Page 69 of Trade Deadline

Part of me thought going over for Christmas was too soon, and I thought he’d forget once he got home from his road trip. But he proved me wrong, asking what we like and dislike so he can pass it onto his mom and whether our family has any traditions.

The thought and effort he’s putting into this, intous, is making it hard not to fall head over heels for him.

We take the same seats as before, two rows behind the home bench. Blaine said that every player gets a number of seats for each home game, and usually his seats remain empty unless his parents visit, or he gives them to a charity he’s an ambassador for to auction off.

My heart swells at the thought. He really is a good guy.

“I still don’t believe this is really happening to me.”

Nate looks at me over his beer. “What’s that?”

“All of this. Dating Blaine, being invited to games.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t feel like this is my life. It feels surreal, like I’m a fraud.”

“A fraud? Why? Because you’re a fan?”

I nod.

“But you’re not a fraud, Alex. You deserve all of this. You deserve to have someone who’s so smitten with you that they will do everything to make you happy.” He takes another sip of his beer. “And someone who will throw down the possessive gauntlet when you’re wearing another man's name on your back.” He winks.

We both laugh.

The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of warm-up, and despite pretending to scowl, Blaine skates over to the boards and blows me a kiss before skating back to the bench. His eyes stay locked on mine until he disappears into the tunnel.

“Wow…” Nate says with a wistful look in his eyes. “I’m pretty sure if you weren’t in public, and he wasn’t on the ice, he’d have you bent over and made sure you knew exactly who you belong to.”

I snicker, recalling our texts while he was away about spanking, but that fire in his eyes just then? I have no doubt that if we were alone, I’d have a handprint on my ass. He’s intense, and I love it.

“Excuse me, Alex?”

I turn around at the familiar voice.

Standing on the steps is the same woman who took us to the locker room after the last game, this time dressed in a gray tailored suit and wearing yet another pair of tall, pointy stilettos. She's holding a bag with the team logo printed on the front.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

She hands over the bag. “This is for you. Blaine was adamant that I tell you he needs to see you wearing this when he comes out for the national anthem.” Her mouth tips up in a wide grin as she leans in and lowers her voice. “I must say, it’s a breath of fresh air to see him so hung up over someone. I never thought I’d see the day that Blaine Olsen would find someone he’s head over heels for.”

On that mind-blowing note, she turns on her heels and heads back up the stairs, leaving me speechless. Taking a look inside the bag, I pull out a jersey with “B. OLSEN" stitched across the back, along with his number, 80.

I quickly stand up, pulling my Parkes jersey over my head, and carefully fold it up, slipping it inside the bag. It’s a few sizes bigger than I’d usually wear, so when I pull it over my head, the bottom hits mid-thigh, and I need to roll up the sleeves slightly.

It smells like him. His aftershave and a slight undertone of sweat. I bring it to my nose, taking a deep inhale of his scent.

This ishisjersey.

My heart squeezes in my chest, and goose bumps tickle across the back of my neck.

I look over to Nate. His eyes crinkle at the sides from the shit-eating grin he’s wearing.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. It looks good on you.”

I smooth my hand across the front of the embroidered Thunder logo as I sit in my seat, just as the lights go down and the iconic Thunder intro begins.

Blaine steps out onto the ice, and I can’t hide my smile when he immediately looks at me, a wide grin spreading across his face.

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