Page 95 of Punked By the Playmaker
“Language,” I reprimanded, but there was no real heat in it. Truth be told, it was nice to see him this excited about something.
Levi wasn’t just making an impact on the ice; he was making an impact on this teenage boy’s life.
The longer I sat waiting for Levi to get home, the more nervous I became.
I plucked at the sheer purple robe hanging off my shoulders. Why had I thought greeting him with lingerie was a good idea?
Oh, that’s right, because I’d had a run-in with one of his exes, who was everything I was not, and I decided that the only way I could prove my worth was through sex.
Years of therapy hadn’t been enough to undo that fucked-up conditioning.
The doorknob turned, and Levi entered the room, eyes cast downward as he loosened the knot of his tie.
“Sorry I’m so late,” he breathed out in apology, headed for the walk-in closet without sparing me a glance. “Last home game means fan appreciation, so there was a lot post-game that required the players’ involvement.”
Levi continued to ramble on, but when he realized he was having a one-sided conversation, his words died off, and he called out, “Arizona? Are you still with me?”
I hummed in the affirmative, wringing my hands on my lap.
He walked out of the closet, shirtless but still wearing his navy-blue suit pants. When his eyes landed on how I was dressed, they widened. “Whoa. You look . . .” Straight white teeth bit into his lower lip. “Fucking incredible.”
Normally, the praise would send me soaring, but tonight it felt like I was chained to an anvil, my feet unable to leave the ground.
A smirk tugged onto his lips as Levi prowled toward me like a predator stalking its prey. “Is this all for me?”
I lifted one shoulder. “If you want it to be.” My tone was flat, hollow.
His steps halted, his brows drawing together. “Wanna tell me what’s going on? Because you’re kinda giving off mixed signals here, babe. Your appearance says one thing, but your words are saying something completely different.”
Blowing out a breath, I confessed, “I met Bristol at the game.”
“Bristol,” he repeated, slowly, as if he was trying to work out why I might be upset. Then it dawned on him, and he huffed out a laugh. “You’re not . . . jealous, are you?”
My face flamed. I felt like a fool for even bringing this up.
“Did you not happen to notice that she’s pregnant? With herhusband’sbaby?”
Averting my gaze, I said, “I could tell she cared deeply about you once. She said Maisie could have been her daughter in another life.”
His heavy sigh sounded. “Bristol and I had a thing when we were in our early twenties. She viewed our relationship—if you can even call it that—as far more serious than I did, so it makes sense that she may have fantasized about having a family withme back then. But that’s ancient history. None of it matters now. She’s married, and I’m married. End of story.”
“Fake married,” I corrected.
A scoff fell from his lips as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m getting pretty sick and tired of hearing you call what we have fake.”
I shot off the mattress, giving him my back because it was too painful to look at him when I croaked out, “We had an agreement.”
“Fuck the agreement!” Levi roared, his hand gripping my wrist to spin me around.
The fire blazing in his intense dark brown stare stole my breath away.
“Look me in the eye and tell me this is fake for you,” he demanded.
Defiantly, I lifted my chin, ready to lie through my teeth, but when my lips parted, I just couldn’t do it.
Whisper-quiet, I confessed, “It’s not fake.”
All the air left his lungs in a rush, relief written across his face.
