Page 119 of Bombshells
“Ooh, yes! Your boyfriend is so cute. Those eyes.” She gives a sigh. “So dreamy.”
“Aw shucks,” Anton says into my ear. “I think I made an impression. She must not meet many hockey players.”
I watch as Loretta lifts a book off the counter, revealing not one but three key cards, each with a sticky note and a different name on it. One says SYLVIE, but there’s also one for HEIDI JO and one for BESS.
Huh. I think Loretta has met quite a few hockey players.
“Here you go, dear. Welcome to Nashville. Best of luck tonight.”
“Thank you so much.” Before exiting the shop, I peek out toward the elevator bank, making sure the coast is clear. And then I make a dash for it. “I’m on the move.”
“Awesome. Twelfth floor. Head to the left after you get off the elevator. Room 1212.”
“Copy that.” I press down on the button, and an elevator opens immediately. It’s empty. Yes! “I’ll be right there, unless it all goes horribly wrong in the hallway upstairs.”
“You got this, baby. Go!”
Once I slide the key into the elevator slot, the car ascends smoothly upward.
Ninety seconds later, I’m hustling down an empty hallway toward the door marked 1212. It opens just as I arrive in front of it. Anton basically snatches me into the room. I yank my bag in behind me and kick the door shut.
“Finally,” my boyfriend gasps, wrapping himself bodily around me. “I missed you so much.” His kiss is fueled by three days of separation and—let’s face it—a lot of pregame nerves.
I hug him tightly and receive several hot, furry kisses, because playoff beards are fierce. “Sit down, hunk,” I say, nudging him onto the king-sized bed. “Now talk to me. How’s your shoulder?”
“It’s fine. Really.” He rubs the spot that was sore last week. “I’m feeling good. Just hyper. And too deep inside my own head.” He flops down, propping his head up on a hand, his bright eyes smiling. “Talk to me, gorgeous. I just need a little Sylvie time. Tell me all the news.”
I spread out beside him, mirroring his posture. “Okay, Cedric and Trina both got summer jobs at that pool in Red Hook.”
“No way! That’s amazing. Can’t believe he made that happen.”
“Well, Trina got a lifeguard position, but Cedric is working security. He gets a pool pass as a perk, though, and he’s enrolling in some swim lessons.”
“Sweet! I’ll send him an email.” Anton threads his feet between mine. He’s cuddly. We’ve become that kind of annoying couple who’s always touching each other when we’re out with friends.
“Deal with it,” Anton says when people tease us. “We’re here, aren’t we? You can’t accuse us of hiberdating.” Because he still has a Frankenword for everything.
We’ve had a crazy, wonderful year. In spite of the pressure of all those early predictions, the Bruisers did make it to the finals again.
Meanwhile, the Bombshells finished our season in a very respectable third place. And I played four of our last ten games, with a save average that’s only a percentage point behind Scarlet’s. Rebecca and Bess have already made it clear that I’m invited back next season.
And in between all those hockey games, Anton and I have only grown closer. “You two are just a really good team,” Fiona remarked once.
That’s exactly how it feels to me, too. Like Anton and I just work. Our schedules are insane, so we have lots of time apart. But we’re still always in sync, with phone calls and an endless text conversation that fills my days with fun and humor.
And when we’re actually together? There’s nothing better. Anton doesn’t hold anything back. He always makes me feel like I have his full attention. For someone who claimed not to be boyfriend material, he seems to have achieved elite capabilities in record time.
I try not to wonder what the future holds. I try not to plan. As a couple, we’re taking things day by day.
The days are pretty great, too. So it’s not like I have anything to complain about. Besides—no matter how the Bruisers play in their last one or two games of the season, it’s over in less than seventy-two hours.
Anton says he has a surprise planned for me. I think it’s a getaway to Vermont. A couple of months ago, I found a certificate in his dresser drawer, good for a weekend getaway.
I can’t wait.
“Have you seen Bess lately?” I ask him. The truth is that I’m running out of gossip to distract him with.
“Yep.” He pushes a lock of my hair off my face. “She looks like she swallowed a basketball. There’s a photo of her and Rebecca sitting side by side at the pool in Tampa, with matching bellies.”
