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“It’s a shame it’s only going to be ninety-nine percent effective now. The only thing I want to do with you, pretty boy, is kick your ass on the ice,” she whispers. I swallow and try to get my bearings. She’s so close, and I fucking love it. “You think I’m pretty?” “You would only hear that part, wouldn’t you?”
A smile—the tiniest, faintest smile I’ve ever seen—pulls at her lips, and I’m the proudest motherfucker in the world. I want to set off a confetti cannon. Hang a banner from the rafters of the Civic Center that says I MADE EMERSON HARTWELL SMILE. Put it on a T-shirt and wear it around town.
That earns me another half smile from her, and I want to collect them all. Shove them in my pocket and keep them for myself.
“Fine. What do you want to know?” A lot of things, I think, and that’s a first.
“Who’s the asshole who made you believe you shouldn’t be proud of your accomplishments?”
“Did they give you a reason not to celebrate everything you’ve achieved?”
“Do you remember what Hudson and I told you before practice? I know you don’t give a shit about me. I know we’re not friends, but loyalty is kind of my thing. I take care of the people in my life, Hartwell, which now includes you. If someone told you that what you’re doing—what you’ve done—as an athlete isn’t deserving of recognition, I’d like to know names so I can kindly tell them to fuck off and stop messing with my left winger’s head on what should be the biggest day of her career.”
“Says the guy who follows people around like a lost dog.” “I’m just looking for an owner I guess.”
Play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.
“It almost slipped out unintentionally,” I say. “Besides, I don’t think Hartwell is just anyone.” “Watch it, Cap. Don’t go falling in love with her.” “Easy, Hud.” I stand up and flash him a grin. “You know falling in love isn’t in my DNA. The same woman every night? Sounds fucking horrible.” “We have women in the NHL now. Anything is possible.”
A thought I’ve been having more and more lately these last few weeks, but becomes solidified right now: this woman is fucking incredible. Special. Changing the future of the sport and inspiring girls and women everywhere, all while wearing ribbons and mascara.
bat out of hell after a grueling game.” “I
I’ve always considered myself a feminist, but there’s something so goddamn sexy about a man in a backwards hat that has me ready to drop to my knees for the patriarchy.
“But I’d like you a whole lot more if you got on your knees like a good boy and showed me you know how to use your tongue and fingers for something less annoying than running your mouth. If not, I have no problem making you sit in a chair and watch while I get off from eight inches of silicone.”
Maverick Miller is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. “You’re staring,” he says, and there’s pride in his tone. My eyes snap up to meet his. “I am not.” “It’s okay to think I’m hot, Hartwell. You can tell me about it when I’m on top of you.” “I don’t think you’re hot.”
“You think I’m pretty?”
“Nah.”
“I think you’re fucking gorgeous.”
“You said you wanted me on my knees.” He drops a kiss to my shin, then kneels on the ground in front of me. “And I’ve always liked being a good boy.”
I might only have her for one night—an hour at best—but I’m going to ruin her so badly no one will ever measure up to me. The next time someone kisses her, she’s going to wish it were my mouth on hers. The next time someone touches her, she’s going to wish it were my fingers trailing down her body. The next time someone fucks her, she’s going to wish it were my cock buried inside her.
I want to hear her say my name like that every day for the rest of my life.
“No one’s ever made you come like this because you were with boys before. I’m a man, and I told you I like to eat. Now fucking sit.”
Everything about the moment is intimate. I’ve never touched a woman without the promise of sex as the end result, but with her, I like it.
“Thank you for letting me help you, Emmy. Thank you for letting me be here. You can tell me to go whenever you want and I will, but I want you to know this is exactly where I want to be. I’ve got you.”
There’s a pillow crease on his forehead, and his hair is rumpled beyond belief. One of his hands sits on my hip, long fingers splayed out over the curve of my thigh and the bottom of my tattoo. He’s shirtless, fast asleep and breathing heavily, and in all the moments I’ve known him, this is my favorite one.
“Seems like I’ve been jealous a lot lately. Your phone calls with friends. The secret handshakes you have with some of the guys.” He topples us backward onto the pillows and holds me close to his chest. “I want that too.”
“No. I think I’m ready to go to sleep for the night. I’m still so tired. Thank you for all your help. You nursed me back to fantastic health. Ten out of ten, would recommend your puke-cleaning services again.”
“I think this is going to be the best year yet.”
I never really felt like I had a home. But with Emmy next to me, I think home is wherever she is. A place I’d like to stay forever.
I don’t want her as a teammate or someone I fuck multiple times a week. I want her as so much more—a partner. A girlfriend. My best friend. I don’t know if we lose the game or not. I really don’t fucking care, because I’ve already won. I have her, and she’s the greatest prize
“It’s a fucking honor and a privilege to play beside you. There was never any doubt about who I wanted to represent. It’s you, and it’s always going to be you.” “Are you just talking about the jersey?” Emmy tips her chin up. “Or something else?”
