When will Cooper Carmichael ever be just enough?
Sutton must see it in my eyes, and changes her response, admitting the truth, “It’s for you, Cooper. I think about you.”
“When?”
She kisses me hard as I slip her underwear aside, pushing a finger inside her. “Always.” There’s a sneaky glint to her facial features, and I make a note to ask her about it later.
I kiss down her torso, pushing up her sweater to press my mouth to her stomach. She arches into me.
I climb off the table, hands on her waist, dragging her to the edge. I work her underwear down her legs, up and over her chunky sneakers, and pocket them.
We only have the room reserved for another ten minutes when I check my watch. They are strict about these rooms and being out immediately once your slot is over.
It doesn’t matter, I have her coming undone with half that time. My name on her tongue and hands in my hair.
I clean her up with my tongue, savoring everything.
Sutton sits up. I push up on the table, lean into her, and kiss her. Her tongue pushes into my mouth, explorative, and she sighs when she tastes herself on me.
A phone buzzes, one minute warning. I press a final kiss on her mouth, helping her off the table and adjusting her clothing back into place.
“It happened again.” Sutton nods at my crotch. “Must like doing that with girls.”
Yes, I’ve always enjoyed going down on a girl, but with her, I love it.
“Girl,” I correct. “And I love it.”
She rolls her eyes at me. We move around the room, cleaning up our school stuff before heading out of the room.
“Here.” I smile at her, fully knowing she is still glistening on my lips.
I hand Sutton the pack of light pastel dual highlighter-pens I got her. My sister, Jordan, and I were hanging out Sunday afternoon in downtown Bensen. Mom’s birthday is a handful of days after mine, and we wanted to get her a present. While in the paper store, I saw these and thought of Sutton.
“One side is tipped like a pen. Might make it easier to write or outline the titles on your notes.”
“It will. This is really sweet, Coop. Thank you.” Her flushed skin blushes. She opens the package and tucks them into her pen carrier. “Can I have my underwear back now?”
I shake my head no, flick my brows up. “Mybirthday present.”
TWENTY-NINE
COOPER
A satisfied easewashes over me as I button up my dress shirt for our game tonight. My pre-game ritual is being checked off, and this morning in the study room might be the newest addition.
The person staring back at me in my reflection is lighter, freer, and unapologetically happy. I finished the evaluation for her when I got home; it’s sitting on my desk. Carefully, I went through each question, knowing how important this is to her. Seeing how what she’s doing is working. I know my participation is part of this, but it’s her that’s helping me fall back in love with the sport.
She’s showed me how to separate who they want me to be with who I am. Reminded me how fun skating can be.
My playing is better. It’s still there in the back of my mind—I know I’m creeping up on Dad’s record. I know other NHL teams are watching my every move. I know this could be our year to bring home the trophy again—but I’m working to keep it there. Use it as a different type of fuel. Navigating how to want it for myself and not others.
I want to break Dad’s record.
I want to play in the NHL.
I want to win the Frozen Four.
The affirmations, the goals, are on a note card in her handwriting taped to my bathroom mirror.
