Skate the Line: A Single Dad Hockey Romance (Blue Devils Hockey Book 2)

Something is seriously wrong with me.

My hands rest on the woman’s hips as she crawls on top of me, yet I can’t fucking concentrate on the way she’s pressing her lips to my neck and making these sounds like she’s seconds from coming.

“Is everything okay?” She pulls back slightly and pouts.

She sits on my lap, and my dick is barely hard. Well, this is fucking embarrassing.

It’s not her.

It’s me.

She’s decent enough. Pretty face, nice curves, blonde hair that is pulled to one side, showing off her slender neck.

I’m more of a brunette kind of guy, but considering I haven’t fucked someone in close to a year, you’d think I’d be able to move past it.

A thought enters my head like a lightbulb—a bright one—and I grind my teeth.

Get the fuck out of my head, Sunny.

Her brown hair is rich and thick. I bet my fingers would get buried in the strands as I pulled on them.

My hands squeeze the woman’s hips. “I have to go.”

She pouts harder. “What?”

What the hell am I doing thinking about my daughter’s nanny while some other woman grinds over me?

That was the entire point of going out—well, sort of. This all started because of Kane.

I took the blonde from him as payback. He had his eye on her, spitting his lame game, and I casually stepped in front of him and pulled her flush against me.

He knew exactly why I did it too. Instead of winding back and attempting to knock me out, like he’d do with any other man in the bar, he smiled like a maniac and walked away.

“Yeah, sorry. I have an early morning.”

The woman climbs from my lap on shaky legs. She seems disappointed, and I wish I felt bad.

But I don’t.

I leave her apartment without looking back.

It’s after midnight.

Sunny and Ellie will both be asleep, which is good because I’m not up to acting like my typical aloof self with Sunny at the moment. I’m exhausted from the game and from keeping my thoughts on the straight and narrow. Seeing her in that darkened hallway with nothing but her skimpy tank top on after I practically convulsed over her wearing someone else’s number flipped a switch in my head.

The only explanation is that I need to get laid.

Yet, here I am, entering my house with my dick still nestled inside my pants, untouched.

The lights are dim in the living room. I quietly walk through the hall and stop when I see both Sunny and Ellie asleep on the couch. The cushions and blankets swallow them both whole. A smile slips onto my face, and I rub my hand down my scruffy cheek.

There are two bowls of popcorn on the coffee table, half-eaten.

Sesame Street plays on the TV, which is…unusual.

With smooth steps, I walk over to Ellie and gently scoop her into my arms.

She sleeps like a rock, just like me.

It takes no time getting her into her bed and blanketing her with the blue quilt. I place a kiss on her forehead and head back to the living room.

My heart noticeably gains traction as I rest against the arched alcove. Sunny’s hair lies over her shoulders in thick waves, and her face is free from any emotion. Perfect golden skin and smooth cheeks that lead down to her bow-shaped lips.

My nostrils flare. I’m obviously attracted to her.

When I met her, my first thought was that she was the type of beautiful that smacks you in the face, but I had my reservations. She’s young, which to me means wild. I assumed she was untrustworthy and flighty, and I expected her to fuck up at least once, but I was wrong.

That doesn’t happen often.

She’s mature beyond her years—driven, determined, independent, and a ray of sunshine. When she enters a room and smiles, there’s a warmth that follows her. She has a vibe to her that’s alluring, making you crave it. She doesn’t even have to try either. It’s just her.

It’s admirable that she’s still like this after someone broke her trust and damaged a part of her pureness. I’ve seen the anxiety seep in, yet she has a way of smiling and laughing a moment later.

It’s baffling.

I shake my thoughts away and busy myself with cleaning up the popcorn. I do my best to ignore Sunny sleeping peacefully on the couch, still wearing my jersey. A gray knitted blanket is draped over her, only showing small snippets of her body. I wait a few seconds and wonder if I should leave her there, but Ellie is an early riser. She’ll wake Sunny up the second she lays eyes on her.

Hovering above her, I place one hand on the back of the couch and lean forward. I give her shoulder a soft nudge, and her face twitches. A small line appears in between her eyebrows, right below a strand of her hair that has fallen into her face.

“Sunsh—” I clear my throat. “Sunny.”

She sucks in a sharp breath and pops up so fast I’m forced to step backward. Her bare feet slap onto the hardwood floor as she gasps for air, sending her hair into a blurry brown mess. “Ellie?!”

My hands move before my head even realizes what’s happening. My reflexes are quick from years of hockey.

One arm wraps around her waist, and the other cups the side of her cheek. “Breathe, Sunshine. It’s just me. Ellie’s fine.” I skate my attention all over her worried face.

Her eyelashes flutter. I suck in my own sharp breath when her hand winds around my sturdy wrist, gripping onto it for dear life. The rising and falling of her chest is indicative of panic, but I can’t help but focus on how her breasts are brushing against me.

A warm, heavy breath flows from her mouth, and my nostrils flare. She smells sweet, like buttery popcorn and something that makes my mouth water.

“Oh, jeez.” She closes her eyes and releases my wrist. “I’m so sorry. You startled me. I⁠—”

There’s no need for her to explain. I understand why she’s on edge sometimes.

I move to let go of her, but she sways, so I quickly reach for her again. This time, I put my hands around her waist to steady her. I glance down to make sure her feet are stable on the floor, and my mouth runs dry.

Where the hell are her pants?

Fuck.

I gulp, and it’s loud enough for her to hear.

“You’re still wearing my jersey,” I state.

Her silky hair falls and brushes my arm with the dip of her head. “Oh god,” she groans. “I fell asleep. I didn’t mean for you to…find me like this.”

I’m not sure I like the sound of her wobbling voice. I bet if I were to move my fingers to her wrist, her pulse would be flying a mile a minute.

“Sit.” With my hands on her waist, I guide her backward and push her to collapse on the couch. When she’s settled, I remove my traitorous hands and take a step away. I plead with myself to keep my eyes on her face and not her bare legs. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” she argues.

There she goes again, acting all determined and independent. “You just scared me. I⁠—”

I make a noise that escapes from deep within my chest when she tries to stand. She pauses, peers up at me with flushed cheeks, and then slowly sits back down.

Khoroshaya devochka.

I freeze at the explicit vision that fills my head.

Did I just call her “good girl” in Russian?

I cough from shock and end up muttering, “Good choice.”

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Her lips purse, and I look away.

I sit beside her, putting enough distance between us to where we aren’t touching, and clear my thoughts. If this were a few weeks ago, I’d leave her to calm herself down from being startled awake. But now that I know she’s skittish for certain reasons, I decide to stay.

Sesame Street plays on the TV in front of us. I look at her and hate that my gaze falls to her bare legs for a brief second. They shouldn’t catch my attention, but they do.

I lift my leg and tug on the blanket I sat on. I hold it out to her, and she quickly snatches it, resting it over her bare thighs. Thank god.

I reach for anything that will pull my thoughts in a different direction and flick my chin at the flatscreen. “Interesting choice.”

A dimple appears on her cheek. “There’s a reason behind it.”

I give her my attention, and she’s smiling coyly. Her hands are in her lap, over the blanket…and why is she so pretty? Her dimple deepens, and there’s that warm feeling again.

“Do I dare ask?” My tone is full of boredom, yet I’m anything but bored.

White teeth clamp onto her bottom lip. “Only if you promise not to get offended.”

“Offended by Sesame Street?” I chuckle. “I think it’s a safe bet that I won’t be offended.”

She laughs nervously. “I may or may not have referred to you as Oscar, and Ellie didn’t know what I was talking about.”

“Excuse me?” Okay, fine. I am a little offended.

Sunny pouts, and unlike my earlier date, hers is actually cute. “You promised you wouldn’t get offended.”

A sarcastic noise leaves me. “I don’t make promises, Sunshine.”

Her eyebrows come together. “Ever?”

I shake my head and get back on track. “You call me Oscar behind my back?” I ask, keeping my tone level. “Oscar the Grouch?”

“Only in my head,” she mutters.

“I’m not even grumpy with you,” I argue, looking away. “That’s unfair.”

“But you are grumpy,” she says.

It’s probably because I need to get fucking laid.

“Sometimes.” I stare at Elmo on the screen. “A little less now that I’ve found a decent nanny to help with Ellie.”

It’s uncanny how opposite she and I are.

I call her Sunshine, and she calls me Oscar. Total fucking opposites.

“Decent?” she exclaims. “That’s it? Just a decent nanny?”

I turn toward her and grin. “You fishin’ for compliments?”

Her lips part, like she’s offended. “Uh, no. But I think I’m a little more than decent. I haven’t tried to sleep with you like the other nannies, and I never flirt. I don’t ditch Ellie ever, and I’m practically available to you at all times when you need me.”

Available to you at all times when you need me.

Why did that statement wake my dick up?

A thick swallow moves down my throat. “You clean the house too. Fine. You’re more than decent.”

She makes a noise that pulls on my attention like a fucking puppet.

“I know,” she quips.

That cheeky grin of hers irritates me. It irritates me because it excites me.

I turn away when she swings her legs up onto the couch under the blanket. I know what lies beneath it.

Nothing.

“Oscar, you say…” I relax back onto the couch, shifting away from her. As if on cue, the green monster appears on the screen inside his metal trash can. “Oh look, it’s me.”

Sunny laughs quietly.

After a few minutes of watching Oscar, it switches to a different character.

“I do not act like that.” My voice is gruff.

Fuck, I do act like that.

Sunny laughs again. “Whatever you say…Oscar.”

I glare at her, and she responds with a flirty smile. Those big, brown eyes glimmer beneath the dim lighting of the lamp, and her white teeth gleam like she just used whitening strips.

I scoff. “Why are you so…happy all the time?”

A playful gasp leaves her, but then she turns away from me. The corners of her mouth slowly drop, and she shrugs. “Because.”

“Because why?” I prod.

It’s late.

We should go to sleep.

Except, I’m still sitting here on the couch with my double in the background, banging his trash can while I question her radiant personality.

I would have never guessed that…one, she was assaulted. Two, she doesn’t date nor does she have a boyfriend. And what was it her friend said? She hasn’t had sex in far too long.

For someone as chipper as her, she has to be letting out some tension somehow.

Is that why she is always fiddling with clay and painting?

“Because I know real sadness…”

My chest constricts.

“It makes me appreciate the smaller things in life. Nothing seems as bad after I’ve been in…certain situations.’ She turns toward me. “You know?”

I continue to stare at her. My mind spins in different directions. Is she referring to what she’s already alluded to, or is she referring to something else in her life?

Suddenly, I find myself wanting to know everything about her.

What makes her angry?

What has she had to endure in life?

What are her dreams?

Why is she so captivating? Even to a guy like me?

“Plus”—my thoughts scatter with her add-on—“I just like to make people happy.”

Gazing at her, sitting with her knees beneath the blanket pulled up to her chin with the colors of Sesame Street painting her soft features, I’m not sure she has to even try.

Just looking at her can thaw any man’s cold heart.

Except mine, of course.