Page 107 of Mr. Broody

I leave my phone on the bed, knowing he’s probably getting to the rink soon. When I open the top drawer of the dresser, I find another box. I forgot how much I love surprises. It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten one.

I lift the lid, and inside is the same blue tissue paper with a note taped to it. I can’t wait to see what he’s written.

I hope this makes you feel half as beautiful as I think you are.

I dig through the tissue paper, finding a sheer black negligee with lace panties that doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination. It’s beautiful, and of course I’ll feel sexy in it, but it’s the way Henry’s eyes will devour me when I come out in it that will pull that feeling from me. I forgot over the years we were apart just how beautiful he makes me feel simply by the way he looks at me.

Leaving both items on the bed, I unpack and take a quick shower to get ready for the game.

An hour later, I climb out of the Uber with my ticket on my phone. It’s weird being in Minnesota, especially since Henry played at the arena a few times during college for some of his games. It feels like a lifetime ago.

I follow the usher to my seat in the front row. It’s my first game without anyone else, and it’s a little weird. I figure I already missed the warm-ups because most of the fans are filing in to take their seats. A few minutes later, the lights dim.

Henry’s eyes find me as soon as he gets into position on the ice. Anticipation bubbles in my stomach like champagne. Tonight’s the night I get to explore his body. Feel his rippled stomach, watch him thrust into me, claim me as his. We have all night to roll around in bed and rediscover each other’s bodies.

The first period is a battle for Henry, Tweetie, and Rowan to get anything past the defense. The lines are constantly coming on and off. Minnesota definitely wants to prove something since the last time they played them in Chicago.

The second period starts much the same, but then Rowan gets a nice pass to Henry, who immediately passes it off to Tweetie, who scores. The entire team hugs and cheers. Tweetie does his usual celly by doing a dance on his skates while most people in the stadium boo.

During the third period, Henry gets a little rough with one of the guys on defense. There’s a lot of pushing and sticks going between legs. He gets pushed into the glass right before he’s about to score. It’s hard to watch until Henry gets a breakaway and uses that wrist shot that’s been working all year to score a goal.

Thanks to Conor’s great goalie skills, we win two to zero.

I stand and pick up my snacks, but someone tapping on the plexiglass steals my attention.

“Someone’s looking for you,” the man beside me says.

I turn to find Henry standing there, all sweaty and delectable. His smile makes my heart float.

“Hey,” I say loudly enough for him to hear me through the glass.

He winks. “Hurry,” he mouths.

I nod, and he blows me a kiss right before he skates off to the locker room.

“He’s your man?” a middle-aged woman farther down the row asks.

“Yep.” I think I’m probably beaming with pride.

“Lucky. Most girls here wish they were you.”

“You’re dating Henry Hensley?” a younger woman in the row behind us asks, eavesdropping.

“She is,” the middle-aged woman answers for me.

“What’s he like in bed? He seems sweet, whereas Tweetie’s probably broken a lot of furniture and headboards in his day.” The young woman and her friend lean in closer as though I’d actually tell them about how Henry is in bed.

“I wouldn’t know about Tweetie, and none of your business on Henry.”

She scoffs and looks at me as if I’m the garbage we’re all stepping over walking down our row to the stairs. “Some girl code,” she sneers.

I’ve been here before. Sure, not at this level, but I’ve been the girl hated for dating someone who has a lot of attention on him.

I don’t engage and decide to call my Uber and get back to the hotel, ready to give the man who deserves my attention every last bit of it.

Forty-Seven

Henry

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