Page 31 of He Has MVP (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
She wipes tree bark debris from her pants. Or leggings or whatever the hell you call the formfitting material that tells no lies about her shape.
“Now,” I say on a huff, refusing defeat, “We walk.”
“What about our stuff? What about the dogs?” She pushes her hair from her face, leaving a smudge of dirt on her cheek and looking fucking adorable. Kissable. Like always.
“Good idea. We can pack the stuff up and load it on the puppies. They can carry it like alpacas or donkeys.”
I’m being a wise-ass partly to get a rise from her and partly because I’m frustrated as hell. About getting off this fucking island and away from this fucking nightmare aftermath of the storm, but mostly I’m frustrated that Pink is shutting me down as plain as if she were carrying a neon-lit stop sign and flashing it every time I get within a foot of her. Or if I look at her a certain way—like I want to kiss her and make wild fucking love with her. Which is probably the way I look every time I lay my eyes on her.
“Don’t be a jerk.” She doesn’t have to say the words aloud. The look on her face tells me loud and clear what she thinks.
“I’ll walk to town and see if I can get us out of here. The tide is going back out now, so the worst of the storm surge is over. You can wait here with the puppies.”
She nods. I stand there watching her, hoping she’ll ask me to stay with her, but she doesn’t. She clearly can’t wait to get rid of me. I rub the back of my neck and survey the mess that Mother Nature made of Ryan and Chelsea’s beach haven on Nantucket. At least the waves didn’t reach the house. The patio wall took some hits, but it looks repairable.
“Maybe you should get going,” she says. “It’s going to take a half hour to walk to town at least.” She licks her lips, her eyes wary.
“Or I could stay and wait for the police to come by and patrol the neighborhood again.” Because I’m sure they will. Problem is I’m not one to sit around and wait for something to happen. So I move, heading into the house to find dry clothes and afraid it’ll be a matter of the least wet clothes that I’ll need to wear. She follows me inside and walks into the room while I’m putting on my last pair of dry socks. The day’s light dims. Already mid-afternoon. Shit.
“I really appreciate your doing this,” she says, shrugging. “I could go instead if you want. You look tired.”
A smile breaks out. “Not half as tired as you look, babe. I got this.”
“Fine.” She bristles at the use ofbabe. It’s the reason I say it.
“I’ll clean up as much as I can.” She waves a hand around. Of course she will. She’s the most industrious person I know. Oddly.
I nod and pull on the old boots I’d found in Ryan’s closet. They’re a little big, but that’s better than small. Too bad none of the rest of the clothes he left behind fit me. Not surprising. I’m the biggest dude on the team. The enforcer. The MVP enforcer according to Pink.
I’ll take it. I’ll take anything with MVP in it from her. Except MVP player in the pejorative sense. Too bad that’s the way she uses it with me. But that was before she got to know me.
Brushing past her through the bedroom door, I hold my breath. She follows me to the front entrance and I stop with my hand on the handle, about to push it open.
“I feel like I’m going off to war.” I smirk.
She smiles back. “I know what you mean. It’s been a hell of a weekend.” The pups scurry over to us, ready to venture out.
“How about a kiss goodbye?” I say before I lose the moment and my nerve. Which is crazy for me since one thing I’ve had in plentiful supply all my life has been nerve.
She freezes, her eyes dart away, and she licks her lips like she’s dying to say yes, but afraid. So I let my boldness free and take her face in my hands, move in close, and lower my lips to hers nice and slow so she has plenty of chance to back out. But she doesn’t.
My dick celebrates the win with a stand-up cheer and I plunder her mouth with abandon. It’s one of those kisses I feel down to my soul, the soft give of her lips as they part, the wet velvet interior of her mouth as my tongue explores, the raw need, my hungry emotions leaving nothing unspent. It’s the kind of kiss a guy gives a girl he’s not going to see for a long time, a gritty reluctant farewell to a beloved, a tormented wanting of what I’m about to leave behind.
My hands slide down her neck and I nibble the corners of her mouth, leaving parting touches on the soft skin of her face. I lift my head, take a step back.
Way too much for a guy taking a walk to town. Not too much for a guy wishing he could have more. But I get the feeling I’m not on Allie Pinkerton’s future dance card.
“I’ll be back,” I say. Then, feeling stupid and melodramatic, I add a menacing look to mimic Arnold inTerminator. She smiles at my levity, thank God.
* * *
I walkthe mile and a half to town in less than a half hour, even hampered by the obstacles—mostly tree branches—in the streets. The storm damage is impressive. As I skirt close to the water, one of the streets and some of the property is awash with seawater, sand, and rocks.
Half expecting to find Jaws lying in the middle of the road flopping around, I keep going, not stopping to talk to people, which is hard for me. Instead, mindful of time running out and Pink with the pups back at the ranch counting on me, I head directly to the police office—right after I ask Nellie at the grocery store where it is. I can’t believe she’s still working there or that it’s open and I almost ask her if she slept there, but I’m on a mission, so I move on.
The police officer requests my name right off the bat—part of their protocol—and he’s a Brawlers fan, so he does a double take and I confirm for him that, yes, I’m the guy—defenseman for the team.
“I need to get back to Boston for preseason by tomorrow morning. Any way off the island, like right now?”
