Page 56 of Hot Shot
“I want to be more than friends with you too.” He reaches over and threads his fingers through mine. “Can I ask what changed your mind?”
I glance down at our joined hands and take a deep breath.
“I had dinner with my father last week. I never knew him growing up. My mom always told me he picked his career over us. Turns out he didn’t, he had no idea I existed. She never gave him the chance to choose whether or not to be in our lives. When he told me that I realized I was doing something similar to you. I didn’t give you a chance to make your own decision when it came to us. I decided for us. I’m sorry, Hunter.”
Hunter tilts his head to the side, studying me. “You’re sure that what your father told you isn’t a crock of shit?”
I jerk back a little. I wasn’t expecting him to say that, but it’s a valid question.
“I talked to my aunt about it. Apparently she and Mom had a conversation before my mom passed where she confessed to what she’d done. Cut him off without so much as a ‘hey, I’m pregnant and it’s yours.’ I wish I knew why she did it. I’d like to think she thought she was protecting both of them from heartbreak.”
“I’m sorry your mom isn’t here anymore for you to ask. That you’ll never get that question answered. I’m glad you’re getting to finally know your dad, though,” He says after a few minutes of silence.
“Me too.”
“I like you.” He pauses and I nod. “I want to see where this thing goes with us. I know it’s going to be tough with me being on the road a lot. It’s going to get worse the second half of the season. I’m not sure how much free time I’ll have, but what little I get, I want to spend with you.”
“I understand.” And I do. I remember EJ being gone all the time after the All-Star break.
“It’s settled then. We see where this thing goes between us.”
“I’d like that.”
“Me too. But one more thing, Madison.”
My heart rate spikes. What’s he going to say? My mind races. Does he know that his coach is my father and he’s going to call me on it?
“I don’t share, sweets. If we’re together”—he gestures between us—“this, us, whatever it is, however slow we go, we’re exclusive.”
“I don’t share either.”
“Good.” He glances at my lips. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Yes please,” I whisper as his lips crash into mine.
I groan when he sinks his tongue into my mouth. Hunter tears his mouth from mine all too soon and I whine, missing the feel of his lips.
I’m addicted to him and it’s only our second kiss.
“Me too, sweets. Me too,” he mumbles, smiling at me. His lips are swollen from our kisses, and it makes him even hotter and more delicious-looking.
“Why do you call me that?”
He studies me for a beat. “You taste and smell sweet. Like the cakes and pastries you’re around all day, so it seemed fitting. Plus, you’re sweet so . . .” He gives me a boyish grin, blushing a little, like he’s proud but also slightly embarrassed by his observation.
“I like it.” And I do. It’s sweet, no pun intended. It’s not one of the typical nicknames I’ve been called by past boyfriends, like babe or hun.
It’s special. Like him.
The next night I pull into the garage at the arena over an hour early for the Storm’s game against the Calgary Heat. As I’m grabbing my purse from the back seat, I realize I don’t even know Hunter’s number.
I’m a bad girlfriend. I rear back at that thought.
Are we boyfriend and girlfriend?
We didn’t put a name on our relationship, except to agree that we’re exclusive, but I guess that means we are boyfriend and girlfriend. I like the thought of that. I haven’t been someone’s girlfriend in a long time, and it feels nice. I quickly send Hunter a text.
Me:I realized that I have no idea what number you are.
