She rolled her eyes. “Haha. Very funny. I like watching everything they make and wishing I remembered things like putting water into pans when I steam vegetables. Or remembering that baking powder and baking soda are not interchangeable. I tried to make a cake once,” she paused, a small grimace on her face. “What I pulled out of the oven shouldn’t be discussed.”
He chuckled. “Definitely not the same. They are both used for leavening, but you cannot replace one for the other. Baking powder actually has baking soda in it.”
“Yeah, you definitely should be on a cooking show.”
“Why don’t you come over here and help me? We’ll just keep you away from the stove. And don’t give anything to Bash. He’s a shameless beggar and flirt.”
“He gets that from his owner,” she teased.
“You know, I’m trying to resist kissing you, but you’re not helping,” he said, loving the flush in her cheeks.
“Stop. Now, more cooking lessons,” she said, skirting around the island until she was next to him.
He ran his thumb down her bare arm, his heart picking up speed when she trembled.
“Finn,” she warned.
“Sophia,” he teased back.
Her lips parted on a soft sigh that he wanted to taste. She tucked a wavy strand that had slipped from her ponytail back behind her ear. He remembered how soft her hair was, sliding through his fingers, and he tightened his fist on the package of arugula, most likely crushing the greens. He would not yank her into his arms—yet. He would not lean down and kiss her bare shoulders, or that spot at the base of her throat.
And he definitely wouldn’t think about lifting her up and guiding her legs around his waist as he pressed her against the closest wall he could find.
“Finn,” she whispered, her face tilted up, her eyes filled with desire.
And then the oven finished preheating with a loud beep, and Sophia jumped, letting out a soft laugh as her stomach grumbled.
“Maybe we should finish making lunch,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her nose before stepping back to grab the foil.
“I guess I am hungry,” she said, grabbing a cherry tomato and popping it into her mouth.
He put the tomatoes under the broiler and grabbed the ciabatta bread, slicing it and brushing it with olive oil.
“You still won’t tell me what you’re making?” she asked. “It smells amazing.”
“You’ll see soon enough,” he said.
“Fine. Tell me about practice yesterday. We didn’t really get to talk about it yet,” she said. “Does your ankle hurt today? Wait, you should be sitting down and elevating it. It was your first time in skates, and I know you didn’t go easy. Does it throb at all? I should’ve asked this as soon as we came in,” she said, leaning against the island and trying to stay out of his way.
“Sophia, it’s fine. Practice was perfect, and a little painful.” He shook his head. “I’m going to have to bust my ass to be ready in time for the season, but it’s doable.”
“Of course it is.” Her steely determination to get him back on the ice—on his schedule—did more to the swirling emotions in his chest than anything else. He was a stubborn ass when it came to recovery and playing the game he loved, but he couldn’t be any other way.
And he planned to pursue her with the exact same determination.
Chapter 14
The way he was looking at her needed to stop, or she was going to turn that oven off and jump into his arms. And she was really hungry, so she gripped her water bottle and stayed in her seat.
She was so proud of him. Of what they’d both accomplished in getting him back on the ice on his schedule. That was why she loved her job. He was going to be on the ice for the season opener, and she was going to yell her head off from the stands.
“Now, are you ready to have the best thing ever go into your mouth?” he asked, cutting into her thoughts.
She choked on the sip of water she’d just taken. “Finn, seriously?”
He grinned. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” He set the pan on the counter and her mouth watered. Maybe his claim hadn’t been too far from the truth.
“What is it?” she asked, not even trying to mask the awe in her voice. It looked so pretty.
“Prosciutto and brie on toasted ciabatta with arugula, caramelized onions, and roasted tomatoes,” he said, handing her a plate with the yummiest looking sandwich she’d ever seen. The brie was just melted, and the edges of the prosciutto were a little crisp.
“Well, if you ever give up hockey, you definitely have a career on the Cooking Channel. They could call it Cooking with Thor,” she said around her first bite, the amazingness of the sandwich apparently loosening her tongue, as he stared at her in question.
“Thor?”
“Come on, you look just like him,” she said before taking another bite. “Seriously, this is so good.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m glad you like the sandwich. See what happens when you come over for food? And this is just a sandwich. Wait until I cook you dinner.”
“Finn,” she drew out.
“Sophia,” he said in the same tone. “Fine. Tell me more about your kitchen disasters.”
“You don’t want to hear them.”
“Maybe they’ll be so horrible that I won’t think about kissing you anymore,” he teased.
And now she was thinking about kissing him again. Not that she ever stopped.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said, before launching into another story.
***
An hour later, they’d moved from the kitchen to the couch, with Bash curled up in one corner. She’d shared her horror stories, and he’d told her about cooking for his family. She’d give anything to witness him FaceTiming dinner with his niece. The man was detrimental to her good judgment and her ovaries, but she was past caring at this point, judging by how close she was sitting next to him, her knee brushing his hard thigh, as she propped her elbow on the edge of the couch and leaned on her hand, just listening.
Every time he talked about his sister and niece, his smile would widen, and he’d get the most adorable crinkles at the edge of his eyes. Crow’s feet were not adorable, but on him…
Ridiculous.
He’d interrupted her disasters with comments on what she could do differently. His cooking skills would no doubt impress her parents.
“This is why they keep me at the hostess stand at Lanzi’s. I can’t be trusted in the kitchen, but I’m an excellent taste tester,” she said, sinking further into his gaze.
“I’m always looking for a taste tester,” he said, his fingers brushing against the back of her hand where it currently rested on her thigh. The butterflies in her stomach took flight and she sucked in a shuddering breath.
“Finn,” she whispered, leaning in, the rest of her apprehension vanishing as she focused on that plump lower lip she ached to taste again.
“Sophia,” he said, his voice husky with a need that matched hers, and she went in, brushing her lips across his, taking in his stilted breath as she sealed her lips to his.
He groaned, tugging her closer, his hands skimming up her curves, from the nip in her waist to her ribs, and she wanted more.
She curled her fingers into his shirt, holding him close, slanting her head to get a better angle, swallowing every noise he made as he deepened the kiss, and she sank against his chest.
He pulled her into his lap, and she went willingly, quickly straddling his thighs, her desire ramping up when she felt his need pressing against her. She shifted her hips, moaning along with him as he moved with her.
He squeezed her hip, breaking from her lips to kiss along her jaw and over her collarbone, spending way too much time on the dip between her shoulder and neck, before moving on to that spot behind her ear.
She gasped and shuddered when he traced his tongue along the shell of her ear, nipping her earlobe as he went.
She released his shirt, only to sink her han
ds into his soft hair, holding him close as he destroyed her with his tongue and teeth, and lips that she wanted to bite.
She was still shuddering when he sat back, his eyes dark with need, the blue almost gone from his eyes.
“Fuck, Sophia. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone,” he said, his honesty warming every point in her body, and she ached to give him everything. She bit down on her lip, his eyes immediately going to her mouth and he groaned, shifting his hard cock against her.
“Stupid clothes,” she muttered, slipping her hands under the hem of his t-shirt, her nails scraping along his waistband.
“Let’s fix that,” he growled, yanking his shirt over his head with one hand, his hair tousled around his shoulders. His broad, inked shoulders.
Sweet Jesus, how had she ever thought she’d be able to resist this man?
She trailed her fingers down his chest. A chest she was quite familiar with—thanks Google—but had never touched. His muscles bunched under her nails, his abs shifting as she traced the line of hair bisecting his chest.
And then her phone buzzed on the counter.
“No,” she moaned, dropping her head to his chest.
“What?” he said, his voice husky.
“It’s my reminder that I have to work at the restaurant tonight. And I have to be there in an hour.” She tapped her fingers down his chest, wishing she didn’t have to go anywhere. Just when she was about to throw caution to the wind, reality blared like a foghorn.
Stupid, damn alarm.
“Stay here,” he said, his head pressed against hers.
“Finn, I have to go.” She pulled free from his arms, her breath just as ragged as his.
“Call in sick,” he said, pressing a kiss to her palm, his tongue darting out to trace her fingers, and her entire body shuddered.
“Finn. I can’t. I really have to go,” she said, placing her free hand on his chest and doing her best to ignore his racing heart beneath her palm.
“Are you sure?” His desire-filled eyes taunted her to stay.
“I have to work tonight, and I need to shower and change.”
“You could shower here.” His hand rested on the small of her back, and she wanted to sink into his chest again, press her aching breasts against his muscles and give in.
“I really do have to go,” she said, and then she gasped as he stood, with her still in his arms.
Holy shit.
Her legs slid down the outside of his thighs until she was on her feet again, and her body was pressed tight to his. His erection was heavy against her, and she tried not to rub against him.
Tried.
He groaned. “Not helping, Sophia.”
“Sorry. Okay, well, thanks for lunch and…” she trailed off.
He laughed. “Yeah, and. And we’re not done with this, but I’ll let you escape today,” he said, backing her toward the door. “If you want to come over after you’re done at the restaurant, just text me.”
“Finn,” she warned.
“It’s so hot when you do that growling thing,” he said, and she almost told him she felt the same way when he did it.
“Stop. I’m going to go. Thanks again, and I’ll see you at your next PT appointment,” she said, straightening her shoulders, like that was going to will away her desire to jump back into his arms.
“And maybe tonight,” he said, dropping his head and sealing his lips to hers with a deep kiss.
She gasped as he pulled her tight and kissed the hell out of her. When he finally released her, she wobbled a bit.
“Umm. Okay. Yeah, I’m going to go,” she said, pushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
“Text me later if you want,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her neck.
“That’s not a good idea,” she muttered as she walked out of his condo and headed for the elevator.
Holy hell, what had just happened and when could she do it again?
And again.
Finn had been on the ice for twenty minutes, warming up and getting his legs back under him. Just a week back and he was building his speed and his corners were sharper. His ankle still throbbed after a long stint on the ice, but every day was better. When training camp starts up in just over a month, his no contact jersey would be a thing of the past, and he’d be ready to go. It couldn’t come fast enough.
He’d gotten an email from Brandon, confirming he’d be in town for the season opener. Playing in front of his best friend, a friend who should’ve been on the ice right next to him, still stung after all these years, but Brandon never showed signs of resentment, he just cheered Finn on when he was in town or when the Strikers made it up to Calgary.
Finn would be in the lineup during opening night. Nothing could stop him. Of course, that sounded cocky as hell, but he was putting in his time and each day he got stronger. Not that he’d taken any hits into the boards in the last week.
“Thought I’d join you today,” Cheesy called out, breaking into Finn’s thoughts as he skated another lap around the ice.
“Most guys don’t willingly take an extra workout with Beady,” Finn said, coming to a stop next to the bench.
“I heard that,” their conditioning coach grumbled. “I can make this harder for you, Finn.”
He raised his hands in surrender, “I’m still fragile.”
Cheesy chuckled. “Yeah, you look it. How’s that bum leg doing? Still lopsided?”
Beady barked out a laugh.
“Man, you need some new chirps,” Finn said. “You coming out here, or what?”
“I promise not to hit too hard,” Cheesy said as he skated onto the ice.
“Don’t hit him at all, Cheesy. He’s fragile, remember?” Beady deadpanned.
“Yeah, I heard that,” Cheesy said, then he took off, taking a quick spin around the rink.
Hell, he was fast. Finn took off after him, skating the inside to take sharper corners and test his ankle. He shifted his weight, knowing he wouldn’t match Cheesy’s speed, but he’d get close. He’d never been a stay-at-home defenseman, hovering near his team’s net and blocking everything he could. Not that he was the top scoring defenseman on the team—that title belonged to Baz—but he got in more points than the average defenseman. And speed was important. The game was getting faster every year and keeping up with the young forwards was as important as blocking shots.
They spent the next thirty minutes doing drills as a couple of his teammates hit the ice. It was his first time skating with the guys in months, and he was like a kid at Christmas. He’d take every chirp they shot at him about his injury, and every time they tried to fake him out with a hit. This is what he lived for.
“They’re back together again,” Harty called out from the bench as he played “Under the Sea” on his phone, when Fishy popped out of the tunnel and stepped onto the ice.
“Like we haven’t heard that before,” Finn shot back. There was something so wrong about pairing Finn with Josh Fisher, known to everyone as Fishy. The number of seafood platters delivered to them at team dinners was ridiculous. Fishy had been injured at the end of last season, too, but he’d finished up rehab and gotten back on the ice for the final post season game. Not that it’d mattered since they’d lost the series in five games.
“Good to have you back, man,” Fishy said, slapping Finn on the shoulder and coming to a stop next to him.
“Now that the reunion is over, how about we actually work,” Beady called out.
“So grouchy,” Finn muttered.
“I heard that. Now, let’s push the fragile guy on his footwork,” Beady said, propping his arm on the butt end of his stick.
The guys skated delicately around him, going out of their way to avoid touching him, and he rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to break, assholes,” he said.
“Tell that to your ankle,” Cheesy shouted, as they lined back up to start another round of drills.
He felt great—a little winded—but great. Every day was better, and that’s a
ll he could ask for.
“Don’t forget he’s got a no contact jersey on,” Beady barked out when Fishy knocked into Finn, before backing up and holding up his hands in surrender.
“Not touching you,” Fishy sang.
Finn growled. “I’m fine. Just skate.” He ignored their laughter and focused on the drills Beady barked out. They settled into a steady rhythm, and Finn bit back his grin. Shit. He’d missed this.
Forty minutes later, skating practice ended, and Finn headed to the gym to finish up on the bike. He was back on the upright. His recumbent days were over—finally.
Cheesy climbed onto the bike next to him. “You look great out there. We’ll be glad to have you and Fishy back on the blue line when the season starts.”
“Yeah, can’t wait for training camp and the season opener. Ankle feels great. Not ready for that contact jersey yet, but I’m getting there.”
“We definitely missed you on the ice, so I’m glad you’ll be back. Want to grab lunch after this? I’ll buy the first beer.”
“First beer? What happened to your one beer a day limit? Did Amanda break you of that superstition?” Cheesy was known as one of the most superstitious guys in the league, not that they all didn’t have their own quirks.
“Only during the season. I allow myself two, maybe three, during the summer.”
Finn laughed. “Good to know. But, I can’t join you. I’m jumping in the shower and then grabbing something quick to eat before PT this afternoon.” And then he’d get to see Sophia. He’d never thought he’d look forward to his PT appointments, until she walked into that exam room.
“How’s PT going?” Cheesy asked.
“Hit six weeks this week, so we’re getting close to just weekly maintenance. Not sure why I hopped onto this bike because Sophia is going to put me on one this afternoon.”
“And how’s that going?”
“How’s what going?”
“Sophia. Pretty sure I spotted her getting onto the elevator on your floor last weekend.”
Finn stopped peddling. “Uh.”
“Are you hooking up with her? Your PT assistant? You need to be careful with that.”
Delay of Game (San Francisco Strikers Book 3) Page 15
