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Freckles that stand out even more when she blushes when I pay her a compliment, even though she tries not to? If not, then she’s not my type.”
This time she can’t hide a smile and a tiny laugh that bubbles from her curled lips. The sound makes my chest pang. I could very quickly grow addicted to hearing Olivia Lockley’s laugh.
She’s breathtaking. Literally. I realize it’s been a couple beats since I’ve inhaled, and when I do, I feel a hitch in my chest.
“Damn, Rhys. You look like shit.” The burly defenseman turns to me, an eyebrow hitched. “Boy, Tuck, you know how to make a guy feel appreciated.” “Don’t get me wrong. You’re still sexy as hell. I mean, that bad boy aura you’ve got with the tattoos and the messy dark hair that falls over your eyes? If I were into guys, I’d be ripping that towel off your waist right now.” “I hate to eavesdrop,” Lane says, turning towards us from his locker. “But this is a strange conversation even for you, Tuck.”
She’s got my heart wrapped around her finger, and I’ve got no interest in trying to untwirl it.
“You got the blue kind,” she whispers thinly. “My favorite.” I chuckle. “Your favorite Gatorade is the same colors as my eyes? Can’t be a coincidence.”
“But you can bet your ass that when we’re through keeping it quiet,” Tuck says, his grin coming back to his face, “I’m going to make up for it by screaming from the fucking mountaintops that you’re mine. When you’re ready for that.”
She’s wearing my jersey. When I skate onto the ice for our home game against Cornell and see Olivia in the crowd with my number on her chest, everything else tumbles out of my head.
“Did you know that the human eye can see more shades of green than any other color?” he asks. “No,” I shake my head. “That fact feels like a gift from the universe to me. No matter what color your eyes were, I’d never get tired of looking at them. But the fact that every time I look in your eyes, I’ll see more shades, more specks of color, than I would in anyone else’s, that just feels like fate winking at me for falling for the right girl.”
I guide her hand, tracing out letters in the stars. M is first. Then I. Then N. Then E. Olivia turns to me, her brow crinkled. “Mine?” “Yeah,” I say. “That’s you. Every damn day for the rest of our lives.” My lips feather onto hers, and I kiss my girlfriend as she wears my hoodie, under the star-lit sky, sitting on the hood of my car by the side of the road on a beautiful early Spring night.
