Page 94 of Off Season

“Yeah?”

I nod, peering up into his eyes. “I’m so freaking proud; seeing you out there was…” I shake my head, tears welling in my eyes. “I love you.”

He cups my cheek with his hand, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. Pressing a gentle kiss to my lips, he whispers, “I love you, too, baby.”

Taking a step back, he tries to suppress his smile by rolling his lips as his eyes trail my body, but it only causes his dimples to pop.

“Turn around,” he mumbles.

I turn so my back is to him, and when I cast a glance over my shoulder, he’s biting down on his bottom lip.

“I like this a lot,” he confesses, grabbing hold of my hip, spinning me around, and pulling me toward him. His hands slip under the jersey, and he grabs my ass.

“I’ve never fucked someone while they’re wearing my name before. Think you might wanna wear that later?”

I reach up to wrap my arms around his neck, nipping his lip with my teeth.

“Do you even have to ask?” I whisper, before sliding my tongue into his mouth.

“Yo! Parkes! Quit the PDA and come for drinks at Gino’s,” Jonathan Peyton calls out.

Ethan shakes his head but doesn’t take his eyes off me. “No, you guys go. I’m going home with my man.”

Home.I love every time he says that.

“Ready to go?” Ethan asks, slipping his hand in mine.

“With you?” I lean in to kiss his lips. “Always.”

Epilogue

PART ONE

Ethan

June - Six months later

I glance up at the jumbotron as the clock winds down in the third period. There’s just under six minutes left, and we’re currently up 3-1. We might be dominating Boston at the moment, but we can’t get too complacent.

A lot can happen in six minutes, and we can’t let our hard work be thrown away by getting comfortable.

Without taking my eyes off the third line battling for puck possession, I pick up my bottle and squirt some water into my mouth. My knee is bouncing non-stop as Mitch poke checks one of Boston’s wingers before he’s heading toward their goalie on a breakaway, skating like his ass is on fire.

“Come on, Mitchy!” I’m on my feet, voice hoarse.

When he sinks it between the goalie’s legs, the energy on the bench is indescribable.

“Fuck yeah!” we all shout, and the arena goes wild.

My blood is vibrating with adrenaline, but I’m remaining focused. We’re looking good out there. Really fucking good. If we keep putting those pucks in the net, being strong on the defense the way we are, and if Elliot keeps making those unbelievable saves...

Fuck. I might actually cry.

But I don’t have time for emotions right now.

Mentally shaking them away, I jump over the boards for my shift once the whistle blows.

Taking my spot for the face-off, I keep my eyes focused on the linesman’s hand but grunt at the Boston winger next to me.

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