Page 104 of Hockey Player Seeking Fan

“Is this your way of telling me that you’re trying to cash in?”

“Cash in?” he asks.

“On your public sex request.”

“Oh no, darling. I’m not sharing you with anyone.”

“Well, no, I don’t mean sharing me. But I don’t need anyone to see us either.”

“You are all I need.”

“But you told me when you had that moment with that woman, you were kind of excited because?—”

“I was stupid. And I thought it was fun, and I didn’t care about her. I love you. You’re special. You are for me and my eyes only.”

“And I’m for you and your eyes only.”

“I mean, sure, do I get off if there’s a possibility of us getting caught? Why not? But do I want us to be caught? No. Because I love you.”

He brings my face to his, and he kisses me hard.

“I love you so much. And I’m never letting you go.”

“I love you, too,” I say, laughing. “So you’re not going to trade me in for your number one fan or anything?”

“Who do you think I am? Some sort of man who’s just looking for a good time?”

“No, but I don’t know. Maybe you’re a hockey player… seeking a fan.”

He grins. “I’m a hockey player. Seeking you.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Tyler

“I am so proud of you,” Erica says, squeezing my hand. “This is not the best start to a relationship, is it?”

“What do you mean?” I ask as I gaze at her.

“I just feel really bad about the fact that I didn’t see your game-winning point. I feel like if I were the perfect girlfriend, I would’ve seen it.”

“But that’s not what I’m looking for, Erica. You don’t have to be the perfect girlfriend—or what you think is the perfect girlfriend,” I correct myself quickly. “Maybe you’re the perfect girlfriend for me. I love hockey, and I’m glad the Lightning won, but to be quite honest, I don’t care about hockey anymore. I’m not invested in the game. I’m not invested in the team. I’m glad we won, don’t get me wrong, but meeting you, finally getting to be with someone who sees me for something other than a hockey player… I realize that this is not the life I want.”

I take a breath, heart thudding. “You are who I want. And I want us to grow together and—well, this is going to seem reallycheesy, but I’ve brought you back to my apartment because I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh my gosh, you want to make love again?” she says, grinning. “Is that your surprise? Is this the first time we’re going to do it in your bed?”

“I mean, I don’t mind if we do it in my bed,” I say, laughing. “But that’s not why you’re here.”

We enter my apartment, and she looks around. She pauses and makes a face.

“You can be honest,” I say, laughing.

“It’s not what I thought it would be,” she says slowly.

“What did you think it would be?”

“I don’t know. Homey. Bright. Colorful. You’re an artist. And this is… all gray, isn’t it? Black and gray. A black leather couch, gray curtains, gray rug, gray table, gray chairs…”