I force myself out of bed and find her dancing to music only she can hear through her earbuds, adding spinach to the blender. She's wearing one of my t-shirts and nothing else, honey blonde waves piled on top of her head in a messy bun that defies physics. Her slender frame moves unselfconsciously to whatever she's listening to, fair skin with those olive undertones glowing in the morning light. She looksbeautiful and ridiculous at the same time, which is exactly how I love her.
"Morning," I say, loud enough to be heard over whatever she's listening to.
She jumps, then laughs, pulling out one earbud. "You're up early."
"You're up earlier."
"I have the sunrise class. What's your excuse?"
"Watching you dance badly in my kitchen."
"Our kitchen," she corrects. "And my dancing is perfectly adequate."
I move behind her and settle my hands on her hips. "Your dancing is terrible. Good thing you're pretty."
She leans back into me, her smile wicked. "Good thing you're easy."
"Only for you."
The moment stretches warm and comfortable. A year of mornings like this have changed me, made me comfortable in ways I didn't know were possible to feel. Scout fills our space with plants and laughter and the kind of easy intimacy I never thought I was capable of.
Plus, she keeps me on my toes with a near-constant supply of new yoga pants. Whenever I see charges from Lululemon and Alo on my credit card, I get a spontaneous erection just thinking about her showing off her new outfits for me.
"Are you okay?" Scout wrinkles her nose at me. "You went away somewhere, and then you started looking horny."
She knows me too well.
"Yeah, Pretty Girl. I'm more than okay. By the way, I have something to show you later," I tell her. "After practice."
"Another surprise? The last time you surprised me, we christened a coat closet at a gala."
"This is different."
She turns in my arms and studies my face. "Is that a good thing?"
"I think you'll be pleased."
Before she can interrogate me further, her alarm goes off. "Shit, I need to go. My class starts in forty minutes."
I sigh and get moving. My brain is more interested in what will happen tonight, but I slog through dryland training anyway. After a shower and video review and all the normal rhythms of professional hockey, I text Scout.
Me
Meet me at the rink. Main entrance.
Scout
Why?
Me
Trust me.
Scout
Those words have gotten me in trouble before.
Me
