“I know.”
We don’t move.
“You’re going to be late,” I say.
“I know.”
“Do they hold planes for errant hockey stars?”
“I don’t know. Guess I’ll find out.”
I laugh and finally pull away, giving him a little shove. “Go. Get ready.”
He kisses me hard on the lips and then contritely opens the shower door and slips out. I close my eyes and dip my head under the spray. I’m just rinsing shower gel off my body when he comes back into the bathroom ten minutes later, dressed in black pants, a black jacket and a crisp white shirt and a Tiffany blue tie. I turn off the water as he opens the door and hands me a towel.
“You don’t have to leave. Stay as long as you want,” he tells me.
“I’m just going to dry off and get dressed and then head next door,” I reply, and wrap the towel around myself. “Maddie’s not going to let me do anything today until I talk to her, so I better get over there and get it done.”
“Talk to her about what?”
“What you’re like in bed,” I reply casually, and his caramel eyes get instantly wide. “What? You thought only guys had locker room talk?”
“No, but…” He’s seriously terrified. I feel horrible.
“Don’t worry, Avery,” I assure him, and smile. “I’m not going to tell her anything intimate. Or post the details of our one night together on puck bunny message boards like the Warren.”
“You know about the Warren?” It’s a site dedicated to talking about sexual encounters with NHL players. He looks completely floored that I know about it.
“Seb made me get an account so he could read all the stories about himself,” I explain. “He thought they’d somehow trace it if he started a fake account himself so he had me do it. Do you know there’s like four pages of hookups about him? All before he met Shayne, of course, but he admits they’re mostly true. There’s even a dick shot on there, but he swears it’s not his. I hope to God it’s not, because I can’t unsee it.”
“Who the hell posts dick shots on the Internet? Who the hell takes dick shots?” He looks completely horrified. I know I’m just adding to his already deep paranoia of social media and the Internet in general. “And who the hell’s dick is it if it’s not his?”
“He says it’s Larue’s dick from a night the two of them screwed some girls in a hot tub in Vegas after a game.” She shrugs. “I hope it really is, because I’d rather see Alex’s dick than my own brother’s.”
“I don’t want you to see Alex’s dick,” he says, and it comes out like a growl. A kind of deep, totally possessive growl. It’s fucking hot as hell, but the way he’s looking at me is very serious, and I’m suddenly feeling like I need to lighten the mood.
“It’s no weirder than me knowing Ty likes his balls squeezed when he’s about to come.”
“Oh, God, you did NOT just say that!” He clamps his hands over his ears like he’s doing a “Hear No Evil” monkey impression. It makes me burst into giggles. “I never ever want to know what Ty is like in bed. Never ever.”
“Then get going! Before you miss the team plane and have to fly coach or something,” I tell him. But he doesn’t move. He’s still got that serious, intense look on his face. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. I start to feel a nervous flutter in my stomach.
“I really don’t want you to see Alex’s dick,” he repeats, and then gives me a very small, sheepish smile. “I don’t want you seeing anyone else’s dick anymore.”
We’re having a talk. The talk. While I stand here in a towel and he’s on the verge of missing his flight. I realize I am so not ready for this. I knew it would come—Avery is not one to leave anything up in the air or open to interpretation but…I’m terrified. I want him to say he wants this to be something, but I also know in my heart of hearts that that would be the worst possible thing he could say. We can’t be anything—at least not anything serious, because I could ruin everything for him.
“I’m pretty sure you must realize seeing dick isn’t really a daily occurrence for me,” I mumble back, and pick at the terrycloth of the towel around my chest.
I feel his giant hand under my chin and he tips my head up to look at him. “I want to change that. But just me.”
I nod. He smiles. His phone rings in his pocket. He pulls it out, looks at the screen and swears under his breath. “I have to go.”
“I know. Go. Win some games,” I demand. Then I add, “But let my brother score one or two.”
“No way,” he replies, and I follow him out into the bedroom, where he grabs his packed bag and heads for the hall. He pauses and glances back at me.
“I’ll miss you.” His tone is suddenly serious, and it makes me happy and nervous at the same time. He starts down the stairs. I walk into his upstairs hallway and watch him descend the stairs.
