Page 13 of Snowed In With the PUCK

I’m not sure what to say or even how to act. We’ve kissed before and touched, but that… that was a whole different type of intimacy. That was way more than a kiss, and the fact that we’re silent and already sort of pretending like none of this is affecting us is, well, awkward for me. I wish we could stay in fantasy land and have sex every day, but we can’t. My job could be at risk now. I scold myself, wondering how I let it get to this.

Eric is already getting dressed, pulling on a t-shirt with his back to me, and I realize I should probably do the same before I start to feel even more exposed. I grab my sweater from the back of the couch and slip it over my head, my mind racing, replaying everything that just happened.

The holiday music I’d put on earlier feels too happy, too bright… too innocent. And right now, I feel anything but that last part.

I glance over at him, and to my surprise, he doesn’t look nearly as conflicted as I feel. In fact, Eric looks almost… calm. That’s probably what bothers me the most right now. How is he so collected while I’m standing here with my heart still racing, uncertainty clawing at me?

Right when I think I’m going to have to fill the silence, there’s a loud rumble from outside, and I squeal, zipping up my jeans fast. The sound of a truck pulling up catches both of our attention.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Eric asks, moving toward the window. I bite my lower lip when he takes a hand and brushes it over my arm when he walks by. Does he care… or is he just thanking me for a good time?

The questions are already starting. I know they’ll plague me for days if I don’t just ask him what he thinks about the sex we had. I sigh. Now isnotthe time. There’s a huge truck of some sort out front.

I follow him, looking out just in time to see a huge moving truck backing into the driveway. The timing couldn’t be worse… actually, it could. My heart stutters for a second as I picture the movers showing up just ten minutes earlier… I definitely dodged a bullet there.

Eric pulls out his phone and opens his emails, clearly frustrated. “There’s been a mistake. The movers were supposed to drop all my stuff off at the storage unit I got in Denver, not here.”

I watch as he walks outside, leaving the door open behind him. I take a deep breath, trying to regain my composure before I follow him out. The cold air hits me like a slap to the face, which is exactly what I need right now to keep myself feeling in control of my emotions.

The November wind bites through my sweater, and I hug my arms to my chest. The driveway is covered in a thin layer of frost, and the sky teases the possibility of snow. It’s invigorating. My breath hangs in the air, swirling in little puffs, and I wonder how Eric is handling it, coming from Nashville, where the winters are so much milder.

Eric is already talking to the movers, his tone firm but polite in that way people who are used to calling the shots have.

“I’m sorry, man,” the lead mover says, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Our paperwork says to drop everything here. We didn’t get any info about a storage unit.”

Eric doesn’t miss a beat, his decision quick. “No problem. I must have put the wrong address into the system. Let’s do this fast so you two can get out of the cold. Stack everything but the clothes boxes in the garage for now. I’ll figure out the storage situation later.”

The mover nods, clearly relieved that Eric isn’t giving him a hard time. “Sure thing. Where do you want us to start?”

Eric glances at the driveway, assessing the situation. “Let’s start with the boxes marked ‘fragile.’ Those go in the far corner. Anything else—clothes, shoes, whatever—just stack it along the left wall. We’ll keep the right side open for Kathy or Bill’s car, in case they need to park here.”

The movers nod, following his lead. Eric’s quick thinking and calm demeanor stand out to me, and I can see why he’s not just a star athlete but also a natural leader on the ice. Even in this unexpected situation, he’s calm as a cucumber. And honestly, it’s more than a little sexy to see a man in control like this.

I stand there, my arms wrapped around myself, watching him as the movers begin unloading the truck. His breath puffs in the cold air as he gestures toward the garage, organizing everything like he’s done this a million times before. The more I watch him, the more I realize that Eric is used to taking charge, used tobeing the one who people look to for direction. Even outside of hockey, it’s just who he is.

It makes his silence after sex that much more disturbing. Why isn’t he leading us into a conversation about it? Am I expecting too much?

After about an hour, the last of the boxes are stacked in the living room and the garage. Eric tips the movers, thanks them, and walks back toward the house. He pauses on the steps, glancing over at me. “I didn’t mean for all this to end up here,” he says. “I’m glad they didn’t show up earlier this week when I was out of town and you were here alone.”

I blink at him. Is he being considerate of me? Even protecting me?

“I’ll get it moved to storage as soon as I can.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. Just keep it in the garage for now. We can deal with it after the holidays.”

I realize my Freudian slip too late. I’m implying we will be living here together for another month. If he notices it, he doesn’t say anything.

He holds the door open. I follow, closing the door behind me as I face the couch… the living room… and try to push the image of what we just did in this very space out of my mind.

We’re back to being roommates. I can feel it in our energy. That’s all this is. Just roommates.

But even as Eric casually and without comment about sex starts sifting through one of the boxes marked “Clothes,” I know that we’ve crossed a line that we can’t take back.

“Want some help?” I ask, trying to act as casual as possible. As low maintenance as possible.

He looks up, surprised for a second, but then gives me that easy grin of his. “Sure, sunshine. Why not.”

I kneel beside him and start unpacking one of the smaller cardboard moving boxes. Inside are a few well-worn t-shirts, a couple of pairs of jogging pants, and what looks like an old family photo album. I pull the album out carefully, glancing at Eric.

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