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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These late nights with Sawyer are becoming a bad habit, and I should hate how much being with her has disturbed my stable and predictable routine. If she was anyone else, I would.
But last night we won another game at home in a five to two thrashing that saw me get another hattrick. If my away game stats weren't so abysmal, I'd be chasing a record setting season. We go on our next series of away games in a week, and I'm hoping I've broken whatever curse got hold of me at the start of this season.
After last night's game, all the Bellerivian and a smattering of foreign press, who'd finally decided to start showing up consistently to our games, wanted to talk about was my relationship with Sawyer. I "no commented" the reporters until they finally got the hint and asked me about my job instead.
According to Tamiko, Bellerive society is finding the whole thing quite scandalous. I didn't ask her why. She was already pissed that we hard launched at a cocktail party for homeless animals, and she didn't appreciate my string of "no comments" to the press last night either.
Not that I care.
After two glasses of celebratory sparkling water with the team at the local pub we've claimed as ours, I gave my driver Sawyer's address instead of mine.
Earned an orgasm hattrick with her, and now I've dragged her into the kitchen for something to eat. She's wearing my shirt, and she looks so thoroughly fucked with her messed up hair and sleepy eyes that I need to capture the moment.
When I grab my phone off the counter and point it in her direction, her half-mast eyes widen.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking a photo."
She hides her face and turns away. "Don't do that."
"You're gorgeous."
"I'm not dressed. I just... Unless I know you're taking the photo, and I'm wearing all my clothes, I don't want you to do that."
I stare at the photo on my phone for a second. "I'll get rid of it." Then I delete it before setting the device facedown on the counter again. "It would just be for me. I'd never do anything with those photos."
"Maybe not," she says, slowly turning. "But it's not a chance I'm okay with."
"I don't take a lot of photos," I admit. "Every once in a while, I get the urge to freeze a moment in time."
"This is hardly a "freeze in time" moment," she says with a little laugh.
"It is to me," I say. Before the comment can land too hard and cause any follow up questions, I keep the conversation rolling. "Mind if I grab an apple?"
"Help yourself."
I pluck one out of the basket she keeps on the center island, and then I start opening drawers.
