Page 50 of For Crosby

“What are you doing?”

“Grabbing your things.”

I watched as he turned and left the room, still taken aback by this thoughtful side of him. If I’d met this version of Crosby that night at the tree, would things have turned out differently between us? Or were things unraveling just as they were supposed to?

“Thanks,” I said when Crosby returned a couple minutes later with my suitcase. “I so need to brush my teeth.”

He laughed as he placed my suitcase down in front of me.

I rummaged through it, grabbing my toiletries bag and some cute pajamas. Crosby grabbed his own toothbrush and toothpaste from his drawer, and we left his room together, parting ways at our respective bathrooms.

I brushed my teeth and dressed in the women’s room, giving myself time to calm myself and control the thoughts I’d been having.

When I returned to his room a little while later, he was already back, pulling a spare pillow and blanket from the top of his closet and placing them on the floor.

“You sure you don’t want the bed?” I asked.

“I’m sure.”

I stuffed my clothes and toiletries back into my suitcase, trying to ignore the fact that he was pulling off his shirt and jeans so that he was only wearing his boxers. The sight of him standing there, so comfortably shirtless in front me, was so damn hot my breath hitched in my throat.

I sat down on his bed, trying to steady my heartbeat. His colorful tattoos overwhelmed my eyes. There were so many of them. “Tell me about your tattoos.”

He smirked as he leaned against his chair, glancing down at the sleeves of ink on his arms. “What do you wanna know?”

“Why so many?”

He met my gaze. “Why not?”

Okay. Stupid question. “Which was your first?”

He twisted his right arm to show the inside of his forearm. Crisscrossed hockey sticks.

“Typical.”

He laughed. “What’d you expect? A heart with a girl’s name in the center?”

“Maybe.”

He rotated his arm, pointing out all the others. From skulls to tribal bands, everything was connected. His left arm looked similar. More hockey symbols, wings, a number representing the date of his first goal, and a quote about teammates.

“Did you all get that one?”

He balked. “Yeah.”

“You regret it now?”

“Friends stick by you. Mine didn’t.” He shrugged it off but I could see it bothered him in the way his eyes drifted away.

I pointed to the bare spot on the inside of his left bicep. “Run out of ideas?”

He shook his head. “Nah. All my tattoos have been for me. I left that spot for whoever I marry. I figure anyone tough enough to deal with me, deserves a prime spot.”

My bottom lip jutted out, both surprised and impressed he’d thought ahead. “You know, that’s kind of romantic. You don’t want anyone thinking you’ve gone soft, do you?”

He laughed as he switched off the light and sat on the blanket on the floor. “I’m not all angry, you know?”

I nodded, though in the darkness I couldn’t be sure he saw me. “I’m starting to see that.”

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