The Sweet Talker: A Surprise Baby Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey)

by Gina Azzi

  “You hate it. You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “I love you.”

  I press a quick kiss to her lips. “I love you more.”

  “I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

  “I’ll never get tired of saying it.”

  “Jesus, stop before I puke,” Claire’s voice rings out.

  We turn and notice Claire standing beside us, her arms crossed against her chest.

  “Sorry.” Indy blushes.

  “He’s not.” Claire hooks a thumb in my direction.

  I chuckle. “You’re right.”

  “You good, Indy?” Claire asks her cousin.

  Indy nods, doing a once-over of her group. “Yeah. We’re all set.” She kisses Claire’s cheek, wraps her arms around me for one last kiss goodbye, and steps back. “See you in ten days.”

  “Ten days,” I confirm.

  Then I watch as the woman I am so goddamn twisted up over turns around, claps her hands, and calls out to her students. They follow her in awe, their faces lighting up in excitement. They toss last waves over their shoulders to their parents as they all pass through security.

  Claire and I watch until the group is out of sight.

  Then, Claire clasps my shoulder. “You’re going to be okay, Scotch. Trust Indy, she’s the most trustworthy person on the planet.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, I know. It’s just, damn, I never thought I’d feel this way.”

  Claire peers at me, frowning. “Simultaneously giddy and tortured? Like your head is a mess but also the clearest it’s ever been?”

  My eyebrows furrow as I meet her gaze. I never expected Claire to hit the nail on the head before. “Well…yeah.”

  She sighs, “It doesn’t get any easier, my friend. You just get better at managing it. And with Indy, well, you know how she feels about you. And she needs to be able to count on you to manage”—she pauses, gesturing to my being—“all of this.”

  “She can,” I say more defensively than I’d like.

  Claire snorts. “Trust me, I know, she knows, everyone knows.”

  “Good.”

  Claire nods. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m starving.”

  “Are you trying to fish for an invitation to lunch?”

  Claire threads her arm through mine. “Sometimes, you just get me, Scotch.”

  I chuckle, heading back toward the parking garage with Claire. “Hey, Easton’s coming home next week.”

  Claire stiffens, her pace slowing as she peers up at me. “For good?”

  I don’t miss the hesitation in her eyes or the waver in her voice. “Yeah. For good.” I tug her along. “And you need to manage all of this.” I wave my empty hand at her. “Don’t go tormenting my brother with your flirtatious giggles and big eyes. He needs to stay focused on his recovery.”

  She gasps and for a moment, I think I truly offended her. “I never tried to distract him like that.”

  I give her a look, snickering. “Relax, Claire, I’m playing with you. I know that. I just meant, East’s going to be out of sorts for a bit. Maybe not even acting like himself. So just, you know, go easy on him.”

  She nods, her expression more serious than I’ve ever seen it. Then, she grins and a flash of humor flares in her eyes. “You mean like how I’m always giving shit to Big Daddy?” she asks, referencing her nickname for Torsten since he’s the oldest guy on the team.

  “Exactly like that.” We step into the parking garage and walk to my car.

  I slip into the driver’s seat just as my phone chimes with a text. Pulling it out of my pocket, I can’t stop the grin on my face when I see Indy’s name.

  Indy: Thanks for dropping me at the airport.

  Me: As if I wouldn’t see you off.

  Indy: I’ll miss you a whole lot, Noah. Already do.

  Me: I can make up a story and halt the plane.

  Indy: [3 laughing emojis] Don’t you dare. I’ll be back in ten days.

  Me: Already counting down.

  Claire huffs beside me but I hear the amusement in her tone and don’t bother looking over. I keep my eyes glued to the bubbles bouncing on the bottom of my screen until Indy’s message comes through.

  Indy: Will you be at my place—permanently—by the time I land?

  I pause. I’m desperate to move in with Indy but I also don’t want to leave my brother hanging the week he comes home from rehab. Still, I know Easton will understand, will want me to be at Indy’s place, especially now that she’s expecting.

  Me: I’m aiming for it, babe. Just need to get East settled.

  Indy: Of course. I didn’t mean to put you in a position where you feel torn.

  Me: I know you didn’t. This is why I love you.

  Indy: Why?

  Me: Fishing for reassurances?

  Indy: No, I just like hearing you say them.

  Me: There are too many ways but the biggest one of all is because you’re you. Always and no matter what, you are the most confident, sincere, caring, genuine person I know. And I like who I am a hell of a lot more now that I’m with you.

  Indy: Oh my God! I’m crying.

  Crying? Panic seizes up in my chest.

  Me: What? Why? You okay?

  Indy: [laughing emoji] I’m fine. It’s the hormones. And you being sweet. Gah, you make me gushy.

  Me: Save it for ten days, baby. Can’t wait ‘til you’re back. Have the best trip and safe travels.

  Indy: I love you, Noah Scotch.

  Me: I love you, Indiana Merrick.

  Indy: Boarding now. Message when I land. XO

  Me: Stay safe, my love.

  I stow my phone in the cup holder and meet Claire’s amused smirk.

  “I need a man who looks that giddy just by texting me,” she declares.

  I snort, flipping the ignition on the car. “Gotta find a hockey player, Claire.”

  Claire flips me the bird and I laugh as I pull out of the airport parking garage. As I point the car toward the restaurant, I tell Claire to call Austin and see if he wants to meet us. While I’m so proud of Indy for pursuing her career and following her dreams, I already miss my girl. I miss being able to kiss her neck and place my palm on the softest swell of her belly.

  I miss her more than I ever thought possible.

  And that makes me the luckiest guy in the world.

  Epilogue

  Easton

  “Take care of yourself, man.” Clint at the front desk raises a hand in farewell as I shoulder my bag.

  “Yeah. Thanks for everything, dude,” I call out as I pass by his desk toward the front doors of the rehab center.

  The sunlight filters in through the doors and the sky gleams blue but I know it’s going to be bitterly cold when I step through them. I can’t fucking wait. After ninety days in rehab, I’m finally going home.

  Right before I reach the doors, the small waiting room to my right explodes with applause and I turn, doing a double take when I see my brother Noah, his girl Indy, and my best friend Austin and his family sitting there.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I ask, rounding the curve to where they clap.

  Noah gives me a look. “Come on, man, did you think you were just going to walk out of here?”

  “That we wouldn’t want to congratulate you?” Mary, Austin’s mom asks, a thread of hurt in her voice.

  I open my arms and Mary comes forward for a hug. She’s been a second mother to me—scratch that—a real mother to me, since I was a teenager and disappointing her usually hurts more than disappointing myself. “How are you?” she whispers.

  “Pretty good, Mary.”

  She pats my back and I release her. “I can’t believe you’re all here.” I dip my head and scratch along my jaw to hide how much their presence affects me. Why the hell do they always think the best of me? Even when I keep proving them wrong?

  “Well, we are,” Joe, Austin’s dad says, shaking my hand before grabbing my bag.
/>   “I got that.”

  He waves me away and tucks Mary under his arm. “We’ll be waiting near the cars.” He turns to me. “Welcome back, East. I’m glad to see you looking so well.”

  I nod, my chest tightening at his words. Joe and Mary’s acceptance of me, their encouragement, and constant support makes the ache there deeper. I know I’ve let them down. I don’t want to do it again.

  I turn back to my brother, Indy, Austin, and…Claire. I freeze, my breath lodging in my throat. She steps out slowly from behind her brother’s frame and I wonder how the hell I didn’t notice her first.

  It’s impossible not to notice her. She’s gorgeous. Perfect. Every man’s fantasy come to life but so much more than that. She’s funny and witty. Playful and engaging. And…here.

  I narrow my eyes. Why the hell is she here? How many people do I have to disappoint today by being the asshole who got tossed in rehab for a second time, practically ruining my NHL career?

  Claire drops her eyes to the ground and I look away.

  “You look good, East.” My brother clasps his hand on my shoulder before pulling me into a man hug. “Happy you’re home.”

  “Thanks, Noah.” I smack my brother’s back before turning to his girl who I haven’t seen in ages. I mean, I saw her a handful of months ago but I haven’t really spoken to her in years. “Hey Indy.”

  She smiles softly, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Good to see you, Easton.”

  I wrap my arm around her and don’t miss the way my brother’s eyes widen, filled with happiness at seeing me get along with his girl. His pregnant girl who I know he wants to make his wifey. Damn, seeing Noah be so open with his emotions hits me with a pang. He’s healing, moving on from our parents’ bullshit, while I’m here, still struggling like always.

  Indy slips away and begins to shrug into her coat, my brother quick to help her.

  Austin shakes my hand and bangs his fist against my shoulder, grinning at me. “Team’s missed you.”

  I nod and chuckle, the feeling in my chest giving way to a blaze of panic.

  The team? Do they even want me back after how everything went down? Aren’t they going to keep the new guy Sims playing in my position? At least Sims is reliable, dependable; he fucking shows up.

  “No pressure but we’d love to have you back at practice whenever you’re ready.”

  I nod, clearing my throat. “Hell yeah, man. Can’t wait to get back on the ice.” It’s the truth; I really can’t wait to get back on the ice. But it’s not the full truth. Because then I’d have to admit that I’m petrified to get back on the ice in front of thousands of people and listen to all their jeers and taunts and fuck, my stomach feels slick, I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

  I turn my attention to Claire. She offers me a small wave and an unsteady smile. It pisses me off the second I see it because there’s nothing unsure about Claire. The girl straight up oozes confidence, calls people out on their bullshit, and never seems off balance, or hesitant, the way she is right now. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  She stiffens at my tone and I hear the inhale she sucks in. Her eyes narrow and a thrill shoots through me. There she is. “Came to see you.”

  “Why?” I shoulder my bag again.

  She crosses her arms, staring at me. “Because I’m not a dick.” She pushes past me and I snicker, keeping my back to her.

  If only Claire knew how much she gets under my skin. If she had any idea how much I feel for her, how much I crave her, she wouldn’t understand why I’ve spent years of my life keeping her at arm’s length.

  It’s for the best.

  Claire is my best friend’s little sister.

  She’s larger than life, outgoing, and authentic.

  The last thing she needs is an alcoholic who keeps falling off the wagon.

  After all, it’s only a matter of time ‘til I’m back here. With so many people on my list to let down and disappoint, I’m not in the mood to add another.

  Definitely not Claire Merrick.

  Want more Easton and Claire? Find out what happens when Claire becomes Easton’s new roommate and blurs all the lines in The Risk Taker, releasing March 1! Preorder Now!

  Hey Reader!

  Hi there!

  Thank you so much for reading The Sweet Talker! I hope you loved Noah and Indy’s story. I’d love to know your thoughts so please consider leaving a review. If you adored Noah, you won’t want to miss Easton’s story. The Risk Taker is now available for preorder.

  If you’re interested in learning more about my books, please sign up for my monthly newsletter. It’s full of updates, sales, free reads, and a new romantic, military suspense serial, Protecting Amie. Or, come hang out in my Facebook Reader Group, Gina’s Group for Book Gossip.

  Keep turning the pages to check out my other books and read a snippet of Broken Lies, an angsty Hollywood Romance.

  Thank you so much for all of your support.

  XO,

  Gina

  Broken Lies

  Zoe

  Two truths and a lie.

  Moments ago, Eli Holt, famous Hollywood heartthrob, walked into Shooters Pub and discarded his winter coat and scarf in a booth.

  My best friend and co-worker, Charlie, may pass out from excitement.

  Meh. Holt doesn’t really do it for me.

  Liar.

  Eli Holt does it for every legally aged vagina in the universe, and a significant number of penises too.

  Holt is larger than life, his presence sucking the oxygen straight from the pub. Not just because he’s the sexiest man to ever grace this bar — which he is — but because he’s a bona fide celebrity hailing from the same streets of our nondescript Chicago suburb.

  Even though I don’t follow the celebrity news printed in Gossip or care about who’s dating who in a circle I don’t understand, I’d have to be living under a rock to overlook Holt’s rugged good looks and dedication to his craft.

  He turns toward me, setting off in the direction of the bar, and tugs some of his merino wool sweater up on his forearms. I nearly drool; hard muscle, corded veins, strong hands…where the hell did my chill disappear to?

  Green eyes latch onto mine, amiable yet aloof, both present and not. Still, my heart stutters in my chest as his eyes slowly peruse my face, like he’s trying to gauge my reaction to him, maybe wondering if I recognize him. Thick, brown hair, cut close to his scalp on the sides and left longer on top, is perfectly styled. Several days of stubble coat his steel jawline, adding an edginess that speaks to the playboy persona celebrated in the tabloids.

  He saunters closer, his bulging biceps and strong back pulling at the merino wool, stretching it. Appreciation causes the corners of my mouth to tick up as I drink in his traps and lats the way an art collector salivates over a Basquiat. This man is a rare commodity, a contemporary Adonis, a perfect specimen of male anatomy.

  “Hey, can I get a beer?” Fred, one of the regulars, shakes his empty pint glass.

  “Not now, Fred,” Charlie answers, never dragging her eyes away from the sex god who approaches the bar, commanding the space around him like a drill sergeant.

  Heads swivel in his direction. While a logical part of my brain acknowledges it’s because he’s famous, the nerves and energy dancing around my stomach also know it’s because he looks like every bad decision every woman’s been tempted to make. At least once.

  Green eyes pierce me to my core, causing Charlie to jab me in the ribs with her index finger. “He’s going to talk to you,” she whisper-hisses.

  He stops in front of me, dropping his elbows to the bar. “Hey. A bucket of Heinekens and three shots of your top tequila.” His voice is low and rumbly, tugging on the strings that hold my pelvic floor in place.

  Jeez Louise.

  A full mouth parts, revealing straight, blindingly white teeth. A nose that’s been broken at least once somehow adds more character to his face instead of detracting from his rugged good looks. Full eyeb
rows, a teeny cleft in his chin, a barely noticeable scar above the right corner of his mouth.

  “Hey babe. Did you hear me?” He snaps his fingers and my mouth drops open.

  Shocked, amused, and a tiny bit embarrassed, I laugh out, “Did you just snap at me?”

  “Just getting your attention.”

  I roll my eyes. “You have the attention of everyone in here.”

  He shrugs, a playful gleam ringing his irises. “We can take a selfie if you want, so you can study it later in your bedroom.”

  This time, laughter shoots from my mouth in surprise. Is this guy for real? “Ah, now you had to go and ruin it.”

  He frowns, a small dip appearing between his eyebrows. “Ruin what?”

  “The fantasy playing out in my head.” I joke easily, falling back into my role as bartender: engaging, playful, flippant. Grabbing three shot glasses with my right hand and swinging to pull down a bottle of top-shelf tequila with my left, I line up the glasses as I glance at Holt, “You killed it.”

  One side of his mouth lifts in amusement, his eyes crinkling. “That was never my intention. Now, I’ll have to figure out how to get back in your good graces.”

  I shake my head. “What’s the saying about a first impression? You only get one?”

  His smile widens.

  “That was your one shot to try to pick me up,” I continue, unabashedly enjoying our banter as I grab a shaker. “Chilled?”

  He nods, leaning closer. Rolling his lips together as if to contain his laughter, his eyes widen with curiosity that washes over me like approval. Like I really earned his attention. “Sweetheart, you would know if I was picking you up. And there wouldn’t be any trying on my part.” He pulls out his wallet from the back pocket of his designer distressed jeans and places it on top of the bar.

  “Ouch,” I grin, pouring his shots, enjoying this banter way more than I should. I mean, what kind of a woman brazenly jokes with a Hollywood actor? The Hollywood actor? Even though his words just shot me down, they were playful, and his attention never wavered from my face. In fact, with each passing second, his aloofness gives way to friendliness. “Well, I’m sure the women here can’t wait to welcome you home with open arms.”