“Welcome.” Mrs. Reed embraces my mother warmly. “We're so happy you could all join us tonight.”
“Thank you for inviting us.” Mom steps back and motions to my sisters. “These are my daughters, Emily and Lilly.”
Lilly beams at Jackson’s mom. “How big is your Christmas tree? Can I see it?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Reed takes my sister’s hand. “Come with me.”
Mr. Reed introduces himself to my mother and then turns offering me a firm handshake. “Killian, good to see you again. Hopefully you're not roughing up my son too much on the ice.”
“Not yet, but I make no promises, sir.”
“Well, why don’t we all head into the dining room? Dinner is ready, and I’m sure you’re all hungry after the drive down. Hope there wasn’t too much traffic.”
“Only while crossing the bridge and getting through the city,” mom says.
As everyone leaves the foyer, Jackson grabs my arm, holding me back. When everyone’s out of sight, he presses me against the wall. “Two weeks without getting my hands on you. Video chat isn't cutting it anymore.”
“You mean the daily jack-off sessions aren't enough for you?”
“Not even close.” His hand slides down to grab my ass.
I pinch his side, trying to encourage him to back off. “Our families are literally twenty feet away.”
“So?” He bites my earlobe, sending a fine tremor through my body.
“Boys!” Mrs. Reed's voice sounds from the dining room. “The food's getting cold!”
Jackson pulls away, a smirk on his face. I shake my head and straighten my clothes. “Think you can get through dinner without mauling me?”
He takes my hand into his. “No guarantees.”
The dining room looks like something out of a magazine spread—the long, polished mahogany table gleams under acrystal chandelier, the place settings look like they belong in the window of some Fifth Avenue boutique, and the centerpiece is so ornate it feels like it should be roped off in a museum.
My eyes land on the prime rib at the center of the table. Instantly, my mouth waters.
Mr. Reed eyes us as we take our seats. “You two, no blood on the tablecloth. I know how you both get.”
Mom laughs. “I’m just glad they keep the fighting on the ice.”
Jackson's grin turns wicked. “Oh, we do plenty of wrestling off the ice, too, Mrs. Blackwell.”
I kick him under the table as Lilly dissolves into giggles.
Emily lets out a loud, exaggerated, gagging sound. “Oh my god, you’re so gross.”
My mom just shakes her head and then turns to Jackson. “You must be excited about Winnipeg next year.”
Jackson's smile falters, his knuckles white around his fork. “It’s . . . yeah. It’s a big move.”
The conversation moves on, but I’m stuck on her words. Different cities. Different teams. Hours apart. My chest tightens, stomach churning.
Jackson interlaces our fingers and squeezes gently, but it doesn't stop the spiral of anxiety.
“You okay?”
I smile, but my heart thrums. “Yeah, just wondering how many times I'll have to check you into the boards before you admit I'm the better player.”
He snorts. “In your dreams, golden boy.”
