“Will asked if you could meet him in the players’ parking lot right after the game.” Jensen shakes his head and chuckles to himself. “He also said that you might as well take the keys now because you’ll be driving.”
41
. . .
Will
The headlights on my Ferrari are lit, the engine idling as I push through the door leading out to the players’ private parking lot and make my way toward Drew.
With no press responsibilities tonight and my excuses made to Coach and the guys about needing some personal time to rest after a grueling game, I’m eager to spend a night of fun with the girl who plays on my mind, even when I’m on the ice.
It’s been too many months of sneaking around, pretending like all we are to each other is business partners and friends. In reality, I’ve been in love with Drew Callaghan since way before the conscious side of my brain caught up.
Right from the moment I hauled her into my arms and carried her around the kitchen, making hot chocolate, I’ve agonized over how good it would be for us to wake up together every morning and go to sleep at night, reflecting on the day.
“Nice game tonight,” Drew greets me as I slide into the passenger seat in my Ferrari and feel my pulse race at the sight of her wearing my jersey.
“I’m going to need you to drive,” I say, closing my eyes slowly.
Drew just giggles, knowing precisely what the effect of her wearing my name while sitting behind the wheel of a supercar does to me.
“Where did you have in mind?” she questions, shifting into gear and revving the engine.
I lean across the center section and pull her earlobe between my teeth. It’s almost like she wanted to make her neck available to me tonight, with her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
“Just drive. I’ll give you instructions as we go.”
She gasps, and I start scrolling through one of my playlists on the entertainment system selecting “At Last” by Etta James.
Drew’s eyes flare when I start singing the opening lyrics.
“I didn’t know you were into older music. O-or that you could sing.”
“Just full of surprises, eh?” I say as she pulls out of the parking lot and picks up speed.
I try to control the hard-on forming in my pants when she depresses the clutch, driving with two feet like a fucking pro.
“Let me guess.” She holds the steering wheel with one hand and taps her lips with the other. “Your parents secretly put you through drama school or something equally as flashy.”
I shake my head, and the music switches to John Legend’s “All of Me.”
“Nah, I think it’s the Welsh Canadian blood in me. Dad can sing, and so can June. Mom sounds like a wailing banshee every time she tries to form a note.”
Drew pushes her head back into the seat and laughs, and, fuck me, I’m so in love with this girl.
“So, where do you want to go?” she asks again when we approach a set of stoplights.
I point at the sign for I-90. “Take the ramp and keep driving.”
“For how long?”
Should I spill the secret now? Nah.
“For as long as it takes. Patience, Baby,” I reply sweetly, reaching out and smoothing a finger down her right arm. It’s covered with my jersey, although by the way she shivers at the contact, I’m confident her skin pebbles beneath it.
“All the way to the bridge across Lake Washington?”
I hesitate for a second before confirming, “Yes. All the way over the bridge until I tell you to stop.”
