Page 79 of Beautifully Conflicted

“Deal with it.” He cups my face in his hands and gives me a more tender kiss than I would’ve thought him capable of, given his size and strength. “Thank you.”

“Don’t make it a thing.” I give him an equally sweet kiss for reasons I don’t want to examine and give his ass a playful smack, so he knows I’m about to drop him. “Pack your bag.”

I try not to laugh as Damien scurries around his room, grabbing socks, underwear and a flannel shirt, zipping his bag before realizing he didn’t grab any toiletries and frantically rushing into the bathroom. He emerges with a beaming grin and holds up his bag like a dog who just successfully fetched a ball.

“Done,” he singsongs.

“Are you sure?”

Lips tugging into a frown, he eyes his bag, then opens it to inspect the contents. After a long moment, he glances at me from under floppy hair that really could use a cut. “Yeah.”

“Look lower,” I tell him.

“Lower?” He glances down, realizes he’s still wearing only his boxers, and turns an adorable shade of pink. “Right,” he mumbles, tugging on a pair of jeans and a Henley that fits him like a second skin, which I look forward to stripping him out of later. Socks, shoes, coat, and his fuck-me-beanie later, we’re in the car for the hour-long drive to Denver.

“Where do your roommates think you’re going this weekend?” he asks.

“Home to visit my folks.”

“And where do they think I am?”

“Wherever you want. You get to make up your own story.”

“Can my story be the game? I’ll say I met an old teammate or something, but I’m fairly certain I won’t be able to lie with a straight face and say I hung around my apartment. This is just too fucking cool.”

My stomach roils with a flutter of guilt. Though, I can’t say if it’s attributed to lying to my roommates, restricting Damien from being friends with them, or a combination of the two. But the truth isn’t an option here, so even though I don’t like the idea of him recounting his weekend with someone other than me in attendance, I’ll go along with it.

“Sure.” I flex my hands on the wheel since they were starting to cramp.

Once we hit Denver, we go straight to the hotel to check in, then make our way to the arena for the game. As we drift along with the sea of people making their way to the entrance, Damien’s head swings back and forth, as his wide, wondrous eyes take it all in. The fans, the glass entry that stretches skyward for several stories, the kiosks selling food, beer and swag.

“This place is huge.” He seems to bounce on the balls of his feet, and I bite my cheek to stop myself from beaming at his unbridled excitement.

“You’ve seen stadiums before, what were you expecting?” I pretend his enthusiasm doesn’t make my heartbeat accelerate.

“Outdoor stadiums don’t have all these windows and beams and crisscrossing escalators. Do they even have escalators?”

“Some. Want a beer, or food, or anything?”

“I could eat. Where are the hot dogs?” He spins around, checking out all the options.

“If that’s all you want there’s probably a guy walking through the stands we can buy one from. But you can have anything from nachos to sandwiches.”

“Eh, I’m not a fan of that thick yellow cheese they put on chips. They used to give us the leftovers after high school games so it didn’t go to waste—like it was some special treat—but I always thought it tasted like shit.”

“That’s because it does. But the nachos here have real cheese and pretty much anything you could want to put on them like veggies or steak. I think one place might even put lobster on theirs.”

Damien's eyes get even wider. “Shut up. You can get lobster nachos at the hockey game?”

His stupid grin is infectious. “Want some?”

“No, I don’t really like lobster. I’m just surprised you can get it here. I thought stadiums only served bar food and shit.”

“Not anymore.” I put my hand on his lower back to nudge him toward a place that sells specialty sandwiches, and let it linger there as we walk. No idea why, it just seemed less natural to move it than to let it stay there, I guess.

Once we’ve got our food, and the beers Damien insisted on buying even though the night was meant to be my treat, we make our way to our seats. They’re mid-level, in-between center ice and the goal, so we’ve got a really great view of the whole rink.

“What do you know about hockey?” I ask him.

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