the statue of the Virgin Mary, a rosary looped loosely around it. The small display hadn’t moved in the twenty-five years she’d lived there. Unobtrusive and largely ignored, their mother had instilled enough of her beliefs into her children to enable them to make their own decisions about religion as adults.
Decisions Jacqui was still largely ambivalent about. It was hard to thank a God for saving her after He’d put her and her family through cancer the second time, like once hadn’t been enough.
“Hey.” Finn nudged her, his grinning face sliding in to block her view. “Are you eating?” He lifted his plate filled with pizza and breadsticks. “You’d better grab some before Dan eats it all.”
“Screw you,” Dan muttered as he passed, his own plate piled higher than Finn’s. “I’m sharing with Tory.”
“And I’m still eating for two,” she piped in. Her three-month-old son was cuddled into her shoulder, sound asleep despite the ruckus around him.
Finn’s grin spread even wider, his dimple lodging a serious dent in his cheek. “It never gets old,” he said to her, voice lowered.
“It doesn’t,” she agreed. Despite being the oldest, Dan had never mastered the art of ignoring his younger sibling’s barbs.
Finn tapped her nose and spun away before she could land a retaliatory hit. “That doesn’t either,” he called over his shoulder before he dropped onto the couch next to Dan.
“He’ll grow up someday,” Colin said at her side.
They shared a look then said in unison “No he won’t” before bursting into giggles.
“Hey,” Finn objected, never looking away from the game. “I have a job and an apartment.”
“And the mentality of a twelve-year-old,” Dan added.
“Thirty is too young to act like a fuddy-duddy.”
“I’m trying to watch the game,” their dad cut in, effectively ending further gibes. Their father was a man of few words, but when Wayne Polson spoke, his kids listened.
Jacqui watched the rest of the hockey game with her family. Curled up on the floor, back leaning on the couch next to Finn’s legs, she listened to the cheers and grumbles of her family as they rooted for the Glaciers.
Number thirty-eight held her attention every time he stepped onto the ice. Henrik was a direct and rough player, yet managed to be quick. She might not be an exact fan of the sport, but knowledge about it had dripped into her brain whether she’d wanted it to or not. He was damn good, but then of course he was if he was playing on a pro team.
There’d been a few close-ups of him that’d jump-started her pulse and jerked at her stomach. Sweat-covered, face hard, cheeks darkened with stubble, he looked mean and menacing. So opposite of the man who’d missed the entire innuendo behind seeing his piano, or who’d been under her while she’d ridden him to orgasm last week.
Henrik slammed a Chicago player into the boards, stealing the puck to take off up the ice. She lurched forward, cheering out loud for him without thought. He passed the puck off and the camera followed the action, cutting Henrik from the screen.
She slumped back, heart still racing, only to notice the ominous quiet in the room. She jerked her head around to see everyone staring at her, most with stunned expressions. Her mother, however, showed pure amusement.
“What?” Jacqui lifted her chin to cover her rush of self-consciousness.
“Henrik?”
The rise in Finn’s voice lingered as her verbal mistake crashed down on her. No one used first names for players. Shit. Shit. Shit. “That’s his name, right?” she bluffed, feigning ignorance.
“Not on the ice.” Dan’s insistence held an edge of reprimand that came too close to a scolding. Her hackles went up, anger switching her embarrassment to resentment.
“What does it matter?” Colin cut in before she could respond. He nudged her with his foot from where he lay across the floor, his smile soothing. “She’s rooting for the right team. That’s a plus.”
An almost score by the Blackhawks dragged the attention off her and back to the game. She hugged her knees close to her chest and studiously bit her tongue through the rest of the game. Her error had almost outed her, for what? Screwing the defenseman? Her puff of laughter was thankfully hidden beneath the sportscasters’ discussion.
Watching Henrik power up and down the ice, ram into men and take hits that’d flatten most people, had the odd effect of making him even more attractive to her. The man on the ice was no gentleman. He was all hard force that