Page 106 of The Best Friend Power Play

We usually sat outside to share our meal, enjoying the final days of summer and talking about everything and nothing—life, music, families, the twins, friends, dreams, goals, work, hockey, whatever juicy Below Deck gossip I'd uncovered online.

We’ve had foot rubs and laughs on the couch and slow, late-night walks through town.

And kisses.

So many sweet, warm, wonderful kisses.

It felt so good, so freeing, to have opened up to him about my feelings. Once he told me how he really felt when he got back from LA, I knew I wanted to tell him everything, too. I want our relationship to be based on full and complete honesty, right from the very start.

Like I said, it was magical.

Until Culver tripped.

It happened one one day as he was bringing the laundry in.

Thankfully, it's only a mild ankle sprain, it hasn't made his hip situation worse, and it won't prevent him from playing once the preseason starts next week.

But he is using crutches to walk around, and the doctor ordered him to rest as much as possible.

Well, he's supposed to be taking it easy. As I've recently discovered, he's not exactly great at following doctors' orders.

My orders? With a side threat of withholding kisses?

He always follows those.

Since he tripped, it's been my turn to repay him and look after him for a change.

I've taken over cooking duties—by which I mean ordering takeout.

Foot rubs were meant to have been swapped out for me giving him nightly shoulder rubs, but since he says there's nothing wrong with his hands, he keeps giving me those anyway.

And since he was ordered to stay off his feet, our nightly walks have given way to nightly snuggles on the couch, wrapped up nice and close, alternating between watching TV and making out which usually leads to…

Well, there's nothing wrong with that part of this body, either.

When it comes to my hot girl summer list, I've saved the worst—getting drunk—until last.

Fraser's party is tonight, and I have very low expectations for how this will turn out. But the timing might actually be good. It might just be the distraction I need to not think about the one thing I don't want to think about, the one thing both of us have been skirting around—by which I mean we've been ignoring it completely.

Culver leaving.

Because while we have established several very important things—I love him, he loves me for sure, and we both very much want to be together—there is one pesky three-letter word that we haven't quite figured out.

How?

How do we make that happen?

So the plan is to get drunk for the first time in my life tonight, spend all of tomorrow nursing what I'm sure will be a horrible hangover and regretting ever adding getting drunk to my hot girl summer list, and figuring out the future stuff later.

It's a good plan.

We've just pulled up at the ballroom Fraser hired for his party and are walking up the steps outside.

Well, I'm walking, holding his crutches, while Culver hops up the five steps, his face making it clear he is well and truly over them.

He takes a breath and schools his features, regaining his composure as we reach the top.

"Have I told you that you look incredible?" he murmurs as he takes his crutches from me, and we make our way to the entrance.

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