Page 135 of In It to Win It

Taylor squeezes my biceps and shoots me a warning look. Okay, I’m not gonna punch the guy, but Everly’s my aunt—I have to watch out for her.

Oh hey, she can totally look after herself.

“Okay then, problem solved.” I pick up Taylor. She squeals. “Good night, all.”

I carry her into the bedroom and shut the door firmly behind us.

She’s laughing and falls onto the bed. “I don’t know if drunk sex is going to be very good.”

I follow her down onto the bed. “I’m not that drunk.”

“No whisky dick?”

“I wasn’t drinking whisky.” I kiss her mouth, her cheek, her jaw. She shivers beneath me and parts her legs so I can settle between them. I hitch her dress higher on her hips to allow her to open them wider and press my hard-on against her soft center. She sucks in a sharp breath and wraps her arms around me. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too. I didn’t want to fall in love, but I did.”

“Why didn’t you want to?” I inhale the scent of her skin where neck joins shoulder. Intoxicating.

“Because of my parents. I figured what was the point. If they can’t make it, nobody can.”

I lift my head and peer down at her. “No.”

“That’s how I felt. But . . .” She strokes the back of my neck and sensation rolls down my spine. “After I talked to my dad on the way to San Diego, I . . . I realized I was falling for you. And I thought maybe . . . we could try. Then . . .”

I kiss her quickly. “I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.”

She gives a tiny nod. “I know. My dad told me how a relationship is made up of a million moments. Good ones and bad ones. There are no guarantees . . . but you have to treasure the good moments.”

I swallow. “Yeah.”

“Youneed to do that.” Her expression turns earnest. “You need to enjoy the moments. You’re too hard on yourself when you screw up. That causes you stress you don’t need. Remember the yoga classes? No judgment? Even of ourselves?”

I gaze back at her. She’s so right. “Théo told me the same thing. In hockey, we have to learn to let our mistakes go. Sometimes I can do that . . . sometimes I can’t. I’m working on it. Off the ice . . . I need to work on that, too.”

“Yes.”

“I . . . I’ve had a hard time, lately.” My tongue feels thick as I reveal this to her. “It’s a lot of pressure. Being a Wynn . . . means being perfect.”

“No.” Her eyes are full of acceptance and kindness. “It doesn’t.Youput the pressure on yourself.”

I let this turn over in my mind. “Um . . . maybe?”

She smiles, a slow, sweet, seductive smile.

“I could never be as good as Théo. My whole life. So I tried to be different. But that didn’t work out so well.”

“Youaredifferent. You are two different people.” She digs her fingers into my shoulders. “And I loveyou.I love how you don’t want to disappoint the people you care about—your family. Your team. I love how you pretend to be so bad, but you teach kids how to skate, and buy them equipment, and you love Byron. You hated that you hurt your brother. You want your grandpa to be proud of you.”

A rough shudder closes over my chest. I can’t breathe. Can’t speak.

She knows me. She sees me. The real me. The me I want to be.

We kiss again, long, open-mouthed, tongue-sliding kisses full of passion and gratitude, relief and hope. I slowly strip her out of that sexy dress, revealing a black lace bra and panties. She’s everything . . . my fantasy, my friend, my ally. She’ll support me when I make mistakes—but I vow to never again make a mistake that will hurt her. And I’ll supporther,whatever life brings her. I never realized how incredible it would feel to have someone who gets me so completely, and the fear of opening up and being vulnerable and revealing all my stupid insecurities seems microscopic in comparison to the huge swell of love and joy I now feel.

I kiss her throat, her collarbones, between her breasts. I slide my hands beneath her to unfasten her bra, toss it aside, then cup her breasts and squeeze them, desire rushing through my blood. I sweep my hands over her soft skin, taking the measure of her curves, following their path with my eyes to worship her with my touch, my gaze. My mouth. I want to taste her, lick her, make her come . . . She falls apart, crying my name, and I rip off my own clothes, grab a condom, and move back between her legs.

I start to rip open the wrapper and she stops me with a soft touch. “We don’t have to use that . . . if you trust me.”

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