All the Sauce (IceCats 4)

But now that it’s been three weeks, I’m absolutely dumbfounded. I honestly didn’t believe Owen when he said he wouldn’t take me to bed until I would do it with the lights on or whatever he meant by what he said. But apparently Owen Adler has the patience of a saint. Or he knew he’d be gone for eleven days and wasn’t worried one bit. As for me, I’m dying. When we work out, he’s only in shorts with that ass all thick and yummy. I haven’t stayed at his house—or him at mine since that night—and it’s all becoming too much. I want him. Bad.

Especially when he’s looking at me on FaceTime in nothing but a pair of boxers as he inhales some pasta and breadsticks. “How’s school?”

“Good,” I say, eating my own pasta. We decided to have a dinner date over FaceTime. It’s silly, I know, but it’s nice not to eat alone. I miss him. A lot. “Everything is getting a little harder. I’m more overwhelmed by the case load since I feel as if I do nothing but deal with data at work, but then I need data for my papers. It’s insane, but I’m still carrying a 4.0.”

“’Cause you’re wicked smart,” he says with a wink. “For real, though, that’s awesome. Way to go.”

“Thanks,” I say with a small smile. “I’ve been watching you play. You look great out there. Even if y’all keep getting your asses handed to you.”

“Yeah, it’s all shit. New rumor is they’re going to replace our coach.”

“Ack, that’s not fun.”

“Nope. I like him. He’s a good guy, but they’re looking at this younger dude.”

I nod. “Still, that’s frustrating.”

“It is, but whatever. I’m just gonna keep kicking ass.”

“That’s all you can do, I guess.”

“For sure. Dart is irritated, and Thatcher is over it. We’re all trying to stay positive, but we’re so out of play-off position, it isn’t even funny.”

“I remember when the Assassins didn’t make it out of round one of the play-offs. It was awful. My dad was pissed and felt like shit.”

“Yeah, I don’t like it at all. Didn’t expect my rookie year to suck.”

“But aren’t you like third in the league for goals?”

He nods. “Yeah, but it doesn’t matter when my team isn’t doing well.”

My heart hurts for him. He wants so badly for everyone to be successful. He’s such a team player, when really, he doesn’t have to be. He is one of the best players on the ice, but you’d never know off the ice with how it’s never I but we. “I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is. I get to see you in two days, so I have something to look forward to.”

I beam at him. “I can’t wait.”

“Me either,” he says, taking a bite of his breadstick. “Have you been following the lifting plan?”

I nod happily. “I have, and I’m proud to say, I’ve gone up ten pounds on all my lifts, and I’ve lost fourteen pounds!”

He grins, smacking his leg loudly. “Fuck yes, Pax!” He’s so animated with his hands. “Show me. Get up. I wanna see the bod.”

“Stop!”

“No, come on! Show me!”

I bite my lip, and I kinda wanna show him. I put the phone on my nightstand and stand in front of it, pulling at my scrubs to show how much extra fabric I have now. “And look!” I say, flexing my bicep. “I’m basically stronger than you now.”

He nods. “Absolutely. So much stronger.”

We share a grin as I sit back down, putting him back in his place so we can eat.

“And not to say I told you so, but I told you so.”

I scoff. “Shut up.”

“You know I’m right. All you had to do was ease back on the cardio and eat.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes.

I love his smile and his little dimple. I adore his face. With so much joy in his expression, he says, “So, we’ll celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“Yeah.”

“What? Me losing weight? That needed to be done.”

He gives me a look of exasperation. “You worked hard. I want to celebrate you.”

“That’s silly and unneeded.”

“Anyway,” he says, ignoring my comment, “get out your sexiest dress, Ms. Paxton. I’m taking you somewhere special.”

I scoff though panic sets in. “I have nothing but scrubs and sweats for the gym.”

I refuse to tell him that all the regular clothes I have do not fit me. I couldn’t even squeeze into something and hope for the best. Everything I used to wear was very revealing, and if I put any of it on now, I’d look like a busted can of biscuits. No way am I subjecting him or myself to that. The thought of it alone is giving me anxiety.

“Then go shopping.”

I give him a look. “I’m broke. And, no, I don’t want your money.”

He laughs. “I can Venmo you right now.”