“Oh, Griff,” she breathes.She’s flushed, breathless, and close to the edge.Feeling her raw like this, nothing between us, has me ready to explode in record time.I tighten my arms around her until there’s no space between us.
She whimpers and her entire body jolts just as my peak comes.She’s trembling in my arms, love made liquid, both of us drawing deep gulps of air.
Nobody moves.I’m still inside her as she rests her head on my shoulder and sighs.
I don’t know if I could be happier than I am right now.I want to relish it.
Because in two weeks, the version of normal we created this summer will end.
The friendly hockey fundraiser falls on a Saturday afternoon the following week.
Renee has been doing her part, blasting this fundraiser on all available outlets.The local radio station has been screaming about it three times an hour for weeks now.Casey has even mentioned the event on her BookTok account a few times.But I’m still pleasantly surprised when I head to the ice to warm up and find the entire Bayshore Rec Center rink filled to the brim with spectators.
“Wow.So much for a small-town fundraiser,” my Crushers teammate, Cole Tucker, muses as we stand in the doorway that leads back to the locker rooms.We can see most of the rink area, but they can’t fully see us.The Bayshore first responders team—a mix of firefighters and police officers—are already on the ice, skating around.“This is better attendance than our game against Denver last season.”
“And we’re short two players on each team,” I crack, my gaze sweeping over the packed bleachers.Renee made custom jerseys for this event, which she left for us in the locker room about twenty minutes ago.The first responders are in bright yellow; ours are black.I asked her to make me an extra one in a size small, as a surprise for Casey later.
“We’re going easy on the first responders, right?”My other Crushers teammate, Donny Lindgren, joins us.Our fourth player, Bernard “Howie” Houser, is close behind, one of my good friends who plays for the Pittsburgh Fury.
“Yeah.Let’s keep this at warm-up level, nothing more,” I tell them.“I know for a fact at least one of them has only been on the ice a handful of times before.”
“Noted.”
We head for the boards.As soon as we come into view of the rink, there’s a swell of cheers.Even though the place is packed, it feels much more intimate than a typical pro hockey game.Probably because I know half the people in attendance, and they’re closer to the ice.The smaller arena echoes like crazy.I search the crowd, wondering where the family is.Where Casey might be.
And then I spot that golden brunette.
She’s in the middle of a group with Roxie, Sara, and Julie, her face lit up in a heart-stopping smile.My skates slow as I notice what she’s wearing.
A hockey jersey.White, oversized, with a number 10 on it.
And as she turns to face Roxie, I see that it’s not my name on the back.
Something possessive rumbles to life inside me.I skate a couple laps, mulling over this information.My necessary next step presents itself before I even have a chance to question it.
“Hey, where you going?”Howie asks as I pull open the door and leave the ice.
“Forgot something,” I call out, heading to the locker room.I rummage through my bag, pulling out Casey’s jersey.It was supposed to be for later, but things changed.I can’t handle seeing her with another man’s name on her back.
The cool air of the rink fills my lungs as I hit the ice again.Instead of rejoining the guys, I skate for the Zamboni gate at the far corner, where the boards open up and there’s nothing separating the rink from the stands.
I whistle for Casey’s attention.She turns and spots me, her whole face lighting up.She bolts my way.
“There’s the best Bayshore hockey player in all of history!”She throws her hands up in the air.She’s got glitter on her cheeks, and tiny stars near the corners of her eyes.She’s beautiful, sporty, absolutely edible.
But she needs that name off her back.
“I dressed for the occasion,” she goes on, flattening the jersey against her front.“Do you like it?”
I tip my head as I peer around to her back.Then I shake my head.
Her grin flickers.“What?”
“Take it off.”
Her brows shoot up.“Take—what?”
“You’re not wearing another man’s name on your back,” I say in a low voice.“Do you have a shirt underneath that?”
