Center of Gravity: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (An Ice Tigers Hockey Romance Book 2)

by Isabella Cassazza

  “Sir—” the driving instructor starts, but I silence him with a glare. I don’t blame him. Only myself. Only my insistence. The tension isn’t good for the babies. But it’s unbearable for Emilia.

  I climb out of the car and help Emilia get out.

  She drops her head. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to do well. I wanted to stick to our agreement. I wanted to make you proud. I—” Tears are running down her cheeks, and her eyes shimmer with new ones waiting to be released. It’s heartbreaking.

  “It’s okay, Emilia. You don’t have to prove anything to me. I…. Come here.” I open my arms, and she throws herself at me, crying against my shoulder. Her body shakes as she lets out every unshed tear stored inside her. And I hold her. Support her. Let her crawl into me and try to shield her from the rain as best as possible. That’s what friends do. And she’s become that—a friend. A good one. One I spend a lot of time with, not only because we have to live together as man and wife, but because I want to. She might ruin every routine and pattern I ever had and drive me nuts with all the things she spreads around the whole apartment, but I wouldn’t want my calm and solitary life pre-Emilia anymore.

  After we walked around Boston for the first time, we made it a habit to go out and explore the city on the rare days we both have off.

  We pass each other from time to time at the headquarters to say “Hello” and “Goodbye,” but that’s the extent of our encounters there. The season has picked up speed, and we’re fighting for a playoff spot, with all its ups and downs. We’ve been playing well for the better part, winning most of our games, but you can’t win them all, and the losses have been devastating. We all want the Cup, but it won’t be easy, and the fight has only just begun.

  “Shh… let it out. It’s fine, Emilia. You tried, and that’s what counts.” I hold her closer against me, wanting her to feel she’s safe with me. Her grandfather fucked her up big-time. I don’t want her to think I only like her when she’s successful.

  She sniffles against my shoulder. “I’m a living, breathing failure.”

  “Don’t say things like that. You’re not a failure. You’re the strongest person I know. Not many people would have survived your childhood. I’m proud of you. The team is proud of what you’ve achieved. And we’re grateful that you’re fighting for us. If the guys knew how your grandfather treats you, we’d team up to defend your honor.”

  She hiccups. “Defend my honor? We’re not in the Middle Ages.”

  “But you’re our lady.” I brush some stray hair behind her ear.

  She pulls back a little, shaking her head. “Thank you. I’m sorry I messed up your shirt.”

  “You have to get me a new one now. Tell Gianluca to send more over the ocean.”

  “You really like our sportswear, don’t you?” She sniffles.

  I do. The thermal shirt I’m wearing today is like a second skin. I’m not only wearing the RAVELLIS clothes to workout anymore; they’ve become my favorite items of clothing. “Your grandfather sure as hell knows how to produce clothes. The suits are fantastic as well. And since I’m married to the Ravelli heiress, it’s my duty to wear them all the time.” I wink. “Besides, you wear them all the time too.”

  “They stretch over my belly.” She puts her hand over her bump. I’m not sure when it happened, but now her belly sticks out. And, boy, is it sexy. I never knew why men were attracted to their pregnant wives. I do now. I’m turned on like crazy by her bulge. Maybe because I’m the one responsible. Maybe because her breasts are bigger now too. Maybe because the sexual attraction between the two of us was always there, but I was in denial all that time. But since I kissed her in Vegas, things have been different for me. It’s one thing to suppress the memory of a hot summer night, but another to feel the silky texture of her lips again.

  Like in Positano, I lost myself in her. In our kiss. It was me and her. Nothing else mattered. Reality beat my faint memory times ten. On Christmas Eve, I was tempted to throw her over my shoulder and take the Christmas party to the bedroom, but sanity returned just in time. We’re in a good place, and I don’t want to fuck up things between us.

  But each day, it’s getting harder to resist her. Each day, her very being haunts me. She’s all over the apartment—her things, her presence, her tempting curves….

  I’m drawn to her. To her laugh. To her warmth. To her big heart.

  In the evenings, I hide in my room, reminding myself why adding sex to our arrangement is the worst idea ever. Sooner or later, she’ll betray me. Like my mom betrayed my dad. Like Jackie betrayed me.

  I’m not the right man for her. Being followed by paparazzi isn’t for me. Socializing and networking aren’t my thing either. Neither is managing a big company. But it would be expected of me to work for the Ravelli Group if ours were an until-death-do-us-part marriage.

  Our arrangement isn’t about what’s best for us but what’s best for the babies.

  “Let’s go home. I think you should lie down.”

  “I’m fine. I thought we could walk around Beacon Hill to—”

  “It’s raining. And I need to go for a run and stretch out my legs.” Her face falls, and I regret my words the moment they leave my mouth, but I can’t be around her today. I need space. I need my head in the game and to concentrate on playing hockey, not salivating over my fake wife.

  The lights are out in the apartment when I return two hours later. During my run, it stopped raining, so I stayed outside and walked around in the park for over an hour, thinking about the upcoming games. Mental preparation is a big part of my game, and picturing my opponents and their way of playing is an essential part of my game preparation. I’m confident we can win the games against New York and Tampa. Tyler and Smithy are in the best shape of their lives, and we complement each other, as linemates should. Whenever we play, I know we’ll be able to work as one on the ice. We’ve established a nonverbal understanding, which could be the deciding factor whether or not we make playoffs.

  I toe off my shoes in the hallway and head to the bathroom for a quick shower. I challenged myself tonight and sweated buckets in the process. The last thing I need are sticky sheets, so a shower it is.

  The warm water runs down my torso, and I relax under the spray. The previous owner installed jet streams in the ceiling, which can be navigated via a control panel on the wall. My favorite program begins with a rain shower and ends with massage streams, which is heaven for my board-bruised body. I want to play hockey a few more years, and taking care of my body is a key part. I wish my twenty-five-year-old self had known what I know today and acted accordingly. Might have saved me some injuries and recurring pain. My knee is fucked up, and no surgery will bring it back to where it would be without twelve hockey seasons on its back. My ankles aren’t as stable as they used to be either. But I can still play the game I love more than anything else.

  I lather my hands with shower gel and spread it over my body while the water continues to fall in droplets on my head like warm summer rain.

  While the water caresses my skin, I can’t help but think how Emilia’s hands would feel caressing me again. Our night in Italy somehow seems like a lifetime ago, and yet I can remember everything like it was yesterday.

  How we soaped our bodies under the shower after the first time we had sex. How she reached for my growing erection after it jumped to life again. How she tortured me with her tongue when she knelt down in front of me….

  My dick is rock-hard and pulses against my belly. So much for concentrating on hockey.

  I take my dick in my hand and rub up and down in an age-old rhythm. Up and down again and again. My toes curl, and I shiver while my erection grows bigger and harder in my hand. I close my eyes and imagine a hotel room in Italy where thunder and lightning exploded outside while I lost myself in Emilia. Where she fit my dick like a glove when I pushed it inside her. How she pressed her body against mine, rubbing her center up and down mine. How we became one. How the friction drove me wild. How I lost
all control and white light exploded in front of my eyes. How I came back to life again and felt her soft skin underneath my hands. How I never wanted that night to end.

  I explode over my own hand and put the other on the wall to steady myself. Holy fuck. How am I going to survive the next year without touching her? How am I going to stay sane when I’m surrounded by her sweet scent? And how am I going to repair the cracks in the iron cast around my heart?

  “Something’s missing.” The photographer scratches his chin. “Balance. We need balance.”

  Emilia nods. “Balance. Of course. Tell me what you need.”

  He scratches his chin again and looks around. His gaze stills on Emilia. “You. I need you. A dark-haired couple and a blond couple. Yes. Yes, I need you. We need you, Mrs. Ravelli-Walker.”

  “Emilia.”

  “Emilia. Now, please, hair and makeup for Emilia.” He waves at no one in particular.

  “Uh… I’m sorry. Why would I need hair and makeup?” Emilia looks at me. I shrug.

  He sighs. “We need you.”

  “I’m here.” She crosses her arms over her chest. This could become interesting.

  He laughs. “Yes, but we need you in the shoot. You will create balance. And I need balance.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Arnaud, I truly am, but I can’t be in the shoot. I—”

  “Arnaud. Just Arnaud. You must. Without balance, I can’t continue.” He crosses his arms over his chest, mirroring her stance.

  “She’ll do it.” I place my hand on Emilia’s arm and lead her to the makeup room.

  “Matt—”

  “Shh… let’s talk outside,” I whisper in her ear and push her forward. Once I close the door behind me, she turns in my arms.

  “I’m managing the team. I can’t be in a photo shoot.”

  “Can you afford to cancel this shoot?”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “Then you have to do it. I think it’s a great idea. He has a point. Lily looks forlorn between Tyler and me. Think about it. It’s a fitness trend that couples work out with each other.”

  “How do you know that? Did you work out with your ex?”

  Why is she bringing Jackie up now? I haven’t told her a thing about my fucked-up relationship with my ex, despite my promise to do so. Why would I bring up someone from my past who has no influence on my life anymore? “No, I didn’t.”

  “We’re not working out together.” She sounds like a willful child, stomping on the ground.

  “Working out is a part of my job, and you’re pregnant. But that’s not the point here. You need this shoot to go well.”

  She nods and then shakes her head. “I’m not a model. And I’m pregnant.”

  I place my hands on her shoulders. “None of us are models. Come on. Let’s try it. You look great. And it’s important to keep moving while pregnant, isn’t it? RAVELLIS clothes are super comfy. You wear them at home all the time. Why not model them?”

  She pouts then nods. “All right. I’ll try it, but when the photos don’t turn out the way they’re supposed to, you’re the one explaining things to my grandfather.”

  I chuckle, watching her walk away. She’s quite something, my fake wife—though it doesn’t feel fake anymore. What we have—whatever we have, a friendship, a solid friendship based on respect and… liking each other—it’s only natural that the L-word nearly slipped through my mouth. Friends can love each other, not like lovers, but like family. And that’s what she is now, part of my family. She’ll be a part of that family for at least the next eighteen years, for as long as we have to co-parent. A solid friendship is the best foundation for our future. And liking each other.

  I don’t wait for her to get ready but return to the others.

  “Is Emilia all right?” Lily asks from Tyler’s lap. She looks like a child cuddled up against his broad chest while he holds her close. A doll and a giant, that’s what they look like from my standing perspective.

  “She’s getting ready.”

  “This should be fun,” Tyler says against Lily’s neck, and she shudders.

  “Get a room.” I frown. Technically, I know they have sex, but I don’t want to see it, not with my pathetic excuse of a nonexistent sex and love life at the moment.

  “Sorry.” Lily jumps up while Tyler adjusts his pants.

  I shake my head. They have been together for over a year now and still can’t seem to get enough of each other. Before things can escalate, I grab Tyler by the arm and move him to one of the locker room’s white boards. “I wanted to show you some new play ideas against Dallas.”

  I pick up one of the board markers and draw dots on the white surface while he listens to what I have to say. Talking game strategies is much safer than watching Tyler and Lily making out in front of my eyes. Time flies by, and I’m in the middle of explaining my second pass strategy when the door on the other side of the room opens and my beautiful wife steps inside.

  Fake wife, Walker! Temporary. Fake. Wife.

  She’s wearing a blue ensemble that doesn’t leave room for the imagination—not that any of our clothes do, but with her lush pregnancy curves and now curly blonde hair, she looks like a fifties pin-up girl, and my dick twitches against the stretchy material of my pants. Shit. Go down, I tell my traitorous friend down there, but he doesn’t comply. I fold my hands before my groin area and stare at Emilia.

  “You look amazing.” Lily breaks the silence.

  “I’m—”

  “Magnifique.” The photographer circles Emilia and brushes his hands over her hair, making my hands clench into fists. I want to punch the smug smile off his face, and I’m unable to hide it. “Let’s get started, everyone. Tyler, please sit down on the bench, and we’ll have Lily stand right next to you.”

  While the photographer pushes Lily and Tyler around until he has the perfect arrangement, my eyes meet Emilia’s. Hers are wide open, and she looks flushed underneath her makeup. Sexy. Irresistible. Something in my expression causes her to look away, and I want to slap myself. Hard. I don’t want her to feel insecure when she’s so beautiful.

  Before I have the chance to walk over to her, the photographer steps in my way and pulls Emilia forward. “You”—he points at me—“sit down next to Tyler.” I do as told, staring daggers in his back. “And Emilia.” He takes her by the hand and leads her to me. “Please sit down on his lap and put your arms around him.”

  And I’m in hell. At first, Emilia sits on the front of my thighs, but that’s not the arrangement Arnaud had in mind. So, she ends up with her butt on my rock-hard dick. I refuse to meet her eyes. Her sweet smell invades my nostrils, and I want to bury my face in her hair more than I want and need air right now. The tips of her fingers burn my skin when she puts her arms around my neck, providing the sweetest form of torture possible. I’d give my right arm right now for us to be alone, but I can’t risk it. Friendship, I remind myself. A solid friendship. That’s what we need. Not sex. And most of all, not love.

  “Lie down. I’ll warm up the lasagna.”

  “Thank you.” Emilia smiles at me. She looks bone-tired and ready to collapse, and I scold myself for having talked her into the shoot. She is pregnant with twins and needs to rest more. But I’d have a bigger chance convincing a tiger to become a vegan than making her slow down. I get that the Ice Tigers are important to her, I’m part of the organization, but Rob should take more of her workload. I make a mental note to talk to him. He’ll agree with me. If she doesn’t see reason, we’ll have to scheme behind her back.

  I put the leftover lasagna in the microwave and throw together a quick salad. I might not have Tyler’s talent in the kitchen, but I sure as hell can make a mean salad dressing to accompany Giovanni’s lasagna, using mustard and honey. Satisfied with my attempt, I carry the plates in the living room.

  “Here we….” I stop in my tracks.

  Emilia is curled up on her side with one of the blankets wrapped around her, using it as a shield against the world—or
against me and my X-rated thoughts.

  “You sure as hell like this couch, Emy,” I tell my sleeping wife.

  She mumbles something in her sleep but doesn’t wake up.

  “What am I going to do with you?” I sit down next to her, careful not to wake her, and put the plates on the coffee table. Emilia’s breathing is even, and she looks younger in her sleep. Pure and vulnerable. What hell did I create for myself when I kissed her in Positano? What if I never got drunk that evening and never kissed her?

  Torturing myself even more, I lie down beside her and inhale the scent of her shampoo—oranges, I think. Fresh and sweet, just like her. It tickles my nose and imprints itself in my brain cells. Even if things don’t work out between the two of us, I’ll never forget this moment. I’m tempted to put an arm around her, but I haven’t earned that privilege. We aren’t together.

  In her sleep, Emilia snuggles against my side, trusting me to protect her. Trusting me to take care of her. Trusting me to make everything right. And I will. Somehow.

  I try to relax and close my eyes. I like to cuddle. Always have. But my brain is working overtime and won’t let me enjoy the warm body next to mine. What if I allowed myself to open up to her? Would she even want me?

  As if sensing my troubled thoughts, she scoots even closer and buries her face against my chest, tormenting me with her sweet scent. I give in and put my arm around her and my breathing calms, but she can’t know this moment ever existed. It wouldn’t be fair to give her false hopes of things that shouldn’t be. All I have to do is go to my room before she wakes up and make sure not to fall asleep on the couch this time. How could I when two questions torture me?

  What kind of a fool am I to not even try a relationship with this unbelievable woman?

  And what a fool would I be if I tried and got burned again?