Page 65 of He Has Pluck

When I think I’ll have to tear Juliette away from her boss and Delaney, she surprises me, turning away from them and giving her mother a real-looking hug, the kind I could use about now. But I can wait.

“Let’s go. It’s getting late,” Juliette says to me, leading the way.

“Tell O’Rourke I wish him well,” Delaney says as we walk away, and I swallow down my shock and nod.

We hop in the back seat of the Uber I arranged out front of Madison Square Garden, and the driver wastes no time pulling into Manhattan traffic.

“Too bad we’re not in Boston,” I say. “This would’ve all been much easier.”

“Then I would’ve driven your Mustang,” she says, “because you’re in no shape to drive.”

I ignore her insinuation that I’m shaky, mostly because she’s right. I take a deep breath. “You know how to drive a clutch?” I ask. She gives me a withering glance, and I laugh. “Of course you do. You’d probably know how to fix the car if it broke.”

“I’ve been known to assist in a bush fix of an old Jeep once or twice.”

“I should be intimidated, but nah.” I shake my head. “When it should be impossible in my current head space, you just turned me on.” I reach over and squeeze her thigh. She covers my hand, but it’s not a squeeze; it’s more like a caress, sending a wave of understanding and consolation through me.

“You’re not still feeling guilty, are you?”

I laugh. “No, of course not. Why would I? I’ve had ten minutes to get past the idea that I sliced my teammate and good friend’s arm open with my careless lack of concentration in a must-win game.”

She shakes her head. “Get over yourself, Tansem. You’re not above falling on your ass when someone checks you into the boards. All the concentration in the world wouldn’t have mattered.”

“Thanks. I don’t mind that you just knocked my hockey skills.” I take her hand and squeeze it, then bring it to my mouth and suck one finger inside. Her sudden intake of breath gratifies me and encourages my slutty dick to salivate. I give it a silent, Down boy, because I don’t want to be distracted when I see O’Rourke. I want to be fully present to let him know how sorry I am and to see for myself that he’ll be okay.

“He’ll be fine,” she says as if she’s in my head.

I snort. “What do you know? You assist in bush fixes of down-to-the-bone lacerations?”

“No.” She shrugs, and I know she’s going on faith and going against her cynical grain. As the driver pulls into the circular drop-off driveway at the main entrance to the hospital, I lean in and take her face in my hands and kiss her, devouring her mouth when she responds. It’s a flash kiss, deep and hard, and then over because I’m out of breath and out of time.

In the lobby, we go to the desk and ask for O’Rourke. There’s a list of approved visitors, and thank fuck, I’m on it.

“You can go up, but the visits are limited and short.”

Before we make it to the elevator, Carlos arrives with his camera, but he’s stopped in the lobby by security. I hold my breath until the elevator doors close, half expecting Juliette to jump off and run interference to try and let him go up to the room.

“He’s going to give you shit tomorrow,” I say.

She nods. And then she turns to me and smiles. “I don’t give a fuck,” she says. “I’m on team Jason all the way.” She plucks at her jersey. “In case you didn’t notice.”

“I noticed.” My dick takes this moment to notice with a nod. “Don’t remind me.” My voice is raspy, and she moves close. But we don’t get to test my resolve to behave because the doors slide open. The nurse’s station is in front of us, and they show us to O’Rourke’s room.

Chelsea is there and a couple I don’t recognize. O’Rourke is whiter than his sheet and has two bags hooked up to him, pumping blood and fluid into his veins. For some reason, he smiles at me and gives me a raised brow look because my arm is around Juliette’s shoulder. I hadn’t realized it because touching her is so natural that it’s as if my DNA dictates it. I leave it there.

“Well, look who’s here. The new guy,” he says, attempting to be cheerful. “Thank you for winning the game.”

“Nah. That wasn’t me. It was Rafe and Tony G.”

He snorts, then winces. His arm is wrapped in clean white bandages.

“Don’t lie. You assisted.” He looks at Chelsea to double-check, and she nods. Her face is clear of tears. She introduces us to Ryan’s sister and her husband, his best friend Levi.

“And this is Juliette Sullivan,” Chelsea says. “She’s filming the documentary—”

“She’s my girlfriend,” I say.

Chelsea and Ryan both shoot looks at me. They go from surprised to smiles.