Third period, Nashville makes a push, but we’re unstoppable. We win 4-2, and the arena erupts. Players are hugging, fans are screaming, and I’m grinning like a fool. We might actually make something of this season.
An hour later, I'm sitting in Gordy’s Pub with half the team, nursing a beer I don't want while listening to conversations I can't focus on. The guys are surrounded by wives and girlfriends. And I’m alone.
Harper should be here.
“Another round?” Ryan asks, already signaling the bartender.
“I'm good,” I say, checking my phone for the fifth time in ten minutes.
“Come on, Cap,” Novak says. “Lighten up. We just beat Nashville. You had a hell of a game.”
“Yeah, I'm just tired.”
Blake is telling some story that has his girlfriend laughing, and Theo is showing photos of his new baby to anyone who'll look. But I feel disconnected, like I'm watching from outside.
My phone buzzes with a text message.
Harper: Congratulations on the win! You were great out there.
I type back immediately:Where are you now?
The response comes quickly:Home. Just got out of a very long, very hot shower. Currently wearing nothing but my silk robe and trying to decide if I have the energy to put on clothes.
The image of Harper, fresh from the shower, barely covered, hits me in a shot of pure want.
Me: I'm coming home. Don't change a thing.
Harper: What about celebrating with your team?
Me: I'd rather celebrate with you.
I pocket my phone and stand up, grabbing my jacket.
“Where are you going, Cap?” Blake asks.
“Early night. Practice tomorrow.”
“Bullshit,” Novak says. “The night is young. Have another beer.”
“Really, I'm beat.” I throw some cash on the table. “You guys keep celebrating. You earned it.”
There's some good-natured grumbling, but they let me go.
The Uber ride home takes too long. Every red light seems to last forever. I text Harper that I'm fifteen minutes out, and she responds with a simple:I'll be waiting.
When I finally unlock the apartment door, the living room is dimly lit with candles flickering on the coffee table. Harper is curled up on the couch, and there's a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket beside her.
She stands when she sees me, and my breath catches. The silk robe is deep green, the same color as her eyes, and it highlights her curvaceous body.
“There's my winning captain,” she says, walking over to me with a smile that makes me stupidly happy.
I drop my keys and jacket and pull her into my arms, crushing my mouth to hers.
“Congratulations,” she murmurs against my lips. “You were incredible tonight.”
My hands slide down to the belt of her robe, but she laughs and catches my wrists. “Champagne first,” she says, stepping back. “We're celebrating properly.”
“I'd rather celebrate you,” I say, trying to pull her back to me.
