She cocks a brow in her usual way. "How?"
I bring my hand to the back of my neck and massage the tension building there. As much as it kills me to say this, I think it might be the only way. "What if we..." I groan, dreading the rest of my sentence. "What if we don't make any big decisions about us—good or bad—until you're done with the Flames gig? That will give you some peace about the job situation, and it'll give me time to sort all this shit out with… everyone."
I planned to say Jane, but the truth of the matter is, I'll have a lot more people than my all-business P.R. manager to answer to ifDrew Andersonplans on changing his tune. I'm not so worried about my coach and teammates. Monte would probably be happy to see me out of the gossip, and the boys would understand eventually, I know that. But my dad will damn sure have something to say when his limelight player simply fades into the game.
"And what?" she asks. "Bang in secret?"
"Sure, sounds good to me," I quickly answer jokingly. Brooke slaps my arm, and we both smile. "I'm kidding. Well, I mean, we can definitely do that. But I also want to just be with you. Hangout. Eat food."
"Wow," she says bluntly. "You really were telling the truth, weren't you?" She scrunches her face and sticks out her chest. "I don't know, Brooke. We could like hangout and eat food," she says, mocking me in a voice two octaves lower than her own. I snatch her up, her body collapsing in on me as I pull her close. "You reallydon'tfind your own dates." She laughs, throwing her arms around my neck.
"Hey, I'd do just fine on my own." I dip my hand up and past her cheek, pulling her lips mere inches from mine. "But yes, I was telling the truth. And now, it doesn't matter." Pressing my mouth to hers, I inhale deeply, the obstacles bound to come somehow lighter already knowing she's in my arms.
"Okay, so a few weeks, huh? We'll just give it a shot and see how it goes?"
"A few weeks," I echo, wanting the time to speed by and drag on simultaneously. "But I'll warn ya, baby… I score on most of the shots I take."
There's no hiding the smile that spreads on her face, or mine that forms in reaction.
I kiss her again, hard at first but then softly, shoving down all the uncertainties that creep to the surface. My dad's latest idea, Jane's calendar, my teammates' questions—all of it just hurdles.
And I'd climb mountains if it meant getting to hold her like this.
"Okay, Twelve. I'll give it to ya. I didn't know you could be so persuasive."
Bringing her mouth to mine once more, I run my tongue past the seam of her lips. When she opens, I dip back in one last time, sucking her bottom lip as I pull away.
"I told you, Brooke," I say, running the tip of my nose up from the line of her jaw to the base of her ear. "There's a lot that you don't know about me."
"Offsides!" Monte yells, and almost immediately, the ref blows his whistle.
The Hurricanes' forward throws one hand in the air and shakes his head before skating over to his bench with the rest of his team. There are three and a half minutes left in the third period, and this will be the last TV timeout.
The boys and I head to our bench to wait out the break, when the jumbotron starts with the Look-Alike-Cam.
"Oh, bullshit!" Burnsey calls over the noise. "That dude looks nothing like Michael B. Jordan. He's a three at most. MBJ is an easy eight."
"If Jordan's an eight, name a ten," Ward says, tapping his stick to the beat of the song.
Brett peers over at him, one brow raised.
"You?" Carter laughs. "Yeah, fat chance."
"Dude, look at me! I..."
Burns's voice drifts off as I lock eyes with a ten of my own. Brooke is sitting with Coach's girl and Cooper in their usual box in the stands. The three of them seem to be in some sort of heated debate, possibly similar to the boys' considering their pointing at the Look-Alike-Cam. Even from here, Brooke's smile lights up the room—and my goddamn senses, even when it's not directed at me.
After we left the bay earlier, my head was fucking spinning even more than it normally is. I get to be with Brooke. Maybe not openly or with titles involved, but I get to spend real time with her after all these months of craving her. She may not have shoved me down on one knee, but my mystery girl, who is stubborn and sarcastic and full of excuses, finally let me in just a little.
The conditions are honestly what's best for us—we both need time to figure things out. She needs to see that I'm serious about changing my ways while keeping things professional. And I… well, I don't exactly have a plan to do this without having Jane and my dad and the rest of the world on my fucking back.
The ref's second whistle interrupts my thoughts, signaling the end of the TV timeout. I glance up at the jumbotron as the Dance Cam fades out and look back at Brooke. Alex and Cooper are now sitting back down, but she's still standing… her eyes on me.
My instinct is to burn a hole into her—not moving back to my spot on the ice until she knows exactly what I'm trying to say with just one look. But my line's already moving into position, and the last thing I need is to draw attention to myself and my lingering gaze up to the box in the sky. Instead, I wink quickly, hoping that alone will tell her everything she needs to know.
Brooke smiles softly as I push off the bench, my mind habitually resetting back to the game. Peering up at the scoreboard, I'm given the unnecessary reminder that there's still a little more than three minutes left and we're only up by one. Like clockwork, a wave of adrenaline-laced anxiety washes over me. My body's amped just the right amount, but my mind kicks into overdrive.
Luckily, I now have someone worth performing for.
