Page 98 of Win Big

“Sure.”

She rolls over. I ease her loose T-shirt up to reveal the curve of her back. No bra. (I already noticed that, to be honest.)

I slide my hand up and down her back, slow and gentle, over and over.

“That’s so nice,” she whispers. “Thank you.

I keep rubbing for a while, fighting back a stubborn erection. This isnotthe time to molest her. Then I tug her shirt back down and tuck a soft blanket around her. I hang out, eating pizza, drinking a beer, watching TV. She snoozes on the couch. I keep an eye on her.

Not my typical Friday night. But right now, I don’t want to be anywhere else.

It’s backto the grind, and with the All Star break done, all sights are set on making the playoffs. We have a home game Saturday against Philadelphia, and Sunday I head over to Heather’s to tackle some of the vegetation that’s taking over her yard.

“You don’t have to do this,” Heather protests when I arrive.

“I know. Just thought I could help out.” I find her garden tools in the small shed out back and set about trimming and weeding. She comes out to help, and I know it’s because she feels guilty that I’m doing this. Owen is “helping” too, although he gets in trouble when he pulls up some kind of flower that apparently isn’t a weed.

“Is Everly your girlfriend?” Owen asks me.

I shoot him a startled glance. “Uh... yeah, I guess she is.”

“I saw pictures of you together online,” Heather comments, not looking at me. “You hadn’t even said anything about seeing someone.”

“It’s pretty new,” I admit.

“Moving quickly.”

“Well, it’s not like we’re getting married next week,” I joke.

“Are you serious about her?”

I’m taken aback by the question. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Oh.” She yanks a weed out of the ground. “I see. You haven’t had a girlfriend since you moved here.”

“Nope.”

She says nothing, moving away to pull more weeds. I keep trimming the shrub, tossing branches to the ground. “Hey, Owen. You could pile up these branches for me.”

Heather asks me to stay for dinner, but I’m sweaty and itchy. Something scratched my arms and it’s turning red. “I better head home and shower,” I say, frowning at the scratches.

“You probably have plans with your new girlfriend,” she says with a smile.

“Uh, not tonight. We have a practice in the morning.”

“You played great in that game against Ottawa. I watched it on Saturday night.”

“Thanks. I felt really good that whole trip. Got a little banged up, though.” I ruefully rub my hip, which was turning shades of blue when I got dressed earlier.

“You should have rested today.”

“Actually, it was good to move around. It felt stiff earlier, but it’s loosened up a bit now.” I pull my keys out of my jeans pocket. “Hey, Owen! Come give me a hug!”

He bounces over, gives me a tight squeeze, then disappears. I grin. “Bye, Heather.”

“Let me know when you have a night off you can come for dinner. I’ll roast a chicken—you love that.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Sounds good.”

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