Caspian (Carolina Reapers 8)

“Oh, Caz.” Her posture melted and her eyes softened.

I cupped her cheek. “But just because that’s what I want doesn’t mean it fits with your plans. If you want to keep your apartment? Cool. I understand wanting to be independent. If you decide that house of yours is really your dream, then I’ll find a way to make it work once you graduate, and if you decide that I’m not what you really want, I’ll respect that choice, too.” I couldn’t fight the smirk that curved my mouth. “Just know that I’ll work like hell to change your mind and win you back.”

“I got out of the house,” she admitted, reaching for my wrist and gently clasping it in her grip. “I canceled the contract and got my deposit back, too. That’s how I’m paying for school. Guess London didn’t tell you that part.”

I shook my head slowly, processing the news. “You really let it go?”

She nodded. “I realized that it wasn’t really about the house. It wasn’t even about Chuck. It was about wanting the kind of love that my parents had.” Sadness crept into her eyes as she stared up at me. “And once I fell in love with you, I knew that everything—everyone—that came before couldn’t compare. You kind of ruined me for anyone else, Caspian Foster.”

I grinned, and she snorted, smacking the back of her hand against my chest. “You could at least act sorry about it.”

“But I’m not.” I bent slightly and brushed a kiss over the pulse in her wrist.

“Cocky bastard,” she whispered.

“You love me.” My smile widened, stating it as a fact, and not a question.

“That was never in question.” Her eyebrows rose. “You’ve been every fantasy since I was old enough to fantasize about…anything. And yes, I loved the idea of you long before you came home for London’s wedding, but falling in love you—the real you—was pretty much a foregone conclusion from the moment you kissed me, and when you said I didn’t know you—”

“Shh.” I shifted my thumb, rubbing it over her lips. “I never should have said that and I’m sorry. You know everything that matters. Sure, maybe you don’t know the superficial shit that’s changed over the years, but you know me at my core. You’ve always known me.”

“I’m sorry I walked away from you in Charleston,” she whispered. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t clear that I was meeting with Chuck to cancel the contract on the house.” Her eyes drifted close as she huffed a laugh. “We really suck at communicating.”

“Yeah, we do, but we’ll get better. We have all the time in the world to become the best communicators on the planet.”

Her eyes snapped open. “Do we?” She glanced out over the skyline. “Because I know your lifestyle would make a long-distance relationship really hard on both of us. I’m not saying it wouldn’t be worth it, but we’d only really spend the off-season together. At least until I graduate, and that’s in two years.”

“Would you want it?” My heart paused between beats. “Even if it was hard? Even if it meant working every day for this relationship, would you want it?” I needed to know before I told her the rest so she wouldn’t feel like she owed me anything for the decisions I’d made without her.

“Are you asking me if I want you?” Her hands rose to rest on my chest.

“Yes.” I nodded. “And I don’t just mean the me that’s in Cherry Creek for visits or the me you grew up with. I mean the me that’s at the gym at five a.m. The me that’s on the ice every day and gone every other weekend for away games. The me that doesn’t even belong to myself during the season. The me that gets gossiped about in tabloids, the me you have to trust because ninety-nine percent of the shit they publish is a bunch of lies. Because sure, this life has some outstanding perks, but it comes with a ton of crap, too. I’m asking if you want all of me.”

She leaned up and kissed me so softly, like the caress of a butterfly’s wings. I kept my hands right where they were and it took all the restraint in my body to keep from kissing her breathless, taking her hard and deep like I wanted her—like I needed her.

“As long as you want all of me,” she whispered against my mouth before pulling back so she could look into my eyes. “I won’t ever be at your beck and call, though I might want to. I’ll lose myself in projects and schoolwork. I’ll forget what time it is while I’m sculpting and might miss your call. If it’s between my art and your game, I’ll choose my art—but I’ll catch the replay on ESPN. I don’t care if you’re at the gym at five a.m. as long as you don’t expect me to go with you—because that is not happening. Treadmills are the devil. And if I can survive the Cherry Creek gossips, then I can handle anything the tabloids come up with. I’ll share you with the NHL as long as I never have to share you with another woman.”