind me chokes on something, and there’s a firm sequence of slaps on his back from one of his teammates.
Tate’s eyes narrow, and he points to the stairs.
“Use your words, big boy.”
“Don’t make me come over there.” The heat that flashes in his eyes is the same fire spreading through my body like a match to a piece of parchment.
“Or what? You’ll smolder me to death?” He really is blazing at me, and my body responds in kind. My nipples are so hard I’m half-afraid they’ll tear though my shirt and wave at the de la Peñas. At which point Tate will have to stab them in the eyeballs because they’ve seen pieces of my body that he’d rather they didn’t see.
Caveman.
I’m falling in love with a fucking caveman.
“I’ll put you over my knee.” The words that come out of his mouth are charged with lust, like he dragged them over a bedof sex toys all turned on high, and left them there for an hour before he spoke.
It’s so fucking hot.
I snort. “I’d break your fucking legs, hot shot.”
Pretty sure it’s Rico that whispers, “oh fuck.”
