Thatch smiles. “Did you think I forgot you played hockey, Monroe?”
“No,” I stammer. “But I—“
“You got called up. That’s a good thing.”
“I don’t want it to change anything between us.” Damn, I’m so close to saying those three little words. But not like this. Not with my emotions all haywire. Not if he might ever think it was for a reason other than the simple truth.
“Then it won’t.” He kisses me quickly. “Afraid I won’t be waiting for you?”
I open my mouth and close it again. I close my eyes and open them to refocus on Gabe.
“You and me . . .” He gestures between us. “This doesn’t change. You don’t need to focus on that. You and I are . . . whatever this is.”
“Exclusive,” I remind him firmly.
“Alright. Exclusive. Pretty sure that was already established.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. If I had anything left in the tank for another lover after the way we’ve been wrapped up in each other, I’d have more stamina than even a pro hockey player.
“We’re dating,” I add quickly. Not concerned that I might sound slightly unhinged. “Boyfriends sounds weird.”
Thatcher gives me a long look. “We can clarify whatever you need to clarify, Rory. But I’m in your corner. Cheering.”
My eyes feel stingy and watery for some reason.
“You gonna wear my jersey?” I tease, trying to get my emotions on his level.
“Every game,” he promises with a kiss. “Now, let’s get your stuff packed.”
In less than an hour I walk onto the team plane, fortified by Jamie’s hugs and assurances of how I’m going to “crush it” and Thatcher’s steadfastness. I touch my lips where they still burn from our goodbye kiss.
Steadfastness and complete sex appeal.
I am so fucking lucky.
“Welcome, Mr. Monroe,” the attendant says, and there’s something in her tone that I’m not sure how to read. I look at her carefully as I take a seat and maybe she looks familiar.
She smiles at me again in a way that clearly means I should read something into it. But I can’t. I have no idea what she means.
“I’m Ava, if you don’t remember, Roe. When I heard it was just you on this flight, I snapped up the job as quick as I could.”
“Oh.” I swallow hard. “That’s . . . flattering.”
She gives me a wink, trailing a hand over my thigh.
I groan in frustration, the past reaching up to grab me like a ghost. The last time I was on the team plane . . . to be honest, I can’t remember it that well. There was a haze of pills and liquor crowding my mind because it was just me and like two other guys from the team.
I search my brain to remember why it wasn’t the whole team on the plane. All-Stars? An exhibition or skills challenge like The Freeze?
I swallow hard as the attendant continues to flirt with me, touching me everywhere she can as we prepare for takeoff and in a manner that suggests she has reason to believe I would welcome it. God, for all I know she’s got great reasons based on past behavior I don’t even remember.
I finally clear my head enough to snag her wrist loosely.
“Look, I’m going to try and sleep on this flight because I have to hit the ice first thing, so you don’t have to go to all this trouble,” I assure her. “You can just leave me with a bottle of water and my eye mask.”
She smirks at me and then nods to the pilot when he steps in to tell her we’ll be off in just a few minutes.
“Of course, Mr. Monroe.”
