“Okay. Let’s get you a piece of that cake. You should probably only taste it. No sweets before a game; that just seems like it would be bad.”
She leads me into the kitchen and pushes me into a chair. I shrug out of my suit jacket and hang it on the back while she cuts into the cake and grabs a fork. Elizabeth sits sideways in my lap with one arm around my shoulders.
“Now, if you don’t like this, I may just have to ban you from the house. I make it the exact same way as my grandma, so if you hate it, remember that you’d be spitting on her grave.”
“That important, huh?”
“Yep. You should know by now that I take my sweets seriously.” She picks a piece up with her fork. “Open up,” she says just before she feeds me the cake.
There’s quite a bit of pressure with how she’s watching me chew. I nod and hum my approval. “How was work?”
She shrugs as she starts to eat the rest of the slice. “Same as usual.”
“I think you should quit.”
“What?” She looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “There’s this thing called bills, and I need a job to pay for them.”
“Go after your dream, Elizabeth. I’ll help fund—”
“No,” she interrupts sternly.
“Why not?”
All she does is shake her head and focus on the cake. That is not an acceptable answer.
“Elizabeth.”
“Baby steps, Marc,” she says, standing to throw away what’s left of the cake. “You are enough of an adjustment for me and the last thing I need is to tackle something else on top of this and have you pay for it when who the hell knows if we’ll last and then you’ll have money wasted and just no!”
Yes, because it’ll fucking kill her to have some damn faith in me and in us. I don’t say that because I don’t want to argue and I can hear Meredith telling me to cut her some slack. She’s now standing in front of the sink, her body rigid and still. I stand and walk over until I’m behind her. She leans against me. “There’s no rush, but you should have something for yourself. Think about it. Talk to Sylvia and Scott if you want. Either way, you have to do one thing: start dreaming, Elizabeth. You deserve it.”
“I’ll think about it,” she promises.
“Good.” I kiss her temple, catch sight of the time on the oven, and add, “I have to go.”
She turns around to face me, her arms coming up to wrap around my neck in a hug. “Play great and have a safe trip.”
“Don’t miss me too much.”
“Don’t annoy Noah too much.”
“Oh, now you’re just asking for too much.”
She laughs and pulls away. “Go on now before I shoo you out of here.”
“I haven’t gotten my good luck kiss.”
Elizabeth rolls her eyes, stands on her tiptoes, and presses her mouth to mine. She sighs. I pull her tight against my body. Forget the game. Forget needing to leave. Forget how it’s been in the back of my mind that it’s been bothering me how I haven’t heard from my father lately and I’m bothered because it’s odd, which makes me uneasy. All that matters in this moment is Elizabeth. Her hands squeeze my biceps. Her breasts brush against my chest with each breath. Her tongue clashes with mine. My hands start roaming because I need to feel her. I need to touch her and I need to build her up and make her fall apart beneath me.
I feel stunned stupid when there are no longer lips against mine to kiss.
“You’re going to be late,” she breathes, her chest heaving.
I start kissing along her neck. “You can’t send me off like—fuck,” I groan as she squeezes me through my pants. She unbuckles my belt, unbuttons and unzips me, but before she can drop to her knees, I stop her. This wasn’t my intentions by any means. I wanted sex, not a blow job.
“No sex today, but I can do this instead.” Elizabeth doesn’t give me time to object, not that I can once she has her mouth on me.
The Indiana Mustangs are kicking our asses at the moment. The score is three-nothing with a little over nine minutes left in the second period. I pump my legs harder, skating up along the boards and trying to catch one of their players. The puck slides along the curve and Rams is there, cutting it off to flick it back down the ice.