Baby For The Hockey Star: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance by Emory Kade

Author:Emory Kade [Kade, Emory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2023-08-15T16:00:00+00:00

16 || Kaleb

“Wow, Sophie. You’ve really outdone yourself.” I lean back in my chair after my second helping of chicken fettuccine alfredo. “I mean, you really outdid yourself.” I repeat, realizing I’ve not let myself overeat this much in a long time. But it’s the offseason. Fuck it.

Sophie twirls her last bite of fettuccine around the prongs of her fork.

“I’m glad you approve.” She flicks her tongue out to grab a wayward noodle before closing her mouth around the rest of it. I can’t help but think about other things I want her to close her mouth around. But I wanted her too much when I arrived here earlier to wait.

On the plane. In the car on the way over. I told myself I wouldn’t jump her bones as soon as I walked through the door. I lied. As soon as I saw her standing there in that cute little sundress, with no bra on, I couldn’t stop myself.

And finding her with no panties on? Mmmm. I need to stop thinking about that before I get hard again.

“I never knew you could cook like this.” I say to get my mind out of the gutter.

“Oh, I mean. I couldn’t really. Not in college. I’ve learned a thing or two since then. Picked up a few authentic recipes during my travels and had to take care of myself. It’s cheaper to cook.” Sophie stands up and starts to grab some plates off the table. I should’ve done that. She cooked this amazing meal for me, and I feel like not helping makes me look ungrateful.

“It wasn’t all fun and games in Italy. I had a very fixed budget at times. And, ya know, we can’t all be superstars. My job isn’t exactly letting me roll in the dough.” Sophie’s still chatting away from the other room as she puts the dishes in the sink and turns the water on. There’s a cut-out passthrough between the kitchen and dining room with a countertop in between.

As I listen to her I start to look around the room and see all her little touches throughout. Art. Flowers on the counter. The handsome dining room set she picked out. I told her I didn’t care about the furniture and gave her free reign to buy whatever she thought would fit the space. But I love everything she chose. It feels like a real home, even though I’ve not even spent a night here yet.

I stand and join her at the sink. “Can I help with anything?”

“Oh, no. I’m just rinsing them off so that alfredo sauce doesn’t stick. We can wash them later, unless you’d prefer it done now. It is your house after all. If you don’t want dirty dishes in the sink…”

It is my house, but the word strikes me as strange. I don’t want it to just be my house. I want it to be our house. She’s what makes this place feel like home. Having dinner with her. Washing dishes. Joking and chatting.

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