“You’re gonna be a lot of work,” I tell the building. Then softer, almost without thinking, “We’ll get along just fine.”
I take out my phone, and open the note labeled “The Five Hole.”
***
Thatcher knows how to host a handful of hockey players.
Some of the guys already had plans to watch the game in a bar the next town over, but about five of us land at Thatcher and Jamie’s. Thatcher opens up the patio doors due to the nice weather, and that seems to enlarge his living room. He has the couch against the wall and the game projected on a screen in the house and the TV also showing the game outside.
Platters of ribs and burgers are piled high on the table, with sauces and sides—from Thatcher’s own smoked mac and cheese, to the hodgepodge of contributions from all of us. It makes quite the spread in the end, and I eat enough of the mac and cheese for two hockey players. Which is fine, because the rest of the guys are easily eating for three, and I like the way Thatcher flushes when someone compliments the food.
While Thatch cooked, I cleaned and organized the area and made sure we were party-ready, including setting up a mix-your-own-liquor table and putting plenty of beer on ice.
Jamie and his friend Arch stuff themselves, their eyes bouncing between the screen and the players in the room. Of course, when the puck drops we’re all yelling at the television, especially when Benji hits the ice with the third line. Arch andJamie are right in there with the rest of us, and any awkwardness or hero worship gets traded for high fives and shared cheers.
It’s a great evening. Benji plays some of the best hockey I’ve seen from him, and it makes me proud for him as his teammate.
Dom, the rookie hotshot, has a great game. He’s on fire tonight. While that will help the Knights get a win today, it may also hurt the series if he keeps running hot and cold on the ice.
With the people and game buzzing around me, I can easily take a step back and appreciate having this. Appreciate that I know how to tease Diggs and Manchester, one of the defensive men. It’s a sort of camaraderie that I haven’t had with a team since my younger days.
Also, I like helping Thatcher host, to know that people are having a good time and that I helped facilitate it. It’s kind of funny how my party-hard lifestyle in the NAPH twisted that part of my personality all wrong. But a lot of that scene was me trying to make sure everyone around me had a good time.
Huh.
Late in the third, the game’s pretty much in the bag for the Knights, and our cheers and yelling turn into simply enjoying the game.
Thatcher mutters under his breath when the team is playing, and like I noticed before, he knows his hockey. I think about what he told me about his dad, and I wonder what his relationship with hockey would be if his dad hadn’t been chasing his own dreams at the expense of everyone else.
“Hey,” Thatcher says, reclaiming his seat next to me on his couch. Diggs gives me a wink and wedges himself onto the same couch, pushing Thatcher and me even closer. To make room, Thatcher stretches his arm out over the back of the couch, behind me.
I lean in, practically groaning at how good he smells. How he managed to spend hours tending to his smoker and still smell amazing is beyond me.
He chuckles, angling his body for more room, and I lean into him. It’s a coupled-up move but I don’t care. I lean in and kiss his cheek quickly. His eyes are searing as they catch mine, and he moves his hand to the back of my neck. His thumb stroking under my ear is enough to drive me crazy and make my skin rise and prickle, before he sits back when the game comes back on and takes a sip of beer.
Damn the man and his casual sexiness. I’m practically swooning.
The game ends with a predictable win for the Knights, and everyone quickly helps clean up, especially since there’s little food left. Mostly, they take what they brought. We throw the last few dishes in the dishwasher, and I wipe down the kitchen and floors while Thatcher and Diggs, the last one to leave, put the living room back to rights.
“Jamie’s upstairs,” I tell Thatcher as he closes the door on Diggs’s retreating frame. I advance on him. “He and Arch are occupied—already online playing some video game with friends. House is taken care of and free of any other guests.”
Thatcher raises a sexy eyebrow at me, coming close enough to pull me to him.
I’m thinking he’ll kiss me—I want that kiss—but Thatcher just stares at me in a way I’m not used to. Like I’m water and he’s a man left too long to wander the desert.
His strong arms wrap around me, and I swear I shiver from head to toe.
“I’d like to take a shower; would you like to join me?” he asks.
“Well, your shower is the stuff dreams are made of,” I tease, although it’s no joke. That shower has more ways to direct water than a water park.
Thatcher captures my mouth, but I’m the one who can’t handle the surge of pure want that goes through me. I wrap my arms around his neck and push him into the wall so I can get him still and slot my thigh between his legs.
We make out like teenagers in his entryway. It’s raw and a little awkward, but oh-so good. It’s the best intimacy I’ve ever shared with someone. His kisses, his hands. Doing things together, like hosting my friends.
“Shower,” he growls in my ear.
Thatch somehow manages to start the shower and strip me down in no time, the water still slightly cool on our skin. Not that it matters to me; I’m too hot to care.
