Page 77 of Brace and Chase

“Such a caveman,” he says with a laugh and shakes his head as much as he can without lifting it off me.

“We’ll figure it out,” I say, with conviction I’m pulling out of thin air.

“Let’s eat,” he says after another squeeze of his arms.

“Finally,” I groan playfully, and the smile I get from him then has me vowing to myself that I’m going to make him smile more than he ever has in his entire life.

TWENTY-SIX

SWEETHEART

How do I walk?

What do I normally do with my hands when I arrive at the practice rink? Do I usually smile as wide when I greet the assistant coach? When I ask Jeff, our equipment manager, if we can talk later about my skates?

I’m second guessing every movement, every twitch of a muscle in my face, and by the jerky steps Nikolay’s taking next to me, he’s having the same issues.

“Just act natural,” he whispers before we enter the locker room, but only after he makes sure there’s no one around, so I guess he needs to hear his own advice, doesn’t he?

I let out a harsh breath that puffs out my cheeks and try to focus on hockey and nothing else, but it’s a challenge

He’s the one who distracted me with needy kisses this morning when I walked into the kitchen.

I was grumpy, regretting how I’d told him the night before that I was going to sleep in my own room, and then he went and brightened the whole world up for me.

We ended up having to rush through breakfast and we drank our shakes in the car instead of at the house, but it was worth it.

Then I got distracted again by how good his arms looked holding the steering wheel of his cool as fuck car, how expertly he maneuvered it all over the place.

The locker room is empty, at least it looks that way, and there are no sounds, but I don’t take any chances.

“It’s just a normal day,” I tell him quietly when we get to our cubbies. “We’re going to skate, then go to the gym then back home, and tomorrow it will be the same. And the day after that, and the day after that.”

“I know,” he says, speaking just as quietly, his brow furrowed. “I’m just nervous.”

“Me too,” I admit.

“But hey, at least the guys don’t know you well enough to know when you’re acting weird. They will know in a second if I am.”

“That’s true,” I muse, then turn to get ready when he does the same.

Like it happened throughout the entire roadie, every inch of his skin appears little by little as he undresses to get into his gear, but it doesn’t have the same effect on me as it had in our hotel rooms or in his bathroom yesterday.

I’m thankful for it, I have to admit. Getting hard in thelocker room would be hard to hide, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have to force myself to look away.

Nikolay’s body is strong all over, more bulky than mine, and few are.

He proved just how matched we are in every way when Laney had us do that ridiculous one-on-one months ago.

As I finish lacing up my skates, I wonder what he’s thinking about, when he speaks.

“You know I’m still jealous of all the James Norris Trophies, right?” he asks glumly.

I huff out a laugh and stand, done with taping my stick.

“And I’m still jealous of your three Stanley Cup wins.”

“Good,” he says, satisfied and standing as well. Is he grateful that we can be ridiculous together? I sure as hell am.

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