“No! I’m not implying if you weren’t with me that you’d cheat. More … that if you go into the NHL with baggage, that it might hold you back from getting the full experience. I’m not … I’m not suited for that life. Could you imagine me in some team box talking to people about hockey? They’ll probably kick me out for calling the puck a disc. A goal a touchdown. A period an inning.”
“Aww, you learned the correct terms for me?”
“I’m serious. I’ll get nervous and say something stupid, and then all your new hockey teammates will lose respect for you.”
“You think I care about that? If I wanted someone obsessed with hockey, you would not be my boyfriend. Just saying.”
“I … I …” His mouth opens and closes fast.
“You need to understand something. You know how you get so lost when you’re reading and studying and focusing on the thing that interests you? A week can go by, and you don’t even notice. The first few years, I’m going to be working so hard on my game I probably won’t even have the energy to do anything but focus on securing a long-term spot on a team. It’s unpredictable. I might have the crappiest rookie year and get sent down to the AHL for training. I might not gel with a team and get traded. Hell, I might not even get signed at this point. Anything could happen, and I don’t know why we’re talking about this now when it’s months away.”
He lowers his head. “Because I’m scared you’re going to walk away, and I’m going to get hurt.” His voice is so quiet. So unsure, yet so set at the same time.
“Baby …” I lean toward him, but my stupid seatbelt is still fastened. “Shit.”
I quickly unbuckle it and then I’m in his space.
His eyes widen, but when I cup his cheek, he leans into my hand.
“I never expected you,” I start. “I never expected that my brother asking me to look out for you would be anything more than me checking in on you every once in a while. I definitely didn’t expect to fall for you or think I’d ask my agent to find me a team on the East Coast so I could be close to you. I know it won’t be easy, and yes, it’ll be an adjustment, but I don’t ever want you to think I’m giving something up or will miss out because of you. You’re not only my boyfriend.”
He’s so much more. A lot more than I can put into words.
“I’m not?” He blinks up at me.
I shake my head. “You’re as much a part of my future as hockey is.”
“A-are you sure? Because part of me wonders if you should be psychoanalyzed.”
I burst out laughing. “Maybe I should. But that’s not going to change the fact I’ve fallen for you. I’ve fallen harder than any hit I’ve taken on the ice.”
“Oh, so you have a concussion. That would explain so much. Why you think my awkwardness is cute. And why—”
I cut off the self-deprecation with a kiss that’s forceful and promising. One I hope he can feel in his numb toes because we’ve been sitting in the car for a while with the heat off, and it’s becoming an ice box.
But when he kisses me back, I don’t care about frostbite or hypothermia.
That is until my dick starts to shrivel up from the cold.
“No more assumptions,” I say against his lips.
“Okay, I’ll try. It’s sort of my default to put meaning to things though, so I might need some help remembering.”
“Whenever you start to doubt, just remember I’m crazy about you.”
“Okay.”
“Let me take you inside and show you,” I whisper.
“Show me what?”
“How much I lo … how much …” Shit, why can’t I say the words? Granted, they’re words I’ve never said to anyone else outside my family, but they’re dancing on the tip of my tongue. They want to come out, but something’s holding them back. “How much I want you.”
Damn it.
He nods.
We get out of the car, and he moves toward the trunk.
“We’ll get your bags later.” I grab his upper arm and push him toward the front door.
Once we’re through the snow and on the porch, I pull him against me and press my lips to his.
He wraps his arms around my neck, and we blindly fumble our way inside, kissing and groping.
“Hey, how was Wiscon—” My brother’s voice cuts off. “Ooh, look at that. I’m gonna go walk the dog.”
I wave him off but then his words register. I force my lips away from Zach’s but don’t let him go. “We don’t have a dog.”
“Fine. I’m getting out of the house so I don’t have to watch or listen to”—he gestures to us—“that. Bye.”
Zach and I run up the stairs before Seth even has his coat and shoes on.