His phone pings and he shifts to pull it out of his front pocket. Then he’s holding one arm out in front of us and says, “Smile for Wren.”
I do, but his words register as he’s taking it. “Wait. What?”
He’s already pulled his phone back and is tapping on it. “She says hi.”
When he looks up from his phone, I’m staring and waiting for an explanation.
“We’ve been texting.” He slides his phone back in his pocket, but almost immediately it pings again and he pulls it back out.
I let out a short laugh. Of course they have. I should have expected as much.
“Aww look, some sports news site printed a picture of us.” He turns the screen to show me. “Wren sent it.”
There we are. It’s the night I went to his game. He’s carrying me out of the Moonshot arena. We’re both smiling, completely oblivious to anyone else. My eyes drift from the photo to the headline. “Moonshot Star Forward Travis Bennett and Gymnast Wife.”
“I don’t even get a name.”
His smile falls and his brow furrows as he turns the phone back around to read it, like he hadn’t even noticed. “You’re right. That’s shitty. What the fuck?”
“Don’t worry about it. It isn’t the first or last time a sexist write-up made me want to scream. Though it is the first time they used the word wife to demean me specifically.” I try to play it off like no big deal, but Travis’s expression remains hard.
“I’m sorry. Do you want me to contact them and demand they issue a correction and an apology?”
“I’m only a silly wife, I doubt I deserve one.”
He finally cracks a smile and pulls me into him. “Seriously, I’m sorry. You deserve to have all the attention and respect. It should sayBadass Gymnast Hannah Walsh and Her Hockey Player Husband.”
“That is much better.”
His mouth slants over mine. It starts as an apology but I’m breathless and lightheaded, the carnival around me completely forgotten, until someone in line behind us clears their throat.
We break apart to see the line has moved ahead of us.
“Sorry.” I mouth to the people behind us and we step up to the guy taking tickets at the front.
Travis and I sit on the rickety bucket seat and pull the bar down over our laps. My heart pounds in my chest as we sway back and forth. My stuffed frog is on the bench next to me, and I seriously consider hiding behind him. Travis, on the other hand, is grinning ear to ear.
I squeal as the ride starts up and we move forward and up. My feet dangle and the ground gets farther and farther away.
“I have regrets!” I yell over the blood pounding in my ears.
His resounding chuckle is lost in the noise, but his hand drops to my thigh. I close my eyes and lean into him. I can no longer see how high we are but my stomach dips and flutters.
His fingers brush back and forth over my skin in a soothing pattern that soon has warmth spreading through me and my breath hitching. Slowly, his hand inches higher under the hem of my skirt. I suck in a breath and widen my legs slightly.
Heat pools low in my belly as the tips of his fingers brush against my center. He takes his time, gliding the pad of one finger over my panties. Then two. By the time he slips under the thin material, the ride is all but forgotten and my lashes flutter open.
He pushes inside me as we crest to the top, then slowly pumps in and out of me, adding another finger when I’m ready. I can see across the carnival, the lights, the attractions, the people. Everything is smaller from this viewpoint. Smaller and insignificant. Everything except him. Us.
My pulse races as we climb higher, then fall. Over and over again. I bite down on my lower lip as the lights flash and sparkle and ripple through me.
It’s just me and him and nothing else. Headlines, money, sponsors, proving myself, tumbling from the sky, none of it matters in this moment. And maybe that’s all any of us can ask for, moments of bliss where the world doesn’t feel so scary.
29
TRAVIS
“Congrats, man. I’m so happy for you.” I slap Nick on the back as we stand chest to chest, then move to Ruby. I pick her up and squeeze.
