“If you think you won’t be able to control yourself, I’m happy to put up a wall of pillows in the bed?—”
“Hell fucking no. I’ve dreamt my whole life about cuddling after sex. Well…sex-ish? Sex adjacent, I guess? You’re not gonna steal that away from me.”
I laugh before placing another kiss on his lips. “I would never deprive you of that. I know my resting bitch face doesn’t project this, but I am a secret snuggle addict. Just don’t tell anyone; I have a badass bitch persona to uphold.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. A badass bitch and a hockey enforcer cuddling in bed? No one has to know,” he says in a comical whisper.
“Perfect. Let’s get cleaned up, put on comfy clothes, order food, and snuggle.”
“The night of my dreams,” he murmurs as he drops a kiss on my lips and heads toward the bathroom.
The giddy smile I’ve been fighting all night finally breaks free. I’m not going to lie—this does feel pretty perfect. My pulse is still racing from this entire day. These feelings, these emotions, are foreign and a little scary. It’s like I’m takingcontrol of a jet for the first time. Once I pushed past the fear, I reached heights I never dreamed of.
But this is one of the weirdest damn flights I’ve ever been on.
45
jordan
I, Jordan Joseph Boucher, made a woman come so hard she had a pulsing clit. My own pulse races as if my heart has never had blood pumping through it until now. I’m lying in bed trying, and failing, to get some shut-eye. How do you sleep with the woman of your dreams curled against you? How do you close your eyes when the most beautiful creation is here for you to admire? How do you find rest when the moment you’ve been dreaming of is finally here?
You don’t.
I could stay up all night staring at her. The warmth of her body wrapped in my arms is all-consuming—everything else pushed aside until nothing exists but her. A tear wells, spilling down my cheek. The fact that a woman like her would be the one to see past all the walls I’ve had in place for so long…It doesn’t feel real.She didn’t judge me. She didn’t get angry, even though she had a right to. She didn’t try to use this for her own gain. Well…shediduse me for the orgasm, but I’m not complaining. And since I finished too, we’ll just call this one a draw. And the fact that she told me her tell? That she gave up the one thing most women hold close to their chests? I brush my fingers across her cheek, pushing aside a stray piece of hair that’s fallen acrossher face, still in awe that I’m this close to her. There can never be any faking it with me, and that seems monumental. The amount of trust I have in her went through the roof after that.
It’s two in the morning, and I am wide awake watching the rise and fall of her chest, making sure she’s still breathing and that this isn’t some sort of fever dream.
Wait…how would I know if thiswasa dream? What ifallof this is a dream? Or, even worse, what if I fall asleep and I wake up and it’s all gone? I normally count sheep, but I can’t stop counting her freckles to settle myself.
If I’m ever going to get over my past, I’m going to have to try to trust again—to let her see parts of me I’m scared to show anyone. We made it pretty far down that road tonight. Being here curled up with her, something pulls tight in my chest, a sense that I was right to open up to her. As if she can hear my thoughts, Kennedy stirs in her sleep, cuddling closer and pulling my arm tight to her chest. Warmth spreads across my skin like a blanket fresh out of the dryer. I’ve never felt anything like this—as if everything I’ve ever wanted in the world is wrapped up in my arms. I know what I want to call this, but the cautious part of my brain is struggling to catch up. Struggling to let go of the pain of my past. But there is one thing I know one billion percent: I never want to let this go.
part three
may
46
kennedy
Sitting on my couch with my friend Ginny in my hand, a bag of sour cream and onion chips on my lap, and watching The Notebook with a box of Kleenex at the ready was not the way I thought this day was going to go. But getting called into work to discuss apersonnel matter, that ended up being an anonymous report about a bad landing, means I’m upset and desperate to drown my feelings in gin and Ryan Gosling. Just as I’m about to get a refill on snacks, the door pops open.
“Hey! I’m back,” Jordan says, surveying the situation of me lying out across the couch in baggy lounge clothes. My hair is in a messy bun. Chip crumbs on my shirt. I literally look like a trash panda that infiltrated the apartment. Meanwhile, he looks like he stepped off the cover of a goddamn fitness magazine wearing a tight-fitting Riders shirt, his damn gray joggers that hug every inch of him, and a piece of his still-damp hair falling in front of his face. My eyes trail over him, my body heating more and more at every inch I see.Grilled Cheesus, take me before I die of embarrassment.
“Kennedy Kramer!” he shouts in disbelief. “The Notebook and gin at 2pm?This is clearly a cry for help. Are you okay?”
I quickly try to clean myself up, wiping the crumbs off my chest and sitting up straight. “Just…” I clear my throat, “I’ve just had a bad day.”
“Give me your glass,” he says, holding out his hand.
“Jordan, I’m not drunk?—”
“I know—I’m getting you a refill. You’re a quart low.”
I can’t help but smile, a warm feeling spreading across my chest. The last couple of weeks have been insanely busy for us both. Between him being in the middle of the playoffs, me having two weeks of mandatory guard duty, being in different cities and on different sleep schedules, we’ve only been able to fool around once. We were both exhausted but too amped up to be around each other without exploring, and he said he wanted to ‘get in more practice’ on his finger drills.I wasn’t about to complain.Honestly, he doesn’t need any more practice. He’s better with his hands than anyone I’ve ever been with. He pays attention, remembers every little detail…the man has skills.Fuck that girl for ever making him feel like he wasn’t good enough. I grip the edge of a throw pillow, wishing I could strangle that bitch. But I can’t change his past. All I can do is help him gain back his confidence.
But right now? I’m the one who needs the pep talk.
“You wanna talk about it?” he throws over his shoulder as he empties the melted ice into the sink.
