Page 52 of Slapshot Bride

My hand goes to my mouth, and my lips tingle. The memories hit because I feel it. All of it. His kisses… his gentleness. The way that gentleness turned commanding.

My stomach clenches, like I’m reliving it all over again.

And that’s my cue to go. Be out of his bed, and wash it all off.

I scoop the shorts off the nightstand, hold them against my chest like armor, and make my way down the hall to the guest bathroom because if I shower in the master right now, I will lose what is left of my composure.

The water is hot. Hot enough to scald off the memories from last night.

I get out. I put on the shorts and the t-shirt from his bedroom, and towel-dry my hair. I leave it to air-dry.

When I’m done, I sit on the bed. My eyes dart to my phone, and I grab it without a second thought.

I need a distraction. A reminder that the world is still happening outside this house. A reminder of all the reasons I should not be doing this with the man I just woke up in bed with.

I’m about to unlock the screen when the doorbell rings.

My heart skips. A gripping fear travels down my spine.

I know it’s not Easton. He’s never used the doorbell. So who could it be?

Preston.

My throat suddenly dries, and I feel the lump forming. My pulse skitters, charged by my erratically beating heart.

He’s found me. Through the pictures. He’s dug his way…

A million and one thoughts cross my mind.

The bell rings again.

I’m out of the room before I can think. I need to confirm. To decide my next line of action. I’m down the stairs, and in the living room, a foot from the door, when a soft knock comes, accompanied by a feminine voice.

“Easton?”

I stand very still.

“Easton, sweetheart, it’s me.”

An overwhelming need to see the woman who calls Easton sweetheart seizes me.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I cross the room, reach for the handle, and pull the door open.

She’s older, almost a spitting image of Easton, except with blonde hair. She looks to be in her mid-fifties, dressed in a soft coat over jeans. There’s an overnight bag at her feet.

And there’s only one conclusion.

His mom.

“Hello?”

There is a brief silence. Then a smile.

“Oh. Hello.” She sounds sweet and kind.

“Is Easton home?”

“He's at practice.”