Jamie and I have really leaned into experimenting. He surprised me with some ropes the other day and tied me up, after I hinted that I wanted to try something more adventurous. Another evening, we experimented with blindfolds. Both were a lot of fun, and I’m glad that I’m trying new things to find outwhat I’m into, but now that I’ve explored my sexuality a bit, I think my tastes are just more vanilla.
As fun as some of the kinkier stuff has been, there’s nothing I get more satisfaction from than when a cozy night turns into a make-out session, and we take it to my bed, where Jamie settles between my legs, or positions himself behind me, or sprawls that powerful body out for me to climb on top of and ride.
There’s a lull in business, so I grab a sheet of loose paper to scribble down some dialogue ideas that are popping into my mind.
The bells on the front door jingle, and I look up. My heart does that tap-dancing thing it’s been doing a lot of lately. I should probably be a little concerned about it. Jamie walks into the café. There’s a coy smile on his face, like he’s about to spring something on me.
I smirk when I notice the shirt he’s wearing. “I think you’re the first person I’ve seen in one of those.”
Cindy had t-shirts made for Last Word. They’re displayed for sale behind the counter. We’ve had a couple of regular customers buy them, but this is the first time I’ve spotted someone wearing one.
“Well,” Jamie answers, “you’re not on a sports team, so I thought this would have to do.”
“Huh?”
He turns around. Across his back, scrawled in black marker on the white fabric, is my last name.Loureiro.
My heart climbs into my throat. A warm, sappy feeling spills behind my chest. This is absolutely ridiculous. It’s also sweet. And so, so Jamie.
“Tell me you weren’t walking around with that shirt on all day.”
“Of course I was.” He doesn’t hesitate an instant in answering.
“You look ridiculous.” And yet I feel my smile reaching my eyes.
He lifts his shoulders. “If your name is good enough to be written on my heart, it’s good enough to be written on my back.”
I might be screwed.
39
JAMIE
My stick finds the puck that Veikko passes to me. I pivot on my blades, turning to skate the puck to our opponent’s goal.
Mid-spin, a massive force slams into my back.
It catches me at the worst time. I lose my footing completely and have no control over my fall.
My helmet smacks against the dasher board as I go down. Then everything is black.
40
CARMEN
Idash senselessly around the halls of the hockey arena. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know where anything is back here. I don’t know if there are protocols or rules or whatever about who gets to see him at a time like this.
All I know is, when I saw Jamie take that hit, saw his head crash against the barricade as he went down, saw the game stop for medical staff to carry him off the ice, I needed to see him. Ineedto see him. Right now. I need to make sure he’s okay. I need him to know that someone who cares about him is close by while he’s hurt.
Who the hell designed this place? How do you find anything? Where are the big signs with arrows markedThis way to see the injured hockey player whom you’ve foolishly let your feelings get out of control for? Clearly someone skipped the lesson that went over the need for that in architecture school.
“Carmen Laureiro?”
My heart crashes against my ribcage when I hear my name spoken behind me. I turn around to see a member of the security staff.
“Yes?” I ask, my voice harried and hoarse.
“We’ve been asked to find you. Please, this way.”
