I grab his ass and give it a squeeze, which causes him to hump me again, and then I start to tug his pants down, which he never bothered to button. “Okay, how about you just tell me then?”
I open my eyes, which had fluttered closed, and look up into his caramel ones. His dark brows are set in a serious line, but he’s trying to force a lighthearted smile onto his full, perfect lips. He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs. His hips have stilled. “Do you want to date me?”
I feel a flutter of fear, or maybe it’s dread, roll through my chest and into my belly like a bowling ball down a lane. That question is like a giant can of worms. My answer will determine if he opens it. If I tell the truth, he’ll rip the lid right off that can. If I lie, the can stays sealed forever, and Avery’s life will remain smooth and perfect without any of my worms in it.
He pushes himself up on his elbows, moving away from me because of the long uncomfortable pause I’ve created. “I want to date you, Stephanie. In case that’s not clear. I’ve wanted it for a while. Longer than I am willing to admit because it makes me an asshole. But if you don’t want to…”
He’s about to climb off me and off the couch. I reach up and clasp the back of his neck. I pull him down so our foreheads touch and blurt out the truth. “I want to date you.”
His mouth crashes down on mine. I know we have more to say. I know that proverbial can of worms is lying open on the floor, and I need to have a serious talk with him, but right now Avery’s lifting my skirt and kissing his way lower and lower on my body and the only thing I want to do right now is see if I can make it past two licks this time.
Chapter 22
Avery
I sneak down my oak stairs, painfully aware of all the creaks and groans coming from the old wood as I walk. I don’t want to wake Steph yet. We’d both woken up at six a.m. when her phone alarm had chirped it was time for her to get ready for work. But instead of getting out of bed, she let me pull her closer and then crawl on top of her. After some mind-blowing barely awake sex, she called in sick to work. After another round we fell back asleep. Now it’s almost ten-thirty and I’m awake, so I leave her perfect naked body tangled in my sheets to venture out for some bagels and coffee. I can’t expect her to start her first day as my girlfriend without food and caffeine, can I?
I quietly slip out the front door and make my way toward Western Bagel and Starbucks, just a few blocks away. There’s what Californians call a “marine layer” hanging low in the air this morning, which creates a dense fog everywhere and makes it impossible to see the beach, but the sun is already starting to burn it off.
One big plus to coming to San Diego was definitely the weather. And now, officially, I can say Stephanie is a big plus to playing in California.
But win or lose this season, I will spend the off-season back in Dieppe, New Brunswick, at the Atlantic beach house I call home. Steph might have been born in Dieppe, but she wasn’t really raised there and as far as I know hasn’t been back in about a decade. Her family isn’t there anymore and even if they were, she has a life and a job here.
I could do long distance for a few summers. I could and I would—for her. But I’d hate every second.
I know I am jumping the gun thinking about something that hasn’t happened already, but that’s what I do. I think ahead and plan and assess and predict. The fact is, I expect her to still be around, like this, all naked and in my bed, in the off-season. I can’t stay here once the season is over. I have a camp for underprivileged youth I donate time and money to in New Brunswick and a bunch of events and promotions I will have to deal with that will have me hopping around from New York to L.A. And I truly like my place in Dieppe and reconnecting with my childhood friends and just relaxing. Maybe Steph will come visit me there and she’ll like it as much as I do and consider making it her second home too.
Okay, I’m getting way ahead of myself. I shake my head and take a deep breath.Relax, Westwood.
I stop at Western Bagel first and get six everything bagels and a tub of cream cheese. The bagels are still warm and make my stomach grumble in anticipation. I head back out into the foggy morning to go next door to Starbucks. I know that Steph loves vanilla lattes, so I get in line to order her one and grab one for myself. My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I try not to sound annoyed as I answer it. “Hey, Don.”
“Avery,” he barks, and I know he’s pissed about something. “You wanna tell me why I’m looking at a photo of you and two Winterhawks holding beers?”
“Because you’re surfing some sketchy website probably run by a puck bunny,” I say, and instantly regret it.
He huffs. “You watch your words, buddy.”
“Sorry,” I reply gruffly. “Alex was there, too, and it was just a couple of beers with old friends. I hang out with Sebastian and Jordan in the off-season, too, you know. Seb will probably be on the Olympic team with me next year.”
“You know where this photo is? The San Diego Sports Zone,” he announces angrily. “They’re not exactly thrilled with your little reunion since you lost to the Hawks and then went on to lose every other game on this swing.”
“It’s a team sport,” I mutter. “I’m not the only one out there not winning.”
“You’re the only one who matters.”
My father honestly thinks I’m the only one who matters on every team I’m on, maybe even the only one who matters to the league. His ego over my achievements is his most annoying quality.
It’s my turn at the counter, so I cover the phone with my palm and whisper my order of two grande vanilla lattes. He’s got ears like a damn wolf and manages to catch it. “Where are you? Who are you talking to?”
“I’m grabbing breakfast,” I tell him.
“That kitchen in your shitty rental not working?”
“Don, did you call to tell me something or just to chat?” I clench my jaw in frustration.
“I sent you some new sketches of the clothing line. They want to add women’s clothes, but I don’t know…I showed your sister the designs and she made a face,” Don explains, and sighs.
