Liam
His phone buzzed when he was at the bottom of a dog pile of toddlers, so it took Liam a moment to extract himself and pull his phone from his pocket.
His agent was calling.
His agent never called.
Unless it was bad news.
Dread curled like a lead ball in his stomach, but he knew he wouldn’t be traded at this point in the year. It was past the trade deadline. He was here for the remainder of the season. And his contract was only one-way—which meant that if the team sent him down to the minors, he’d still be paid his contract rate. That had been enough of a motivation for his former teams to keep him in the league, even if he’d been scratched from the actual game roster too many times to count.
As he was staring at the screen, the call cut off.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, still untangling himself from the toddlers and hoping that at several feet above them, they hadn’t heard the curse. He didn’t need to add corrupting young children to his list of skills.
So maybe he wouldn’t be traded, but the call couldn’t be good news. He’d been hoping to have enough time in San Francisco, to keep making a dent in the past fuck ups, to put the puck in the net, to get on the scoresheet with assists, to work his ass off in the defensive end.
He’d wanted more time to make himself valuable.
He wanted to stay.
Because of Mia, but also because of Brit, Blane, Coop, Blue. Because of Mandy and Calle and even the two Rebeccas, despite them nagging him about social media presence and how much animal protein he consumed—each nag only important to one of the Rebeccas, of course. Because the Gold were the Holy Grail. They were the team he’d hoped but never expected to find.
They . . . well, he’d been able to be himself.
And Liam hadn’t had that since he was a teenager.
That thought had him looking up, his heart constricting because Mia had experienced the same thing, only hers was exponentially more difficult to reconcile. She’d been through so damned much and—
A sharp whistle drew the rug rats’ attention, and the trio still clinging to his shins released, hurrying to the front of the room to get what appeared to be a stamp.
All except for a little boy with pale blue eyes.
“Up!” he said, lifting his arms.
Despite the ice in his heart, the resultant nerves from the missed call, the lingering pain in knowing what he would be losing because this was probably a courtesy call letting him know that the end was nigh, the request still made Liam smile. In fact, he’d gotten quite used to this particular request over the last few hours. So much so that he knew he would be skipping arms and shoulders during his gym time the next day.
“Up!” the little boy demanded.
“Oh no,” his mom, a pretty brunette with an intoxicating laugh, said. “Mr. Liam is all done today.”
His—the toddler, not Liam’s—lip slid out into a pout, eyes filling with tears.
This was also a look that Liam had gotten familiar with.
He knelt. “We’re all done for today, bud.” The little boy’s face screwed up. “Race you to the stamps!” Liam took off, and as he’d hoped, the little boy trailed him, giggling now as he ran by.
“Thanks,” the mom said, shaking her head.
“No worries. I’m one of three,” he told her. “My mom always said we gave her three gray hairs hourly.”
The woman laughed. “I could see that. He’s only a three-nager and he’s already doing that.” She tugged at her ponytail, grays not visible to Liam’s gaze, not that he was going to comment on that either way. He did have some common sense. “Sometimes I wish I was his age,” she said, moving after him as he closed in on Mia and the stamp pad, “then I would be able to stick out my lip and get my way.”
“That doesn’t work?” he teased.
She giggled. “If it did, I’d have been able to convince my husband to get that Tory Birch diaper bag.”
Liam grinned. “Might be worth a second try.”
Another giggle as she jogged to the front, scooping up the squirming toddler and tucking him under one arm. “Come on, Trouble.”
Mia came over to him. “Everything okay?”
For a second, he thought she might have been jealous of the conversation and started to reassure her that it had just been harmless banter. Then he realized she wasn’t looking at the mom at all. Her eyes were on his cell.
Which buzzed, right on cue with a text from his agent.
Call me.
And the lighthearted banter that had managed to distract him was gone.
“Who is that?”
“My agent.”
She stilled, and he knew she understood with just those two words. “Will they trade you?”
He shook his head. “No. My contract is up and it’s beyond the deadline, but they can say they don’t want me back.”
“But wouldn’t they wait until later in the season?” Her brows drew together. “I mean, I’m not an expert, but the playoffs are coming up. This might be a good thing. Wouldn’t they—”
A tug on her leg had her glancing down. “Bye, Ms. Mia.”
She patted the little girl’s head. “Bye, Ms. Lily.”
Lily smiled and ran back to her mom, who waved and headed for the door. Liam glanced around, saw that most of the other parents were occupied, including Blane, who’d brought Madeline in for her class. But there were a few other moms hovering nearby, clearly wanting to talk to Mia.
He touched her cheek. “Deal with what you need to,” he murmured. “I’ll just step outside and return the call.”
“I’m sorry—” she began.
“Don’t you dare apologize,” he told her firmly. “This is your job, and it’s important to you, to them.” He let his hand drop, knuckles skating down her throat, her arm. “It’s important to me.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
The dread eased. Because, ultimately, hockey wasn’t the most important thing in his life any longer. He had Mia. He had himself. He had his family, who loved him even though they meddled. He had friends, new from the team, old built over the years. He would be okay, no matter what. “I love you, too, J.B.”
“Silly man.” A rueful smile, a shake of her head, and he knew it was the nickname that had garnered the reaction. “Use my office.”
He nodded, crossed over to it, and closed the door behind him.
Then he sucked in a breath.
This didn’t matter. It didn’t matter.
It did matter, regardless of how much he wanted to shove the nerves and fear down, to pretend he was cool either way. He wanted to keep playing, and he really wanted to do it with the Gold.
He tapped his screen, dialed his agent.
Ring-ring.
Ring-ring.
Ring—
“Liam.”
“Hey, Ron,” he said. “How’s it going?”
“Fine. Look,” Ron said in his typical no-nonsense-don’t-have-time-for-small-talk way. It had always been that way, but it had gotten more prevalent over the years. Liam was supposed to have been big time, and he hadn’t brought the same capital and clout as his father and brothers.
Hello, Dread. Thanks for joining him again.
“The Gold want to have a sit-down with you. I’m in New York, negotiating some sticky terms, so I can’t fly out there. Do you want to meet with them, see what they have to say? Then you and I can discuss?” The statements were clipped out, incongruous with his smooth Texan drawl. “Liam?”
He blinked, forced himself to focus. “That’s fine. When do they want to sit down?”
“This afternoon or tomorrow.”
Get it over with? Or sit on it, ruminating until the next day? It wasn’t even a decision. He wanted to know his fate, and the sooner, the better. He’d deal. He’d make the best of it.
“This afternoon,” he told Ron.
“Great. I’ll text you a time.” The sound of papers rustling interspersed with his agent’s words, but the noise wasn’t loud enough to drown out the reality of them. Or maybe, it was just that Liam had known this was coming. “You need to prepare for the reality that they will likely not be offering you a good deal or any contract at all,” Ron said. “Your stats have improved since you joined the team, but—”
“They’re not there yet.”
“Right.”
“Also, do not sign anything if they happen to bring you an offer. Do not verbally accept or agree to anything. If for some reason we’re surprised and there is an offer, just take the paperwork, confirm they’ll email it to me, and then you and I will go over it.”
If for some reason—
We’re surprised—
Those two phrases might have sent him into a tailspin before, but today even though he hoped that they were surprised, that an offer might be made, he also knew it wouldn’t break him, that his game wouldn’t slip.
Because he was playing his game.
He wasn’t his brothers or his dad or his grandfather.
He was Liam Williamson.
And that was enough.
“Got it,” he told Ron. “Text me the details, but for now, I need to go.”
“I—”
“Talk soon,” he said and hung up to a surprised silence. Probably because that might have been the first time ever he’d gotten the last word, but also certainly because Ron wasn’t used to his talking back in no-nonsense.
But Liam had absorbed a little Mia.
He could do cool confidence. He could do clipped and to the point.
He maybe couldn’t do it all the time, but after hanging up the call with his agent and not feeling like a total fucking failure for the first time in ages, Liam knew he could find its place.
Fluff and charm most of the time. Firm and sharp at other moments.
It didn’t have to be one or the other. He didn’t have to be either, and that more than anything relaxed the final knots in his stomach.
The door opened, Mia’s concerned face popping in through the gap.
He smiled at her. “Come here.”
“What did they say?”
“They want to meet with me today,” he said.
“Is that good or bad?” she asked, stepping close enough that he was able to snag her hand and tug her down into his lap.
“No clue.” He wrapped his arm around her, burying his nose into her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of woman. “My agent doesn’t know either. But at least I don’t have long to wait.”
She tilted her head up. “You don’t seem worried.”
“I’m not, J.B.,” he said, pressing his lips to hers for a brief kiss. “For the first time in a long time, I’m not worried about the future.”
“You’re not?”
“No,” he murmured. “Because my now is pretty great.”
She snuggled in, hugged him tight. “Even though I just ordered you a T-shirt emblazoned with the word Sugar?”
Liam laughed. “Yes, J.B. Even though.”
Her lips found his, holding him firmly, kissing him deeply, her tongue slipping into his mouth to tangle with his. It was hot. It was dirty. It was still laced with fluff. It also still made him go rock-hard, made him consider how difficult it would be to finagle himself a tour of her apartment overhead.
Not too difficult, he thought, based on the hard nipples pushing through the top of her gi, the dilated eyes, the chest rising and falling in rapid intervals.
“How about—”
The bell at the front of the studio tinkled, Blane’s voice trickling through the open door. “Hello, Mia?” he called. “I’m sorry, I just realized I forgot to pay.”
Liam’s eyes were on her breasts, on those hard nipples that made his mouth water. She pushed off his lap, smacked him lightly when he slipped a hand through the opening. Such easy access. He just needed to untie one string—
“Stop it, you,” she muttered, pushing his hands away. “I have to be presentable for my clients.”
“Yoo-hoo!” Blane called. “I don’t want to interrupt, but Mandy will kill me if—”
“I’ll be right there,” Mia called back.
“No, you won’t,” Liam said, standing, crowding into her. “Go away,” he yelled. “Mia’s on break until tonight.”
“Liam,” she hissed then her volume raised. “I—”
He kissed her, stifling the rest of her sentence, yanking her close, and what the hell, he allowed his hands to slip into the opening of that sexy uniform. Funny that, it really only did take one sharp tug to undo the tie, to have full access to the skin and woman beneath.
“I’ll just leave a check here,” Blane called.
Mia stiffened, started to pull away.
Liam let her go, or at least let her go enough so that he could tear his mouth from hers, so he could raise his voice, make sure it carried to Blane. “The keys are by the door, lock it on your way out!”
A gasp. An annoyed woman in his arms.
But Blane, who was certainly spying for the gossip train, who would definitely be reporting this incident to Mandy and company, just chuckled and said loud enough they could both hear, “I’ll get them back to you later.”
Parted lips, reddened cheeks, furious eyes.
Mia pulled out of his arms in a quick movement, spinning toward the door. But at the opening, she stopped, clutched the sides of her uniform together. “How did you—?” A sharp shake of her head before she peeked out. Then she sighed, turned back, plunking her hands on her hips. “Seriously?” she asked.
“You’re beautiful.”
She glared, crossed her arms. “Don’t even try it.”
And seriously, it wasn’t his fault that the action plumped up her breasts, had his gaze dipping down, staying down.
She clapped her hands. “Eyes up here, buster.”
Except the clapping made things jiggle and—
Another sigh as she brought a hand up, ran it slowly over the tops of her breasts, making his fingers tingle, his palms ache with the need to touch. Her tone softened, mouth curving up into a half-smile. “You’re never going to stop pushing, never going to stop breaking my rules, are you?” she asked, stepping toward him, those curves so close and yet so far.
“No,” he said, knowing it might have been better for his cock if he had lied, but unable to do so.
“Oh, Liam.” She shook her head again, drifted closer. “What am I going to do with you?”
But then, before he could come up with a response that made her half-smile go full, made her laugh instead of glare, made her come to him and allow his hands to trace every inch of her . . . before he could do any of that, Mia took one step and launched herself into his arms.
It spoke more of her athletic ability than his that they both remained standing, but then her mouth dropped to his, her arms and legs wrapped tightly around him, and she kissed him until he stopped thinking about breaking rules and teasing.
She kissed him until he stopped thinking altogether.
She kissed him until she was the one coaxing him upstairs with an offer of a tour.
For the record, after her kiss had singed his nerve endings, had erased every bit of control, Liam considered it a fucking miracle that they made it up the stairs and through her front door.
Her entryway was really nice.
Also for the record, that was as much of her apartment as he saw.