Page 54 of Forecasting the Forward

I grab Becca’s leg and yank it up and around my hip. She immediately grinds down on me as my tongue circles hers. She gasps into my mouth, and I feel her fingernails dig into my scalp. It’s a pleasure that borders on pain, and I fucking love it.

She called me a golden retriever. I can see how that would be correlated. I am generally pretty happy. I can find light and joy in most things. I’m the life of any party. Becca is about to find out, though, that golden retriever does not equal vanilla and boring.

Ending the kiss to drag my tongue down her neck, I nibble on her collarbone before lifting my head to put my lips beside her ear. “The first time I fuck you will not be in a bathroom at an arena in Cleveland. The first time I feel you come on my cock will not be here. Our first time will be when I can take my time to unravel you. Spread you out. Make you mine.”

“Wow,” she pants, and I smile against her skin. “Jax!”

“No,” I correct her, pushing back. Eyes closed and mouth open, Becca looks like a goddamn wet dream. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

Her eyes open, the gaze is glassy and unfocused.

“I’m Jacob to you.”

“What? Why?” she asks breathlessly. “Everyone calls you Jax.”

“That’s why. You’re not everyone. You’re my wife. You’re the only one who gets to call me Jacob.” I barely blink as I tell her this. I can’t remember anyone ever calling me Jacob. In school, I was Jake or Jax. My parents never even called me Jacob. But from the moment Becca referred to me as such, I knew I never wanted her to call me anything else.

Well, except husband. That was fucking hot.

“Okay,” Becca replies, her voice apprehensive.

“I love that you call me Jacob, darlin’. It’s like you see me differently than everyone else. You don’t see me as a hockey star, or a dollar sign. You see me as … me.”

Her eyes soften. “Hockey isn’t what you are, Jacob. It’s a job. You’re so much more than that.”

Not knowing how to respond, and feeling like I might shout out a love proclamation that scares the hell out of her, I lean forward to kiss her again. Becca sighs as she melts in my arms.

“We should get back,” she murmurs between kisses. I nod, but I don’t stop. I’m not kissing her as a precursor to anything right now. I like the feeling of Becca in my arms. Against my body. On my lips. She feels right. Like comfort, home, and happiness.

“In a minute,” I whisper against her.

Becca giggles, and I love how the feeling vibrates my lips. “Jacob.”

I shake my head, making her laugh again.

“Husband.”

“Fuck,” I groan. “That will not make me leave this room any faster.”

I hear the muffled noise of the horn signaling a Cleveland goal at the same time as someone tries to enter the bathroom. Becca gasps, shoving me away as she drops her leg from around my waist. “Get that —” she hisses, pointing at my crotch, “— under control.”

Head held high, she unlocks the door, opens it, and steps outside.

“Why was it lo — oh.” A surprised man stares at us as I grab Becca’s hand. “Hey, aren’t you …”

“Nope,” I reply.

“But you really do look like him,” he stammers.

“Not him,” I answer, swiftly walking away with a snickering Becca in tow.

“You don’t know who he thought you were,” she laughs. “Maybe he thought you were Jack Harlow. Or Justin Timberlake. Or that dude fromShameless. Maybe Jesse Eisenberg!”

I stop walking, turning to stare at her incredulously. “Are you seriously just naming men with curly hair?”

She gives me an adorable grin. “I would have picked out athletes with curly hair, but I really don’t pay attention to sports.”

I dramatically place a hand over my heart. “You wound me, darlin’. I may have to request a divorce now.”

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