Even when Copeland says something to him, his eyes never leave mine. Not for a second. It's like he's afraid I'll disappear if he looks away.
He skates toward me, his movements fluid and graceful despite being exhausted from the game. He gestures toward the locker room with his chin, then mouths, "Gotta change."
I nod, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.
Then he mouths three more words. "I love you."
My heart does that stupid flutter thing it always does when he says those words. I mouth back, "Love you too," and he finally breaks into that rare, full smile that transforms his entire face.
"Hurry up," I call out, loud enough for him to hear.
He skates off, and me and the rest of the crazy ass people I call family gather up the kids and head to meet Ramsey outside of the locker room.
Thirty minutes later, we're walking into Charlie's, the campus restaurant that's basically a second home to any SCU athlete. The place is packed with fans and students celebrating the big win, and a cheer goes up when we walk in. Ramsey's arm is slung possessively around my shoulders, his body pressed against mine like he can't stand even an inch of space between us.
"IT’S RAMSEY BLACKWOOD SEASON, BABYYYYY!" some drunk guy shouts from across the room, raising his beer.
"Jesus Christ," Ramsey mutters against my ear. "Can we just eat and get out of here?"
I elbow him playfully in the ribs. "Be nice. They're celebrating you, hockey star."
He grunts, pulling me tighter against him as we weave through the crowd toward the big corner booth that Penn somehow already commandeered. The twins are climbing all over Jeremiah, who looks equal parts annoyed and amused as Ransom tries to shove a french fry up his nose.
"Uncle Miah's gonna murder your kids," I tell Reagan as we slide into the booth.
She shrugs, bouncing Rebel on her knee. "They're Penn's DNA. They're basically feral, anyway."
Penn grins, pride written all over his face. "Damn straight. Little menaces, just like their daddy."
Ramsey's hand finds my thigh under the table, his fingers tracing circles through my jeans. The touch is innocent enough, but the heat in his eyes when I look up at him is anything but.
"Behave," I whisper, though my body's already responding, my nipples hardening beneath my Blackwood jersey.
His lips curve into that wicked half-smile that makes my pussy clench. "Never."
The waitress comes over, her eyes widening when she recognizes Ramsey. "Oh my god, you were amazing tonight!" she gushes, completely ignoring the rest of us.
"Thanks," he says flatly, not even looking at her. His eyes stay locked on me, his hand still drawing maddening patterns on my thigh.
We order a ridiculous amount of food—burgers, wings, nachos, the works—and Penn demands a round of beers for the adults.
"To Mini-Me!" he toasts when the drinks arrive. "The greatest fucking hockey player this school has ever seen!"
Everyone clinks glasses, and I'm about to take a sip when the TVs mounted around the restaurant suddenly switch to the local sports channel. The volume gets cranked up, and there's Ramsey on screen, still in his gear, sweat-soaked hair falling into his eyes as he speaks to the blonde reporter.
Someone shouts, and the restaurant goes quiet as everyone turns to watch.
"Ramsey Blackwood, what an incredible final game," the reporter is saying, her smile wide and with far too many teeth.
"So, Ramsey," the reporter continues, practically batting her eyelashes at him, "what's next for you? The NHL's been scouting you all season—we've seen representatives from atleast three teams in the stands tonight. Are you planning to go pro?"
The whole restaurant leans forward collectively, everyone holding their breath. I feel a weird tightness in my chest, realizing we haven't actually talked about this in concrete terms. I know he's had offers—serious ones—but he's been weirdly vague about his plans.
On screen, Ramsey runs a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, looking slightly annoyed. "What's next is dinner with my girl and my family," he says bluntly. "Then graduation in a few weeks."
The reporter's perfect smile falters slightly. "And after graduation? The draft is?—"
"No," Ramsey cuts her off, his voice firm. "I won't be going pro. At least not right now."
