Since I was a kid, making it into the World Hockey League was the ultimate goal. No relationship could match my first love, and after my rough childhood, I wasn't putting my heart on the line.
When Bellerive makes a successful bid to move the Califo...
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The post-sex etiquette is probably that I should leave. But fuck that. I'm not going. Instead, I've got her snug against my side, her hand and head on my chest, her leg thrown over mine, nestled tight. Doesn't seem like she wants me to leave either, but I'm certainly not bringing it up as an option. I've got no idea what her version of "casual" looks like, and I'm not asking.
My version of casual is this right here. Her, so completely satisfied she's limp with it, her softness pressed against me. All night, if I can swing it.
"What made you change your mind?" she whispers into the now dark room.
"I can handle your terms." The simplest version of the answer.
"All of a sudden?"
"Hardly," I say with a scoff. "It's all I've been thinking about for a month."
"When'd you decide?"
"Right before the game against Nova Scotia. I knew I was coming home to you, and I wanted to come home a winner."
Her leg rubs up and down mine, and she molds herself a little closer. "Tell me more about that."
"My mission in life has become to impress you—during training, at my games, in bed." I roll us, so I've pinned her, and she spreads her legs to cradle me.
"That's really hot," she whispers. "You want to impress me?"
"Desperately. All the time." I trail a line of kisses along her neck, and I rock my hips against her. It's not a line or a lie. Whenever she's given me a new exercise in training, and I can't nail it during that session, I'll practice obsessively until I have it down for the next time I see her. I'm addicted to the expression on her face when she realizes that something I once found hard is now easy. She never hides her amazement, and that deeply satisfies my need for validation.
I'm about to get some more validation right now. Her amazed expression when I make her come again is imminent.
"How does that feel?" I murmur, as I run my hard length along her core.
"Impressive," she says, arching into the contact, "because I think you're going to get me to come a fourth time."
"Is that a new record?"
"The old one was one. So, yeah. Want me to award you a trophy?"
"I'd settle for a medal or plaque." A thin stream of light is coming through the gap in the curtains, and I can just make out her facial expression. We're chatting, but her breathing is becoming more erratic, and she's latched onto the rhythm of my thrust and retreat.
"What would the plaque say?" It's clear she's not focused on the answer.
"My Fucking Hero."
She lets out a strained little laugh.
"You like that, doc?"
"So much," she whimpers. "Logan." She clutches onto my biceps, and when I peer down at her, I can't believe that I get to be the one giving her this much pleasure. I'd redo my whole life in exactly the same way—even the terrible parts—to get to this moment with her. That's how sure I am that I'm in the right place.
"Oh, god," she breathes out. "Oh, god. Don't stop."
"I got you, doc," I murmur, pressing my forehead against hers. "I'm not stopping."
***
We get very little sleep, but since I don't have to be at practice until noon, I don't even think about setting an alarm.
When I finally wake up, Sawyer is still curled up in my arms, and I've never felt so settled and satisfied. Last night feels like a crazy dream.
"You're awake?" Sawyer says, her voice a little croaky.
I tug her tighter against me, worried she might have regrets in the light of day.
"I've got practice at noon. What are you doing today?" I ask.
"Cocktail party tonight for my sister, Maren's, animal shelter program. She's on the hunt for more donations, and when you want people to empty their pockets, you have to ply them with alcohol first."
Sounds like my worst nightmare.
"What about you?" she asks. "After practice?"
"I'd come to that cocktail party, if you want. Empty some spare change out of my pockets for your sister." The words are tumbling out, and I almost can't believe I've said them.
She rotates in my arms, and her hand caresses my bearded cheek. "You don't want to go to a cocktail party."
"If you'll be there," I say, "then that's where I want to be."
"Does that seem casual to you?" she asks, but her voice is gentle.
"You're not babysitting me through this, doc. I'm a big boy, and I understand what I signed up for. We're not hiding. I don't see what the big deal is if I go with you."
"It's just new..."
"It'll be new and then it'll be over." I rotate onto my back and massage my forehead with my fingers. "We'll go out in public together tonight, and it'll be what it'll be."
"People might think we're more serious than we are if we go together."
"I have never cared less what other people think than I do in this moment." I turn my head to make eye contact, so she knows I mean it. "We understand what we're doing. Fuck anyone who doesn't get it."
"I was brought up to care," she says. "I can't help caring or noticing what people say. It's ingrained in my DNA."
"Maybe caring a bit less will be good for you. Worry about what you want and not what everyone else wants. If you want me there, I'll be there. If you don't, I won't. Your choice."
"You won't be mad if I say I don't want you to go?"
"Never," I say. "Disappointed. But as long as you come over to my house afterwards, so I can admire you in private, I can handle it."
She runs her thumb along my cheekbone. "I want you to come as long as you won't hate it."
"You'll be there, so I definitely won't hate it."
"Oh, god," she says, flopping onto her back. "The family chat is going to be a mess when I tell everyone."
"Not going to just surprise them tonight?"
"I'm going to need my brothers and sisters on defense with all the curious gossips circulating. This might not be a big deal to you, but given who I was... People are going to talk."
"I've never been part of a scandal that wasn't hockey related."
"Gossip runs hot and wild in Bellerive. Part of the small island vibe. I think..." She looks at me and bites her lip. "Our training sessions need to stay professional. It's important to both of us that the training we've been implementing doesn't suffer, right?"
"Yeah," I say, as though I haven't already been thinking about all the places I can fuck her in the training room at her office. "Of course. Goes without saying." But I'm glad she said it because we could have gone off the rails quickly without that reminder. Which is weird for me to realize—that I might have prioritized my need for her over my training—because I've never put anything or anyone above my hockey goals before.
I really hope I haven't fucked up my whole life by agreeing to this arrangement.
