Page 42 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

Goddamn it.

When there’s a knock on my front door a little over thirty minutes later, I almost ignore it.

But despite wanting to hide under my blanket and never look him in the eyes again, I can’t. He knows I’m sick and very unlikely to have gone anywhere.

The second I consider the fact that he might think I’m too distracted with my toy to answer the door, I’m on my feet.

I mutter a “Morning,” under my breath, keeping my eyes on his chest.

“Good morning, darlin’. I brought food.”

Unlike yesterday, when the scent of bacon and maple syrup hit my nose, my stomach growls.

Maybe things are looking up.

Unable to turn him away, I open the door wider and gesture for him to enter.

“I can’t stay long; I’ve got to get to the arena,” he explains, thankfully not noticing my embarrassment as he marches deeper into my apartment and straight for the kitchen.

Today, he moves around it as if he lives here. But while the sight of a hot hockey player working his magic in my kitchen is mind-blowing, I also don’t want to get used to it.

Calvin is only here because I’m sick. As soon as I’m better, he’ll return to life as usual, spending his evenings fucking puck bunnies instead of watching old rom-coms with me.

I try not to be disappointed by that prospect, but one cozy movie night down and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t craving a second.

He is wrong for you, Sienna.

He is everything you don’t want.

So why is it that while my brain screams those words at me, even sick, my body is on an entirely different train of thought?

“I figured you might not want oatmeal again,” he starts, “but it’s so good nutritionally for you, so I got it again anyway. I figured that you could save it for lunch if you’d prefer the bacon now.”

“Definitely bacon now,” I tell him, and when he looks up at me, I find a wide smile playing on his lips.

Tingles descend between my thighs before I can stop them.

“You look brighter today. There’s more color in your cheeks.”

I avert my gaze instantly, more than willing to pretend it’s because I’m feeling better.

“Here we go,” he says before walking over with my fully loaded tray.

I scan each dish, the waffles and bacon. The fresh fruit and OJ. And the coffee.

I reach for that first and take a big sip of the rich goodness.

“Which coffee shop do you go to?” I ask as he lowers his ass beside me with a tray that’s loaded full of food. Seriously, it’s more than I eat in a normal day. I try to mentally tally up the calories sitting before him, but it’s impossible. I’m not very good at mental math on a good day. When my head is fried, I stand no chance.

“Nancy’s. It’s a diner a block over. Best coffee around, hands down.”

I take another sip, unable to hold in my groan of agreement. “When I’m functioning again, I need to visit.”

“I’ll take you,” he says without missing a beat. “I think you’ll love it. Nancy is retired now. Her granddaughter, Chloe, runs it. She’s doing a fantastic job.”

I can’t help but agree as I pick up a piece of bacon and bite off the end.

The saltiness mixes with the sweetness of the maple syrup, and before I realize I’ve groaned again, Calvin’s eyes are boring into mine.