Page 76 of Holding Penalty

“What’s the matter, wife? Waiting for an invitation to join me?”

Reality rushes back to me, and I startle so sharply that my feet leave the floor.

I leap backward, closing the bathroom door behind me. I keep my hands pressed firmly on the door once it’s shut, like the sheer sexual energy we worked up in that room could take physical form and burst out after me.

“Sorry! Didn’t know you were home!” The words rush out of my mouth. “I’m going out for a while, bye!”

Like I’m desperately rushing from the scene of a crime, I scramble to grab my purse and car keys before Nash can come out of the bathroom.

I hop in my car. I don’t know where I’m going; maybe I’ll drop in on Hallie, maybe I’ll check in at the bakery, but I damn sure need to get away from that house.

Because I feel like I just came dangerously close to fucking my husband.

35

NASH

It’s a 2-2 tie in the third period as the seconds tick down to the end of the game, and we’re on the back foot.

We’re in San Jose, and their home-crowd fans are going wild as they unleash a blistering assault on our net. I have no idea how Vaughn’s doing it, but he’s a damn super-human in the crease right now, blocking shot after shot, every one of which would fly past almost any other goalie I can think of.

I hate to say it, but at this point, forget winning. We’re scrambling, playing not to lose as San Jose are getting the better of every rebound, flawlessly passing and executing their game plan, keeping us from getting even a whiff of the puck in our possession.

But then we catch our first break in what feels like an eternity.

San Jose’s right winger fires off a shot that hits our crossbar to Vaughn’s left, and the puck ricochets like crazy, landing right in front of Adriano.

I pivot on my blades, racing up the ice to San Jose’s zone, taking advantage of how they were grouped too far forward at our net.

Adriano passes to me, and I put it into the net with a one-timer.

Groans and boos and shouted curses from the crowd fill the arena as my teammates rush me to celebrate. We’re a tiny pocket of elation in a sea of disappointment after snatching victory from the jaws of defeat with just twenty seconds left on the clock.

Hayden chest-bumps me with so much force he falls on his own ass on the ice, Adriano jumps on my back, and the other guys hit me with high-fives or slaps on my helmet.

We win the final puck drop and spend the last couple seconds playing keep-away. We walk out with our first away game win of the season.

Keeping up our undefeated streak feels pretty damn good. Really damn good, actually. But what feels even better? The congratulations text I read from Piper when I get back to my cubby.

Things have been … weird between us, since she walked in on me in the shower.

I’ve cursed myself a thousand times since for that comment I made when she was standing there, practically devouring my naked body with her eyes while I held my stiff cock in my hand.

I have no fucking clue what came over me. Something just roared to life inside me, taking over me like I was a man possessed, and I couldn’t keep my mouth closed.

Maybe I was hoping she’d nod yes, and then I would invite her to join me, pressing her against the glass shower panel, hooking her leg around my waist, and finally fucking the woman I married.

My dick pulses, so I chase that thought away. I don’t need to be walking around the locker room with my pants tented.

But I’m not able to keep Piper out of my thoughts for long, because Hayden leans next to me and asks, “So, how’s married life?”

I pause awkwardly for a bit, not sure how to answer because I don’t really know.

“It’s good,” I settle on.

Hayden puts his hand to his heart. “Wow, Nash, with such a poetic laudation of matrimonial bliss, I’ve never regretted being single more than I do right now,” he says sarcastically.

I flatten my lips at him. “What do you want me to say? It’s great. Amazing. Life-changing. All that stuff.”