Page 38 of Huge Pucking Play

I chuckle. “And for pregnant cows someone once told me long ago.”

“Of course. Common knowledge,” she jokes and she looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

We order drinks, a bourbon for me and a glass of white wine for her. An awkward silence settles between us while we just look at each other with goofy smiles on our faces. I clear my throat. "It's good to see you. And actually be able to really talk."

Cyn nods, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, pretending to barely know each other at work is...challenging to say the least."

"Tell me about it," I chuckle. "I keep wanting to talk to you, but..."

"But we can't," she finishes.

Cyn looks down at her hands and picks at a cuticle before looking back up at me with those gorgeous eyes. "Yesterday in the training room, when you were discussing strategy with Coach Martinez and I was working on Miller's shoulder..." Sheleans forward slightly. "Do you know how hard it was not to look at you?"

"I was having the same problem," I admit, voice dropping lower. "You were doing that thing with your mouth, when you chew on your bottom lip when you're concentrating."

Her cheeks flush. "I didn’t even know I do that."

"All the time." I take a slow sip of bourbon, savoring the burn. "I notice everything about you."

She shifts in her seat, recrossing her legs beneath the table. Her foot brushes my calf. I assume it’s an accident at first but then she leaves it there.

"Sorry," she whispers, still not moving it away.

"Don't be." I hold her gaze.

"I miss talking to you," she says. "Really talking. Not just 'Good morning, Coach Hughes' and 'How's the rehab plan coming along?'"

"I miss your laugh," I confess. "The real one. Not the professional one you use around the team."

She raises an eyebrow. "I have different laughs?"

"At least three." I count on my fingers. "The polite work laugh, the laugh when you are truly tickled about something and the laugh after you’ve just had an orgasm and you seem to be in disbelief about how fucking good it felt.”

She raises her eyebrows and is about to say something when our drinks arrive, and I take a sip, gathering a little extra courage.

“What were you going to say?” I prod.

“I honestly have no idea. Your previous comment has completely emptied my mind.”

Chuckling, I reach across the table and take her hand in mine.

"So, about us..." I start.

Cyn leans forward. "I like you, Garrett. A lot. But I'm nervous."

"Me too," I admit. "Not only do we have this issue with work but also…I just need to tell you that my divorce wrecked me." I look away briefly, fiddling with a napkin on the table. “It’s been eight years now but it’s taken me a long time to come back from in. I haven’t really had anybody important in my life since then actually.”

She squeezes my hand and the warmth of it feels amazing.

"What happened in your marriage?" she asks, eyebrows furrowed.

I sigh, memories flooding back. "We grew apart. She resented my career. She hated all the travel. And I was too focused on hockey to see what was coming."

I take a deep breath, memories flooding back. "It was during the playoffs. We had a crucial away series and I was gone for a week. I was so focused on the games, I barely communicated with her."

Cyn squeezes my hand gently, encouraging me to continue.

"When I got home, exhausted but riding high on our wins, the house felt...wrong. Too quiet. Empty." I pause, taking a swig of bourbon. "I called out for her, but there was no answer. Then I noticed little things missing. Her favorite vase. The throw pillows she'd insisted on buying."

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