My hope was that I’d land early enough to spend a little time with her at home first, but the plane got delayed and then there was an obscene amount of traffic leaving the airport. There wasn’t a chance I’d make it home. Hell, I barely made it here before the puck drop.
I force a smile as I pass one employee after another at Bolts Arena. This place feels more like my home than anywhere else. It’s the place where I got my ass kicked, where I discovered that I wasn’t, in fact, the best of the fucking best like I’d grown up believing, where I found friends who became family, and where I eventually became one of the greats on the ice alongside them. It’s where I became a man and learned what truly matters in life. Not the actual Stanley Cup, but the team of people who won it along with me. The friendships that grew from the countless hours we spent together chasing that dream.
Outside the owner’s suite is a team picture from Noah’s last season. It was the last time my core group of friends was on the ice together, when we raised the cup above our heads and brought their kids out onto the rink and celebrated.
I smile. That was the season I realized I had something really special here. And I’ve built upon that year after year. I may not put on that jersey or the pads anymore, but I still bleed Bolts blue.
My smile only grows when a loud cackle sounds from inside the owner’s suite. I’d recognize Sara’s laugh anywhere. And when it’s followed by my girlfriend’s raspy laugh? Damn if my heart doesn’t skip a beat. I peek inside, and when I spot her, my chest expands, flooding with affection.
Her smile is huge, her head tipped back, eyes closed, her wild red hair practically hitting her ass.
Like she can sense my attention, her lashes flutter open and she zeroes in on me. That’s when her outfit registers. Holy shit. She’s wearing a Boston Bolts jersey. And not just any jersey.
Her eyes glitter with excitement. The feeling is fucking contagious. And just as strong as my need for her. My pants are suddenly a little too tight, because I know without a doubt my girl is wearingmyjersey.
No woman has ever worn my jersey. I’ve waited decades for this.
I stalk toward her, and like the good girl she is, she spins and pulls her hair over one shoulder, giving me the perfect view of my name and number on her back.
My heart beats wildly, and my world falls into place.
My name. My woman. My jersey.
Fuck, I love her. And I’m so fucking tired of hiding it.
I survey every inch of her, then I lean in and press a kiss to her cheek. “Hmm,” I say in her ear. “What’s the title of the next column going to be? Don’t wear your boyfriend’s jersey unless you’re ready to get fucked in front of thousands?”
She whips around, her green eyes going wide. “Camden Snow. How long have you known?”
Head tipped back, I bark out a laugh. “Since Christmas.”
Laughter sounds nearby, reminding me that we’re not alone. Damn. I was so focused on her I forgot our friends were here too.
“Oh my god,” she says, turning to the group of women gathered near us. “You all knew too?”
Sara holds up a hand. “Guilty.”
“Assholes,” she bellows, but she’s smiling.
Chuckling, I pull her against me. “To be fair, they really do weird couple things, and the sex class was Sara’s suggestion.”
“I’ve been dying to do one for years,” she says without an ounce of shame. “It was the perfect excuse.”
“Assholes,” Savannah mutters again.
“Maybe, but we’re also your new besties. That’s official now that your man is looking like he wants to ravish you in that jersey, so you’re welcome.” Sara winks at her.
“Come on, girls,” Hannah says. “Let’s give them some privacy.” They all filter out, laughing as they go, and Hannah squeezes my shoulder as she passes. “Happy for you.”
I’m still grinning when Savannah turns to me, her lip between her teeth, and the room falls silent. “You’re not mad about the articles?”
I cup her jaw and drag my thumb over her smooth skin. “No, baby girl, it explained why you were off your fucking rocker those first few weeks.”
Her mouth is wide open again, so I take advantage and drag my tongue along her bottom lip, then go in for a kiss.
She sighs. “So the moving in thing?” She lowers her gaze, her expression turning to one of uncertainty.
“Was all me,” I tell her honestly. “I want this. I want you. Jesus, when I first saw you in my damn jersey, I nearly came in my pants.”
