He disappears into Kinsey's side of the room, and I hear the mini fridge open.When he comes back, he's holding a bottle of water and has grabbed the box of tissues from my desk.
“Here.”He hands me the water first, watching as I take a long drink.Then he gently cleans me up with the tissues, his touch careful and tender in a way that makes my chest tight.
“You okay?”he asks softly, his hand stroking down my thigh.
“More than okay.”My voice is hoarse.“That was—”
“Yeah.”He grins, tossing the tissues in the trash before crawling back into bed beside me.“It really was.”
He pulls me against his chest, and I let myself sink into him, my head resting over his heart.His fingers trace lazy patterns on my shoulder, and the room is quiet except for our breathing gradually returning to normal.
“So,” he says eventually, his voice lazy and satisfied.“Same time next Friday?”
I laugh, pressing my face into his chest.“You're an idiot.”
“Yeah.”He kisses the top of my head.“But I'm your idiot now.Cross my heart.”
I pull back to look at him.“Did you really just—”
“Cross my Hart?”He grins, looking way too pleased with himself.“Been waiting months to use that one.”
“You're the worst.”
“You love it.”
I do.God help me, I really do.
“No take-backs,” he says.
“Wouldn't dream of it.”
He pulls me closer, and I let myself sink into him—into this, into us, into whatever we're building together.
Three months ago, I walked into that locker room convinced that Jay Cross was going to be the worst thing to ever happen to me.
Turns out I was wrong.
He might just be the best.
Two Years Later
There are three things I never thought I'd have:
A job I actually love that doesn't involve taping Jay Cross's thighs.
An apartment in Monterey with a view of the skyline and a closet full of someone else's hockey gear.
A man who looks at me like I hung the moon, even when I'm yelling at him about his stretching routine.
