I’m riding a high from my game.
To be fair, I’m always on a high after a win, but tonight felt different.
All our recent games have been away, and I’ve been missing Rosie’s presence in the crowd. But being back home, with the roar of our city’s fans and Rosie’s eyes on me, it was like I could hear her calling my name over the chaos.
I was performing for her again, and it reignited something deep inside me—a love for hockey I didn’t even realize had dulled.
Plus, I’ve been a good boy.
Two whole weeks of keeping my hands to myself since that talk we had in her living room and surprisingly, it’s been easier than I expected, mostly thanks to our brutal travel and practice schedule, but still—I deserve some credit.
I’ve avoided mentioning her during post-game interviews as much as I could, though keeping a straight face when I think about her is nearly impossible.
And okay, maybe Ishouldn’thave sniffed my wedding band while on camera, the thing I miss the most when I’m on the ice other than her. But when I think of her, I want her.
And if the only way I can get a taste of her is off my ring, then that’s what I’ll take.
Of course, if anyone caught it, it’d be Rosie. And judging by the flush in her cheeks when I finally spot her waiting outside of the tunnel, I know she did.
I’d be lying if I wasn’t pleased.
My gaze drags over her petite frame like a man hungry for food.
She’s wearing one of my jerseys again. The thing falls to mid-thigh, and she’s turned it into a dress with a belt cinched at her waist. My last name is bold on the back, and our team logo stretches across the front.
I know instantly which jersey it is too. It’s one she had to have taken from my closet which means she was in my bedroom when I wasn’t home.
I like that too.
The long sleeves bunch adorably around her wrists, her gaudy wedding band gleams under the fluorescent lights, and those knee-high black boots with heels that she’s wearing are doing wonders for her toned thighs.
I wonder how it'd feel to have them wrapped around my hips squeezing, her digging the heel of her shoes into my back while I fucked her. It’s getting more difficult to resist doing that. A man can only hold back for so long.
She looks so damn pretty I want to kiss her in public. Hell, I want to pin her against the nearest wall and fuck her for everyone to see. I want toconsummate this goddamn marriagealready.
But I’ve been good. I need to have just a little more patience.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her.
She blushes, and just like that, I’ve broken my streak of not coming onto her. Dammit. Fuck if I care.
I sling an arm around her shoulders in the way I always do when we’re leaving the stadium, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “We’re not going to dinner tonight.”
Her brows furrow. “Oh… do you have to meet with a sponsor?”
I shake my head but I’m smiling. “Nope. But I’ve got something better in mind.”
We step out of the stadium, cameras already flashing in our direction. The frenzy is immediate and blinding, but I pull her tighter against my side to protect her from any stray bodies and flag down a cab, opening the door and tucking her inside before sliding in after her.
In the brief silence of the vehicle, she turns to me, her wide eyes full of curiosity. “What’s going on? We were supposed to make an appearance at dinner tonight.”
I can’t help but smile. “I think what just happened counts.”
“I don’t know…” she starts hesitantly.
“We’re spending the weekend in Brookhaven together.”
“Together?” she repeats, her voice full of surprise. I catch the nervous edge in her tone, but there’s a thread of excitement there too. And that’s what I’m going to latch onto.
