Page 4 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“I hope it’s a girl,” I say, silently praying for a healthy defect-free baby of any kind, but unwilling to bring up the family’s genetic history. “That’ll teach your lucky bastard husband a lesson about what it’s like to be the only guy in a house of females.” She laugh-sniffs. “He’s okay with it, right?” I ask quietly.
“Of course he is. You’d think we just won the lottery or the Stanley cup.” She pauses. “Mad, I’m sorry about your… misfortune. I know you didn’t do anything wrong no matter what anyone says. That video was bad luck—”
“Or bad judgment in my choice of bedmates.” I’ve skirted the line of carefree lifestyle and bad judgment too long for it not to catch up to me. “It’s my own fault.”
“You think? Look, I know you can’t help that you’re a chick magnet, but you need to be far more careful about—” I interrupt her to put her mind at ease.
“That’s no longer a problem.” I tell her about my so-called handler-jailer. She blows out a whistle then snorts out a belly laugh at my expense and I feel like a twelve-year-old all over again having my ten-year-old kid sister getting the last laugh. She always was the smartass, too-old-for-her-britches of the Knight kids.
“That’ll keep you out of trouble—at least temporarily. But what happens after Harper the warden decides you’re an angel disguised as a hockey hunk and she moves on? What then?”
Fuck, I hear my least favorite lecture coming.
“Maybe you should consider finding a woman—one woman—to settle down with. Seriously, Madman.”
“You know what I think of that. My mind hasn’t changed.”
“Maybe you can see a new doctor and revisit the issue—”
“Whatever they want to do to resolve the problem will end my hockey career and I’m too young for that.”
“You’re too young to die of a heart attack.”
“I’m only twenty-eight, in my prime. I have another five years at least, maybe ten.”
“I hate when you talk this way. It’s ridiculous. You could settle down and not have children. You don’t have to worry about passing down the—”
“Seriously? You should talk. Have you ever met a woman who wanted to get married andnothave children?” Silence. Katy always claimed she wouldn’t have kids, but here she is announcing her pregnancy and happy about it. A change of subject is needed.
“Mom still hasn’t seen the—”
“Hell no.” The way she says that makes my chest tighten.
“You haven’t…” Silence. Shit. I don’t have a chance to confirm my suspicion that she’s seen the video against my orders because a limo pulls up to the curb. “Gotta go, Katy-girl. I’ll call you when I get to Boston and let you know where I am.” We end the call and I open the back door before the driver has a chance to, but I let him throw my bag into his trunk.
“Nice to see you dressed for the trip,” Harper says before I slide into the back of the limo next to her.
“Air travel is casual these days, Harper. Welcome back from the sixties.” She rolls her eyes and I stifle a laugh. I need to behave. But as soon as the driver gets in and we pull from the curb, the cool, private space scented in something exotic sucks me in and she’s hard to resist. Her scent, that smart mouth, her vivid green eyes…
“Stop staring at me,” she says. “You know it’s colder in Boston, right?”
I laugh and then stop myself and look out the window. “No problem. I’m a warm-blooded guy.” She tosses a pointed look at my gym shorts and I wonder if she’s checking out my cock while she’s at it.
“Like what you see?”
“What? Don’t flatter yourself.” She turns away and I’m sure I saw a rush of pink heat her cheeks. Fuck, this is going to be more fun than I thought. Forget the imprisoned Maddox of my imagination. Instead, I envision myself playing the stay-at-home-with-the-pretty-lady Maddox.
“I’m sorry,” I say, no repentance in my voice whatsoever. “My mistake. I thought you were checking out my crotch. I’ll behave.”
She snorts.
“Behave? Were you planning to get a lobotomy? Because I don’t see you changing much and you are—”
“A natural-born charmer, so I’m told.”
She laughs and gives me an assessing look. “Some ladies might find you charming. Most of us think you’re—”
“Most of us?” I raise my brows.
